Santa Baby

It goes without saying that I have a lot to be thankful for this year. My wonderful family, my amazing friends, the delicious food, good health, the undefeated Packers, and my fantastic blog friends were just a few blessings that crossed my mind throughout the day.

However, there is also something else that I'm thankful for on Thanksgiving. Every year, I use Thanksgiving as the unofficial start to my Christmas music obsession. I bust out all of my favorite Christmas CDs and listen to them non-stop until New Year's Day.

It's not a guilty pleasure. I don't care if it's annoying. It's a fact and I love it.

This year, however, I decided to write my own Christmas song. Inspired by Michael Buble's fantastic version of "Santa Baby," I wrote my own lyrics and recorded a little slideshow for you. It should come as absolutely no surprise that my Christmas list entails nothing but large, gorgeous men that wear numbers on the back of their shirts.

I apologize for the horrible sound and picture quality. I've included the lyrics, so you understand what I'm saying.



Santa doesn't usually deliver people on Christmas morning, but I'm hoping for an exception this year.

WTF Facebook Chat?

Strange things happen at 4:00 AM. I know this because I'm always awake for it. Tonight was no exception.

Most nights, I sit with the computer on my lap, trying to think of a compelling blog topic. Usually, I get sidetracked by Youtube videos, other blogs, Facebook stalking, etc.

On this particular occasion, I logged onto Facebook and was instantly messaged by someone I haven't talked to since the 5th grade. I kid you not. The 5th grade.

Do you remember how unbelievably cool AOL Instant Messenger (AIM) was? You spent hours trying to shorten all the quotes and shoutouts in your profile so that they would fit within the character limit. You loved creating clever away messages and the awesome feeling you got when reading the things people sent while you were away. If you got bored of your screenname, you created a new one and IMed all your buddies to inform them of the change. You divided your buddy list into multiple categories (ex. Besties, Boys, Girls, Younger, Older, Family, HIM OMGGGGG). You put an alarm on your crush so that you were alerted with a loud 'MOOOO!' when he/she signed on. You put more effort than you should have in deciding your background color and font.

It was basically stalking in a pre-Facebook world, but it was wonderful. It pretty much defined my entire middle school and high school experience. It helped me make plans before I had a cell phone, build new friendships, strengthen old ones, and express myself creatively long before I had a blog. It was popular, it was innocent, and it was awesome.

Facebook Chat is the polar opposite.

I'm not sure why, but it seems there is an unwritten rule book for Facebook Chat. It reads as follows:

1. Only message people you don't know or people you haven't talked to in years.
2. When messaging them, be sure to include one of the following:

A. An unbelievably strange statement that has them baffled beyond belief.
B. A strange flirtation that has them questioning their ability to attract normal members of the opposite sex.
C. Be sure to type, then delete, then type, then delete something, so that they can clearly see you're struggling with conversation.
D. Make an outlandish comment about a picture, post, or piece of information on their profile page. You must prove that you've been thoroughly stalking them.
E. All of the above

3. Optional: Ask them to hang out in the near future, even though there is an extremely slim chance of it ever happening.

Of course, there are exceptions to these rules. From time to time, I get messages from people I know and love, people I miss terribly, and family members that live far away. But, for the most part, I am usually confounded by the random assortment of people who message me on Facebook Chat (and that goes for 90% of the people that have friend requested me in the last year, too).

So, as I said, I was messaged by a guy who was in my 5th grade class - a guy who I only remember seeing once or twice since...and definitely not one I've talked to since. How do you possibly carry on a decent conversation with someone who you know absolutely nothing about, have no memories with, and don't plan on seeing ever again?

Needless to say, the conversation was short. He asked me how I was, what I was doing, and where I lived. Then, he told me I was one of his favorite people from school, he missed me, and wanted to hang out some time. Hey - at least he adhered to the Facebook Chat rules.

But, here's the best part. This brief, bizarre encounter with the boy from the back row of my 5th grade class also made my night. Here's why (for his privacy, I blurred out his name and user picture):


He asked me if the guy in my profile picture was my boyfriend.

If you can't tell by the tiny thumbnail, my profile picture is of me and Jordan Staal of the Pittsburgh Penguins. This, of course, made my night. Not only was it nice to briefly consider lying and telling him, "Absolutely and he's fantastic in bed," but it was also comforting to know that he deemed that as within the realm of possibility. Seriously, I had a total Lloyd Christmas moment from Dumb and Dumber and found myself thinking, "So you're saying there's a chance." As sad as this sounds, it was a total boost of confidence from a boy whose lasting impression on me was that he couldn't grasp the difference between the numerator and the denominator.

Man, maybe Facebook Chat is good for something.

A little more Sidney for you.

A little Man Meat update:

Sidney's first game back was nothing short of spectacular. Consol Energy Center had a playoff-like atmosphere, the crowd was beyond amped, and Sid was more than ready to get back to what he does best...which is embarrass goalies and defensemen across the league.

The stakes were high. The pressure was on. The eyes of hockey faithful were glued to their TV sets. Despite the unreal attention, scrutiny, and expectations, Sid put on a show. The Pens beat the Islanders, 5-0, and Sid finished the dramatic night as the 1st star of the game, with two goals and two assists.

He scored a beauty on his first shot of the night and I burst into tears. My parents subsequently disowned me. Watch the very end of the clip to see his priceless reaction. ESPN has been censoring his mouth on the replays.



Do you talk to your mom with that mouth? You can certainly talk to me with that mouth.

Do you think I can take some credit for his success tonight? I mean - I met him exactly one week before the announcement of his long-awaited return. I also touched his shoulder, stuttered the words "Please" and "Thanks" in his face, and stared at him like he was simultaneously the sexiest and scariest thing I've ever seen. I must have some healing power in my drool because I'm fairly certain I coated him in it.

Nevertheless, he's finally back and seems to be better than ever...and oh yeah - he's only five goals behind Ovechkin!


Welcome back, Sid! The sports world is a much better place with you in it!

Man Meat Monday #33

I know you won't believe this, but I haven't Man Meated Sidney Crosby yet. Considering how often I talk about him, this post will probably seem offensive redundant. This week, however, I have the perfect excuse to fawn over him.

Sidney Patrick Crosby is finally returning to the Penguins lineup...for the first time since the two concussions he suffered in consecutive games (January 1st and 5th - days that will live in infamy). When the Penguins texted me this glorious news, I gave my parents a collective heart attack with my reaction:



Totally worth it. So, with no further ado, I bring you...

Sidney Crosby

Claim to Fame: Center for and Captain of the Pittsburgh Penguins

Birthday: August 7, 1987 (8/7/87 - hence his hockey number #87)

The first time I saw Sidney Crosby, I thought, "He looks like an athletic Andy Samberg." And so, a passionate love affair was born. The more I learned about him, the more I liked him. He is humble, politically correct (which is fangirl code for boring), mature, gracious with fans and the press, does more charity work than I care to list, and oh.so.talented. During my time as a proud Miami Redhawk, I fell in love with hockey. Sid took that love to a whole new level. Not only did I fall in love with him (no, this isn't an overstatement), but I fell in love with his team.

By the time the 2010 Winter Olympics rolled around, I had been stalking following him for quite some time. Although I was rooting for Team USA, I was also rooting for Sid, despite the detrimental effect my traitorous allegiance had on multiple personal relationships. When he scored the Golden Goal in overtime, it was more than cemented in my mind: Sid is hockey. In his short career, he has won just about every award possible, became the youngest captain to bring home the Stanley Cup, won an Olympic gold medal, became the face of the NHL, and put hockey on the map in America.

If all of this weren't enough, look at him. Although his nickname is "Sid the Kid," he is anything but. To me, Sidney Crosby is the human equivalent of Michelangelo's David. Seemingly sculpted from muscle and skin, he is flawless, the glorious culmination of unbelievable hard work and enviable genes. Every single thing about him makes me drool. His game-worn, calloused hands, the faint scar on his chin, his thick thighs, his deliciously pouty lips, the sweat that drips tantalizingly down his chiseled jawline during post-game interviews.

Wow.

Random Tidbit: He is highly superstitious. Trust me - you want to see this.



Only downfall?: I'm tempted to say he's kinda boring...but he really isn't. He's funny in a dorky sort of way. *lovestruck sigh* Oh yeah! He thinks that horrific excuse for a mustache is an acceptable look.

Oh, look. Always the gentleman, he's offering me a place to sit.



(I apologize. Apparently, Sidney Crosby turns me into an erotic novelist)

So, readers: It's your turn. Would you let Sid get all up in your crease?

I know I'm extreme, but for him, I'd renounce my citizenship, just so I could scream "OOOOO CANADA!!!!" all night long.

...and my work here is done. I regret nothing.

Some VERY good news!

After my flawless lucid dream of meeting the Pittsburgh Penguins on Sunday, I knew that my cosmic karma would soon come around to knock me back down to earth.

Sure enough, my knee surgery on Monday did just that. Despite the fact that my surgeon was running two hours behind, the surgery actually went extremely well. So, after convincing myself that meeting the Penguins wasn't just a wonderful dream I had while anesthetized, I made my groggy way back home.

Aside from the expected knee pain, I have had some unexpected side effects to my percocet. It makes me incredibly nauseous and tired. In fact, this is the first time I've been on a computer since Monday (definitely a personal record).

Today, however, I got the news I've been wanting to hear since Monday. My giant cell tumor was BENIGN! I'm so beyond relieved and grateful for all the prayers and thoughts I've received from my friends, family, and fellow bloggers! You all mean the world to me and your overwhelming love and support has helped me more than you know this week.

...and speaking of love and support, my favorite blogger and real life friend, Julie at The Smitten Mintons, sent me the sweetest care package ever. Despite her busy life, she actually took the time to send me all kinds of wonderful goodies, including Wedding Crashers, gorgeous nail polish, my favorite lotion, some delicious candy, and a Dr. Pepper!

It put such a huge smile on my face to know that someone cares that much about me, despite the distance and never having met each other. She has the world's biggest heart and she constantly proves to me that being a true friend has absolutely nothing to do with how often you see each other. I can't thank you enough, Julie! Love you!

So, despite my limping around on crutches and the occasional clutching of the toilet bowl, I can't help thinking about how grateful I am. Grateful for my health, my family and friends, and this blog and the amazing people I've met through it.

I really am the luckiest girl alive.

Heaven on Earth is in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.

Tonight was more than I could have ever imagined. Seriously.

This afternoon, Jenn and I left for Evgeni Malkin's Flight Team Lokomotiv Benefit in Pittsburgh. It was held at a nice restaurant downtown called Bossa Nova. We had absolutely no idea what to expect and, even though it said no autographs and no outside items were permitted, I brought my Crosby jersey...just in case.

When we finally arrived in Pittsburgh, we had an hour to kill. So, I fought the urge to puke, annoyed Jenn, and paced back and forth in a Starbucks for a bit. Finally, it was time.

Bossa Nova was a really, really classy place. Everyone was dressed so nicely (luckily, I actually wore a dress!), but the atmosphere was really laid-back. A DJ was playing popular music, there was a silent auction with tons of Pens items, and a raffle for various prizes. I bought more than a few tickets for the raffle, but didn't end up winning anything.

Our ticket included an open bar and tons of food. They claimed it was "hors d'oeuvres," but it was basically dinner - pizza, quesadillas, potatoes, pasta, etc. So, Jenn and I wandered around the bar for a while, trying our best to be as inconspicuous as possible.

Then, I saw him. Suddenly, in the corner of the bar, acting like he wasn't a god in human clothing, I spotted Geno. I couldn't help it. I actually started crying.

I know I have a problem with my celebrity/athlete worship. I know that my idolatry is in all the wrong places, but I couldn't help it. There he was, acting completely normal and talking to total strangers. Always the voice of reason, Jenn told me to pull it together. I tried my best.

We posted ourselves at the bar, where I ordered a Pepsi and Jenn went to work with the wine. Not even 20 minutes later, while looking around the room, I spotted the man, the myth, the legend - Sidney Crosby. Again, I started crying.

I realized that I would never feel comfortable enough to enjoy myself until I got pictures with my lovers favorite hockey players. So, I worked up the courage and finally approached Sid.

I hate to admit this, but I didn't say anything of substance to him. I simply couldn't. I just asked him for a picture, he obliged, I pet his shoulder like he was an injured puppy (I guess he kind of is), thanked him, and melted into the floor.


Next, Geno - the Russian angel of my dreams. I could try, but I could never accurately explain the level of cuteness achieved by his speaking voice. He really must be a Bond villain (WUYS girls) because he was trying to kill me in his button-up cardigan and vertical stripe pants.


The whole rest of the night was basically a blur. Every single time I turned around, I saw a different Penguin. I thought I was in heaven at Brick Street with the Columbus Blue Jackets? This was an alternate universe with nothing but gorgeous professional athletes, Dr. Pepper showers, and complete bliss.

In total, there were twelve Penguins in attendance: Evgeni Malkin, Sidney Crosby, Jordan Staal, James Neal, Paul Martin, Chris Kunitz, Marc-Andre Fleury, Brooks Orpik, Matt Cooke, Craig Adams, Steve Sullivan, and Richard Park. They posed by a beautiful ice sculpture, so I took a creeper pic. (I don't know where Orpik and Martin were for this)


Later in the night, I happened to see Sidney sign a little kid's jersey. So, after a brief conference with Jenn, I decided to go to the car, get my jersey, sneak it in, and work up the courage to ask him to sign it. The last part, of course, was easier said than done. I just stood there, watching him like a hawk watches its prey...except in this case, the hawk was absolutely terrified.

Out of nowhere, he made a sudden turn toward me and I realized if I didn't do it now, it might not happen. So, I walked right up to him and, instead of being suave, charming, or hilarious, I just stuck my Sharpie in his face and said, "Please?" I define cool.

Being the perfect, kind captain he is, he signed my jersey. Then, in a moment that will somehow both satisfy and haunt my dreams forever, he turned to me like I could continue talking to him. He literally stood there, looking at me and smiling shyly, waiting for me to say something to him other than the "THANKS" I had already whispered. Yet, even with his endearing invitation for conversation and the knowledge that this would NEVER happen again, I just smiled, sighed, and walked away. Idiot. Oh well, at least I have THIS:


The last player that I needed in my mouth a picture with was former Man Meat Monday honoree Jordan Staal. So, like the professional stalkers we are, Jenn and I found him and made our way over. Like Geno's adorable voice, Jordan Staal's body evades accurate description.

Unlike the rest of the players, Jordan seemed to have this insane animal magnetism about him. He was tall, almost awkwardly so, but incredibly confident. He kept taunting me by casually sipping his beer and I can assure you - I have never wanted to be an inanimate object more in my entire life. It literally took everything in me to keep from hurling myself in his general direction.

He started to walk past us, and again, I redefined cool. I tapped him on the shoulder a few times, he looked down at me, and I asked for a picture. He said, "Of course," then wrapped his enormous arm around me. *melt* Right before Jenn took the picture, he started kicking his shoe around frantically. Confused, I looked down and saw what appeared to be a green poker chip. With his arm still around me, he asked, "Is that a lime?" then tried to kick it away. Being 6'4" must throw off your depth perception a bit, because he missed, and kicked my foot instead. I didn't mind. At all.


I also got a picture with Paul Martin and James Neal (who is currently tied for the 2nd most goals in the NHL this season). No big deal.


So, as you can see, the night was a HUGE success. Not only did I avoid the police, sexual harassment charges, and restraining orders, but I got to touch take pictures with my favorite Penguins, got Geno's autograph, completed my Canadian Olympic dream team by getting a signed Crosby jersey (to go alongside my Rick Nash one), and helped support a great cause in the process.

...and it's all because of Jenn, the best friend on planet Earth. Thanks a lot, Jenn. You are responsible for my life peaking at the tender age of 23. It's all downhill from here.

Pre-Op Celebration

On Monday, I'm having knee surgery. The doctors think I have a giant cell tumor on my right knee. Usually, they are benign, but just to be safe, I am having it removed. In full disclosure, I'm a bit afraid. I've never been knocked out before and, although I'm trying not to think about it, I'm nervous about the biopsy results.

However, between now and then, I have a lot of things to help distract me.

Sunday, Jenn and I are driving to Pittsburgh for Evgeni Malkin's benefit for Flight Team Lokomotiv. Did I mention she's the best friend ever? Not only will Geno be there, but some of his teammates are attending to show their support for the victims' families. Our tickets include heavy hors d'oeuvres, cocktails, and a complimentary signed photo of Geno himself.


The whole event sounds unbelievably classy. This, of course, means I shouldn't be attending. It will take every ounce of my will power to not jump on Geno like a trampoline. I haven't even allowed myself to fathom what will happen if Sid is there. Mix in a little Staalsy and I'm getting arrested. No question.

Seriously, what should I do? How do I say something other than, "I want you?" This is a "mix and mingle" event. I can't "mix and mingle" with these guys without the use of saliva. What am I supposed to do?


Either way, I'll probably blog about the glorious experience on Monday, completely sedated by a mixture of heavy-duty pain killers and Geno-induced ecstasy.

Wish me luck on both fronts!

A sexy Glee-cap.

I know that I've let my fellow Gleeks down this season with my lack of Glee-caps, but Tuesday's episode was far too saucy to pass up. I haven't been too impressed with this season as a whole. I blame that partially on the music choices, but even mediocre Glee is better than no Glee at all.

Here are my thoughts on "The First Time" (how fitting since it's my first Glee-cap!):

- Where on earth did the important subplots go? Puck kissed Shelby. Am I the only one who thinks that should have been at least mentioned this week? Quinn is still losing her mind about stealing Beth. Where was that? Brittany and Santana's secret love affair? McKinley High's new Irish student? Mercedes and her brand new glee club, The Troubletones? I guess the world comes to a standstill when sex is involved.

+ Love. Love. Love. I am so proud of Glee for handling the sex issue with some dignity. Although it does seem that every character has now done the deed except Emma (and I think something should be said for choosing to REMAIN a virgin), I'm so glad that the producers treated the topic with respect. They stressed that sex should be shared between two people that LOVE each other and only when the time is right. Finn denied Rachel's advances at first because she let it slip that she wanted to improve her acting skills by experiencing her own "sexual awakening." It sends a good message that that wasn't a good enough reason to lose your virginity. Kurt refused to do anything with Blaine while he was drunk in the back of a car. Although Glee could stress that it's okay not to have sex at all (seriously - why are you a loser if you choose not to have sex?), I appreciate that they handled the subject delicately and stressed that sex can and should be meaningful.

+ I also LOVE that Kurt and Blaine had sex! Leave it to Ryan Murphy to take a gay couple further on network television than any other show! Glee is doing wonders for the gay community, stereotypes, and tolerance in general. It's almost like I don't have to mention it because they don't seem different than any other couple.

+ Kurt and Blaine nuzzled noses. You saw it. I saw it. I died.


- Speaking of Kurt and Blaine, who is this devious new Warbler trying to steal Blaine away? (His name is Sebastian, but I don't want to encourage him by using his name) Get. Out. GET OUT!

+ Bieste has a boyfriend. It's about time. Seriously though, how do I attract an OSU scout?

- The Warblers' rendition of Billy Joel's "Uptown Girl" was probably the worst song I've heard them do. Maybe it was the absence of Blaine's gorgeous voice, but I wasn't too impressed.

+ The return of Karofsky! He has feelings! He talks to Kurt like a civil human being! He still looks good!

- Am I the only one who feels like the Mike Chang vs. parents storyline is oddly forced? It's really sad, but it doesn't fit in very effortlessly. It seemed so out of place this week. I feel like maybe his dad will threaten to waterboard him next.

+ No Schue, Emma, or Sue. I could have used a couple one-liners from Sue, but for the most part, I like it when the show is entirely student-centric.

- It was highly inappropriate for Artie to suggest that Rachel and Blaine have sex. It was also highly inappropriate that he discussed virginity with Coach Bieste. What on earth is going on here? If a high school boy ever approached a female teacher and asked if she'd ever had sex before, there would be serious repercussions.

- I think we all know those fake IDs wouldn't have worked for Kurt and Blaine. Why on EARTH did Kurt say "Aloha" to the bouncer? That's the #1 way to get kicked out.

+ I completely agree with Kurt's bucket list. Have relations on a dewy meadow of lilac with Taylor Lautner, before he gets fat? Sign me up. Blaine and Taylor Lautner? Great taste, Kurt.

- Brittany was apparently raped by a martian at cheerleading camp?! Ummm...was this lost on anyone else? Not funny to me in the slightest. Apparently, rape is okay if it happens to silly Brittany.

+ I like that the "sex scenes" weren't graphic at all. Don't get me wrong. I wouldn't have minded a couple shirtless shots of Finn or Blaine. Still, they got the point across in a classy way.

+/- I cannot decide how I feel about Blaine's outfits. They are ridiculous, but I think I love them. Where do you stand on the issue?

So, fellow gleeks, what did you think of this week's not-so sexy episode? I think it was the best of the season so far.

Travel Disaster.

I know I've blogged before about the amazing 2-week trip I took to Peru with my dad in 2006. I detailed our adventures on the floating island of Uros and the amazing sunset we watched on Lake Titicaca. I neglected, however, to tell you about the absolute disaster I experienced in Cusco a few days earlier.

When we first arrived in Peru, we spent a couple days exploring the capital city of Lima. We strolled through the Plaza de Armas, toured historic churches, ate at wonderful restaurants, and took secretive pictures of skulls in the catacombs.


After our brief stint in Lima, we flew to Cusco, the historic capital of the Inca Empire located not too far from Machu Picchu. While boarding the plane, my dad mentioned in passing that Cusco was 11,200 feet above sea level and that some tourists experience altitude sickness due to the reduced air pressure and lower levels of oxygen. I, being the confident traveler I am, shrugged it off and fell asleep.

When our flight landed in Cusco, I didn't notice any symptoms and assured my dad that I felt completely fine. As we made our way to the tiny baggage claim area, I saw a number of posters on the wall, written in English, that warned of altitude sickness and its effects. I scoffed as we got our bags and hopped in a taxi to our hotel.

However, as my dad checked in at the front desk, I started to feel dizzy and nauseous. I assumed the feeling would pass as I became acclimated, so I agreed to drop our bags off in the room and explore Cusco. This was my first mistake.

Five minutes later, I was lying on the ground in the Plaza Mayor, gasping for breath and losing my vision. Tourists and locals alike stared at me like I was the drunk girl, incapacitated and drooling, in the corner of a college bar. Luckily, we hadn't ventured far from the hotel, so my dad ran back to get help.

So, there I was, practically unconscious, laying by myself on the ground in the middle of Cusco's equivalent to Times Square (which, as you can imagine, is absolutely nothing like Times Square).


After what felt like an eternity had passed, my dad returned with the desk clerk from the hotel. Like a drunk groomsman after a wedding, they helped me stagger back to the lobby and strapped an oxygen mask on my face. I instantly felt better. They also force-fed me a couple cups of scalding hot coca tea, which is said to help alleviate the symptoms of altitude sickness. Coca tea is made from coca leaves, the raw material used in the manufacture of cocaine. It tasted like boiling grass water and I nearly gagged as I choked it down. I also couldn't help but think that this was the closest I had ever come to recreational drug use, aside from definite contact buzz at Dave Matthews Band concerts.

When I felt good enough to stand up, we made our way to the room for a long nap. My dad had scheduled a tour of the city later in the day, so he wanted me to rest and acclimate as much as possible.

When I woke up from my nap, I felt miserable. Totally miserable. However, we only had a limited amount of time in Cusco before leaving for Aguas Calientes. I wanted to see the city and I didn't want to be a burden on my dad. So, despite my better judgment, I decided to go on the tour of the city. This was my second mistake.

My stomach churned as we drove from site to site. On multiple occasions, I refused to leave the bus while the rest of my tour group got out and explored first-hand. Although I was mostly concentrating on keeping the contents of my stomach inside my stomach, I listened to our tour guide share the history of the Incas with us. I also noticed an extremely attractive, Australian guy, traveling by himself in our tour group. At the first possible moment, I did what I do best and completely embarrassed myself by awkwardly bringing up the first Australian thing that came to mind besides kangaroos and the Sydney Opera House: AC/DC. This was my third mistake.


This is my creeper photo of the hot Australian. I know he doesn't look particularly great here. In his defense, he didn't know I was taking it and didn't pose accordingly. You'll have to take my word for it.

At one of the final stops on the tour, we reached Sacsayhuaman (say it fast - you'll laugh), an incredible Inca fortress that served primarily as sacred sacrificial grounds during Inti Raymi, the Festival of the Sun. I was far too intrigued by the idea of the ancient celebration and I decided to venture off the bus and explore with the rest of the group. This was my final mistake.

As we made our way to the grounds, I started to feel more and more nauseous. I felt a tiny sense of relief when our group finally stopped walking for a quick bit of information from the guide. However, as he began to share gruesome details of the llama sacrifices held annually on those very grounds, I knew it was too late. I was crossing the vomit threshold.

Sure enough, in the middle of his enticing story, I hit my dad as a warning, keeled over, and threw up for a solid 30 seconds on sacred Inca sacrificial grounds - in front of my entire tour group and the smokin' hot Australian. Yikes.

As is usually the case, I instantly felt better. Instead of nausea, a feeling of humiliation and fear came over me. Throwing up on sacred ground and the site of an important religious festival has to be bad luck. Right? For the second time that day, everyone stared at me with a mixture of confusion, pity, and amusement. My Australian Prince Charming unzipped his backpack and rushed to my rescue with a roll of toilet paper. My dad laughed hysterically.

Suddenly, a number of old, Peruvian street vendors appeared, seemingly out of thin air. One poured some minty potion from a tiny vial on his thumb and dragged it across my forehead, Rafiki-style. Another put a few coca leaves in my hand and told me to chew them. A third tried to sell me an alpaca rug and some Inca Cola, which oddly enough tastes worse than coca tea. My dad took a picture.


Please notice I'm holding coca leaves. The look on my face screams a combination of, "Is this real life?" and "Dear God, the Australian touched me."

So, there it is. My absolute travel disaster. But hey, if I'm ever selected as a contestant, my puke extravaganza makes for a pretty good Jeopardy story. The trip itself, however, was absolutely amazing and probably the best adventure I've ever been on with my dad. I learned so much on that trip that I will carry with me for the rest of my life. I will always have a bit of Peru with me and, although it was unintentional, I left a bit of myself in Peru, too...

I just hope no one stepped in it.

Feeling Something.

Since college ended, I have generally been unhappy, unmotivated, disillusioned, and cynical. I have felt worthless, alone, misunderstood, plagued with fear, and completely lost. Since my situation could be considerably worse, I felt selfish and pathetic talking about it. So, I didn't. I just lived in it and became used to it, frozen in time and completely numb.

However, the last couple months have been worse. I have felt detached from others and irrationally anxious. I just wrote an incredibly long post on how terrified, stressed, angry, and sad I have been lately. I detailed all of my problems, stresses, fears, concerns, and annoyances. When I finished it, I re-read it in its entirety and I realized something.

It's better to feel something rather than nothing at all.

That is the beauty of being alive and I've forgotten that in recent years. The most perfect, the most unique, and the most amazing thing about being alive is the up and the down. This earth is beautiful because it is imperfect. In the midst of our anguish, we find happiness. It's the beautiful balance of being human and I forgot to embrace it.

Being aware of my feelings isn't annoying or pathetic. It's healthy and it's right. It's beautiful and it's constructive. Embracing myself (with all of my flaws and insecurities), rather than avoiding myself, is the key. The only way to make things right is to realize that they aren't yet. When you let yourself experience negative feelings, you have something to contrast against the positive ones. You can only truly appreciate the up when you've suffered through the down.

This is my down and I'm tired of being numb to it...because feeling something is always worth the pain.