Turkey Trot

Earlier this year, the GOALden girls and I sat down and wrote down some short-term goals we wanted to accomplish. One of mine was to get into an exercise routine. Of course I knew upon writing this goal that it would probably never amount to much. Exercise and I have a spotty relationship. We often go through a honeymoon period about twice a year where we fall deeply in love. Then that love usually wears off and we take a little cooling off period. We see other people. But, we always seem to get back together eventually.

Anyway, being that I knew that I wouldn't follow through on this vague goal, I made a second goal- to run in the Turkey Trot this year. So to torture myself, I decided to run the 3 miles without any sort of pre-training. Instead, I signed up for the event and hoped that my body would just kick into gear. I overestimated my level of fitness... about 2 minutes into the run, I got a side cramp.

Not to worry, I decided to keep going. I decided my body was punishing me for not exercising in advance, and I didn't blame it. So I continued running and even made it all the way to mile 2 before the "I'm going to die. I'm going to die. I'm going to die." mantra entered into my head. At that point there was a water station up ahead, so we slowed to a walk. As we reached the water station, a small boy thrusts a cup of water towards me. Half of it spilled on my long-sleeve t-shirt, but I was already numb enough to ignore this minor detail.

After swigging down the water, my trusty running partner motivated me to actually finish the run... (Actually the only way she got me to run was by pointing out that we were going downhill.)

Anyway, I finished the race, which didn't seem so bad after I crossed the finish line. I'm thinking that a new honeymoon period is upon us... I'll keep you updated on our relationship status.

Brunswick Stew Festival

Who would have thought that there could be so much excitement surrounding stew?

Today I ventured out into downtown Richmond to attend the 9th Annual Brunswick Stew Festival. Partly because I like Brunswick Stew, partly because I felt like it could be a good conversational topic in the near future. You never know when you will be trapped in an awkward conversation, and pulling out the "let me tell you about this stew festival I went to the other weekend" card is sure to save you.

Anyway, I must say that I really didn't prepare well at all for the BS Fest. First of all, eating breakfast put me at a real disadvantage. After my fourth sampling of stew, I was completely full. I felt cheated, seeing as I could not truly judge the best stew seeing as I didn't have the full ability to compare all the teams. Despite the limitations set by my stomach, I did enjoy some tasty stew from the likes of the Red, White and Blue Stew Crew, the Red Oak Stew Crew, the Northerneck Rednecks, and All Stewed Up Catering.

Richmond is really starting to grow on me.

NaNoWriMo

November is the official National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) and I've decided to write a book. The requirements are that you begin writing on Nov. 1 and you pass the finish line of 50,000 words by midnight Nov. 30. Don't worry. I'm not naive enough to think that anything other than a jumble of messed up thoughts and characters will come out of this, but yet I am still excited.

The past few months I have spent all of my time in an environment that requires creativity on a deadline. This has been one of the most challenging aspects of my assignments. Usually I spend half of my time on the "I can't do this" train. After hours of pacing around my room, pulling out my hair, and frantically searching the web for any source of inspiration, I usually hit a breaking point. I sit on my bed and cry. And, somehow, after all evidence of this minor breakdown fades and my face returns back to its normal non-splotchy form- I reach that optimal "I can do this" state. I don't know why I need to go through this cycle, but it has sort of inserted itself as my creative routine. However, I've decided that this creative routine is something that I can combat, like my public speaking anxiety or my fear of driving [no need to get into the details on those, but lets just say they are improving!]

Anyway, my way of combating the gray cloud that follows me around during those creative deadlines is to write a book. Yes, simple, and somewhat disconnected I know, but I have extreme faith that this will help.

First of all, this is creativity that will not be judged. My book represents a space where I can write whatever I want and not fear what other people think. I'm not writing for my professor or my classmates. I'm not writing for my friend, my roommate, or my mom or dad. This month I'm writing for me.

If I want to write a sappy love story, I will. If I want to insert a character that is undeniably similar to myself, I will. If I want to use a excess amount of adjectives to describe an amazingly perfect, phenomenal, extraordinary scene, I will. This book has the potential to be the worst collection of thoughts to ever hit the page- and therein lies the beauty of this undertaking.

I am a super tween.

Disney owns me. Not only did they get me to spend the $9.50 to go see High School Musical 3, but they had me considering going back to see it a second time as I was leaving the theater.

My favorite parts of the movie include:
1. Zac Efron shirtless
2. Zac Efron in his treehouse
3. Mini Zac Effron
4. Zac Efron in a tux
5. Manly Zac Efron in a junkyard
6. Zac Efron in the rain

I think you get the picture.

GOALden Girls.

This weekend I went home. I needed to leave the Brandcenter bubble and take a mental health day. So I did. What a great decision. I came back with a sense of PERSPECTIVE and so RE ENERGIZED that its scary. How did all of this happen? Well, I have great friends, who are just as nerdy as me.

After dinner Saturday night, while most of our peers were probably out at bars, we decided to form the GOALden Girls. Don't worry, I take full responsibility for this horrible pun, but I love it and therefore will continue to use it. Anyway, we sat down at the kitchen table and all wrote out our SMART goals.

What are SMART goals, you ask? They are Specific, Measurable, Attainable, Realistic, and Timely. Basically they are the exact opposite of the life list that I wrote out a few years ago that contains vague goals such as "stop worrying, be social, be optimistic" and of course my favorite, "embrace the frizz." What can I say, I was an amateur goal writer.

So lets take a closer look:

Things not on my list include: saving the world, losing weight, climbing Mt. Everest, transforming into a socialite

Things on my list include: remove "can't" from vocabulary, drink 1 Nalgene a day, get out of bed after 2nd alarm


BABY STEPS. I think I've just discovered life's secret formula: Everything important, you learn as an infant.

Life minus blog.

I want to write something.

Everyday I have this urge within me to sit down at my computer and type every thought running through my head. And usually I do just that. I sit down at my computer and pour my life onto this page. Then, I delete it.

To sum up all the words you will never read:

Everything remains the same.

The Oath of Group[manship].

I, Katie Chapin, hereby declare, on oath, that I absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity to any TV show, social activity, friend, or family member of whom or which are not affiliated with the group work required by the VCU Brandcenter; that I will support and defend my group members and our intellectual property in the line of questioning; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the group; that I will complete all assignments when required by group mandate; and that I take this obligation freely without any mental reservation or complaint; so help me God.

...Ok so I borrowed The Oath of Citizenship and made a few readjustments.

I just felt the need to make a public announcement that I have just signed over my life in its entirety to the VCU Brandcenter. If you want to keep in touch, lets plan a phone date for May 2010.

Niko, Chuck, Dreads, and Me.

Thinking I was doing an easy favor, I offered to be home for the delivery of our new couches this morning. One would think the couch delivery process would be quite straightforward. What I had in mind was something like this:

1. Open door. Greet couch delivery people.
2. Hold open door while couch delivery people carry couches inside.
3. Point to where the couches go.
4. Thank couch delivery people and close door upon their exit.

Unfortunately I wasn't so lucky. Mine went more like this.

1. Open door for Chuck. Just Chuck. Chuck informs me that he only has one couch because the love seat was ripped. Ok Chuck.
2. Chuck surveys the door and says, "Hmm this is gonna be tight." [On the phone he had told my roommate he expected an easy delivery.] No such luck Chuck.
3. Chuck exits. Promising to be back in a few minutes.
4. Chuck and Dreads arrive carrying the couch. Along with Chuck and Dreads is Niko [His name was unbeknownst to me at the time, but upon a later frantic phone call to my roommate describing an extremely fat calico cat, the name was divulged.] Niko plops down in Chuck and Dreads path.
5. Chuck steps on Niko while positioning the couch to go through the door. Niko bolts into our apartment. Thanks Chuck.
6. Chuck and Dreads try to lift the couch into our apartment. Couch doesn't fit. While they continue to puzzle over the seemingly unsolvable mystery of the couch and the door, I exit to look for Niko.
7. Niko is lost in our apartment.
8. After no avail, couch delivery men give up. Later Chuck. I am left looking for Niko and finally discover him tiptoeing out of my roommate room. She is allergic to cats.
9. With 30 pounds of cat in my hands, I call it a day and let Niko, my new fat cat friend out into the hallway.

Our living room is still empty... they are coming back for round 2 on Thursday. They put our couch on a strict diet until then. We may or may not have living room furniture in the near future. Until then, I will just sit on Niko.

Party foolHardy

Last night I was pushed out of the nest. My roommate decided it was time for me to get out of the house and attend a party with my new classmates. Most people don't need prodding to go to a party. I am not most people. The terms of the agreement were as follows: I would go. She would drive and pick me up. I had to stay at least 1 hour.

One hour didn't sound too threatening. But then I arrived. I forgot that when I'm nervous, I tend to talk too much. I thought I'd share what I managed to divulge about myself within the span of a short 60 minutes at a party last night:
1. I am anti-social.
2. I watch Gilmore Girls before I go to bed.
3. I play the biggest brain on Facebook.
4. I like dogs more than children.
5. I'm afraid of decks [with large amounts of people on them] collapsing.
6. I am a nerd who talks about school during parties.
7. I pre-arranged a pick up time of 10:30pm.

I'm sure the list could go on, but you get the gist.

I'm starting to hope that I'm sort of like those movies that are so bad, they're good. Like She's the Man. Maybe I'm so uncool, I'm cool. Is that possible?

Don't answer that.

Never Been Kissed

You remember the Drew Barrymore movie where the reporter goes undercover as a high school student to do research for her story... I've decided this plot line accurately describes my attendance at the Jonas Brothers concert on the eve of August 18th; the only difference being I wasn't undercover [it would be hard for me to pull off the 12 year old girl look] and "research" for my blog doesn't sound quite as professional.

Despite these minor differences, I too went back and experienced a youth quite unlike my own. I entered into the lives of teeny boppers obsessed with Disney pop stars,the Jo Bros and girl diva, Demi Lovato. As we pulled into the parking lot, we were immediately surrounded by gaggles of matching puffy paint t-shirts declaring their love for Nick, Joe, and Kevin. And then there was the screaming. Oh the screaming. It was contagious. One girl would start screaming thinking she had spotted a Jo Bro and then everyone around her was screaming, and before I knew it, I was screaming too. I became one of them. It was kind of fun. Oh I forgot to mention that I went to this concert with my mother. I'm not sure she quite knew what she would be in for, but during the concert she actually thanked me for my "uneventful" teenage years.

I went to this concert knowing exactly 3 Jonas Brothers songs. But thanks to the girl in the"Marry me Frankie!" t-shirt, I left with a whole wealth of Jonas Brothers knowledge. [Frankie is the little brother aka "bonus Jonas," in case you were wondering.] And to continue my education, my cousins just lent me the new JB CD. Oh and in case anyone asks, I purchased Camp Rock as "research" into the minds of pre-adolescent girls. Right.

Into the Woods.

Imagine a fish out of water. Now imagine a girl who has spent the entire summer in the hot concrete jungle of New York City venturing into the frigid wilderness of Nickerson State Park in Cape Cod, Massachusetts. Not too different really.

Finding myself without internet... or an electrical socket for that matter, I made myself write down a few scribbles to chronicle my camping experience. But first, let me set the scene:

Malone Family Camping Trip 2008. 19 people. 2 dogs. 7 tents.

In case you don't have the pleasure of experiencing a family camping trip of your own, here is a little taste of mine:

Day 1:
Parents scoop me up from NYC. While loading stuff, passing car hits our side mirror. Mirror survives. On the road, Mom hands out lunch: homemade turkey sandwiches. After one bite, discover the "fiber" bread... and return sandwich to bag. Arrive at camp site. Tyler and I set up the tent. Dad re-sets up tent. Cell phone blinking low batt. Hamburgers and dogs for dinner.

Night 1:
I awake to Taz (Golden Retriever) sprawled out on my air mattress. Snoring fills the air. No sleep.

Day 2:
17 mile bike ride. Cell phone dead. Caffeine headache. No DDP [Diet Dr. Pepper]. After a swim in the lake, don winter gear [jeans, fleece, scarf, jacket]. Still cold. Learn to play Tri-animos [like dominoes]. Win. Meatballs, cake, and wine for dinner.

Night 2:
Bedtime 8:15 PM. Fall asleep before snorers enter tent. Dog attempts to take mattress. Fight back. Fail.

Day 3:
Wake up to worm on pillow. Caffeine headache. Bike ride to the beach. Wonder how I made it up the hills on bike yesterday. Pain. Two-hour "reading" time, aka nap time. Discover Mike's Pomegranate flavor. Drive with dad for a secret ice cream at Colby's. Go on a tour of Cape Cod... aka use the car cell phone charger. Accumulate 2 bars. Baked potatoes for dinner.

Night 3:
Russian singing cult moves into neighboring camp site. The later the hour, the louder the singing.

Day 4:
Drive 1 hour to P-town with hopes of acquiring caffeine. Arrive at P-town in downpour. Purchase $15 sweatshirt and return home to wet camp. Stop at grocery store. Purchase DDP. Russian singing cult performs encore. Half of our site disappears to go listen and chat with Russian singing cult. Mom makes chili for dinner. Campfire games. Thunder and lightning.

Night 4:
Chili for dinner... take a guess.

Day 5:
Go for a hike around the lake. Taz and Bindi (chihuahua) lead the pack. Test immunity to poison ivy. Go to beach. Discover Boccie skills. Pull Bicep. Spaghetti for dinner. Game of Scat. Lose. Discover the Crantini. Smores.

Night 5:
Fog horn snoring.

Day 6: Dunkin Donuts. Pack the car. Carve out room to sit. 10 hours on the road. A clean shower at home signals the end of camp.

And since my mother announced to the entire family that I would be writing about the trip in my blog [Thanks again Mom], I've decided to include some camp awards for the 19 Malone Camping Trip survivors:

Sir Spamalot Award: Brian
Monster Energy Award: Dane
Big Blue Engineering Award: Donald
Little Big Man Award: Ian
Miss Marsh Mellow Award: Annika
Youngest Homeowner Award: Joe
Polar Bear Award: Hannah
Card Shark Award: Nana
Best Future Russian Cult Member Award: Colin
Dog Whisperer Award: Susan
Lance Armstrong Award: John
Brings Home the Bacon Award: Tim
Miss Crantini Award: Brenda
Rip Van Winkle Award: Debbie
Biggest Geek Award: Tyler
City Slicker Award: Chris
Boccie Babe: Katie
Most Helpful Award: Pablo
Camp Shiner Award: Dan
Big Dawg Award: Taz
Lap Dog Award: Bindi

And Brian, as promised, I included your picture.

You stay classy, New York.

Its finally here, my last night in they city. As strange as this sounds, I think I'm going to miss it. This has definitely been a strange summer, but somehow I feel like I've progressed. I've learned what I'm capable of doing. This feeling in no way makes me think I'll be moving back here anytime soon, but I hope that I can remember this feeling of accomplishment. I did it.

Peanut, Peanut Butter and Crumbs.

Last night I made two very late discoveries in my time here in New York:
1. Peanut Butter Co.- a restaurant that specializes in peanut butter sandwiches (and everything else peanut butter you can imagine: pies, milkshakes, etc.)
2. Crumbs- the mecca of cupcakes.

Half a fluffernutter sandwich, half a PB & Nutella sandwich, and one strawberry cupcake later... I was definitely wearing my I love NY hat.

I wear 2 hats.

One is my tourist hat. With my tourist hat on, I love New York. I love the Broadway shows, the lights, the colorful neighborhoods, the cafes, the bars, the little dogs, the parks. My dad came to visit this weekend and we were ubertourists. In one short weekend we managed to pack in all of the stuff I probably should have been doing all summer. We saw 2 Broadway shows, enjoyed breakfast on the rooftop, took the Staten Island ferry, walked around Ground Zero and Wall St., grabbed 2 for 1 burgers at Epstein Bar, and gave the Wicked Lottery one last shot. We rode the subway, walked around, took taxis. We did New York right.

My other hat is my New York is not for me hat. I try not to wear this hat as often as I do, but I can't help it. Today was one of those days. I'm in a city that doesn't get me. A city that crowds me in and doesn't let me breathe. Doesn't want my contributions. A city that just keeps pushing me away. A city that I'm ready to leave.

I wear 2 hats.

My Meet-Cute

According to wikipedia [my trusted source of all information] a meet-cute is the contrived encounter of two potential romantic partners in unusual or comic circumstances. During a "meet-cute", scriptwriters often create a humorous sense of awkwardness between the two potential partners by depicting among other scenarios, an embarrassing situation.

This evening I had my very first [cheesy, hilarious, straight from a romantic comedy] meet-cute.

Tonight was laundry night. I hate laundry night. In fact, I try and put off laundry night as long as possible. Tonight I had no choice. I finally gave in and made my way to the hot sweaty depths of the laundry mat. Up until I began folding my clothes, it was quite an uneventful evening. And that is where this scene begins.

Enter: Meet-cute cutie, carrying a vintage Nike duffel filled with dirty clothes. As he looks around curiously, apparently unaware of this laundry mat, he decides to dump all of his clothes in one of the big washers. After closing the door of the machine, he looks over at the smaller washers and then at me...

Meet-cute cutie (to me): "Hey do you know how much the big washers cost? I'm trying to figure out if its more bang for my buck."

Me: "No, I've actually never used the big ones."

[Meet-cute cutie makes his was to the front to ask the lady who works there. He comes back my way holding up five fingers.]

Me: "Seriously? Not worth it."

Meet-cute cutie: "I know. I'm just not a bag proponent of separating my colors. I think that is some scam made up by laundry detergent companies" [Meanwhile he is stuffing his clothes into the smaller washers]

Me: "Yes, I thought so too... until one time I died all of my clothes pink."

Meet-cute cutie: "OK, well maybe if you are washing something new." [He closes the doors of his washers, loads in the coins and the detergent. The washers start.]

Meet-cute cutie: "AHHH! My shirt is caught. That's my favorite shirt. What do I do?"

Me: "Can you open the washer?"

Meet-cute cutie: "Um..." [He tried opening the door, but the washer doesn't stop. SOAP IS POURING OUT OF THE MACHINE. (I've only seen this type of thing only happen in the movies.) He urgently runs to the front of the store to flag down the lady, yet again. She comes back, hops on top of the machine to try to shut it off.]

Meet-cute cutie: "I swear it is my favorite shirt."

Me: [Laughing] "Soap is pouring out of your machine."

Meet-cute cutie: [Gazing up at the lady trying to shut off the machine] "Great, I'm ruining my favorite shirt, and I'm probably going to be responsible for breaking the washer."

[Finally the lady shuts off the machine. She signals to Meet-cute cutie to open the door. He tries. The door won't budge. Frustrated, the lady reaches down from where she is standing on top of the machine, and opens the door somewhat effortlessly. Embarrassed, Meet-cute cutie offers her a hand to get down.]

Meet-cute cutie: "Well, that went well."

Me: [Still laughing] "Yes, I'm thinking you should have coughed up the extra dollar for the big machine."

Meet-cute cutie: "So how long do these things take?"

Me: "30 minutes."

Meet-cute cutie: "Wow, I don't have much time left, do I?" [Meanwhile, he receives a phone call. He's talking to someone telling them about how he's gone out every night this week. He proceeds to tell a story. Mid-way through the story the call is lost. ]

Meet-cute cutie: [Turns to me] "Wasn't a good story anyway..."

Me: [Girlish giggling still occurring] "Wow. It is so hot in here."

Meet-cute cutie: "I know. I don't I can stay in here. I know I'm supposed to guard my machine, but I don't care. If they want to take my clothes, they can have them."

Me: "Even your favorite shirt?"

Meet-cute cutie: "That's worth more than the whole lot, but I'll have to take my chances."

[Meet-cute cutie exits the laundry mat. I watch him leave as I finish folding my clothes, his vintage Nike bag still resting on the end of my table.]

End scene.


Most of you probably after reading that whole scenario think you missed the fun,exciting, romantic part... but its hard to describe it. It just had the meet-cute aura of a first encounter. My words don't do it justice. Anyway, that's where the story ends. I will probably never see Meet-cute cutie ever again... but now I can finally say I had a missed connection.

"Smile. Everything will be alright."

A homeless man said this to me as I was walking home from work yesterday. I kept walking, wondering what I must look like to strangers. Apparently I do two emotions well: sad and angry.

Missed Connections

Searching craigslist's Missed Connections section is my new favorite activity. For those of you who haven't yet explored this part of craigslist, you must- it has changed my whole outlook on life.

Missed Connections is where you can post a message for someone who you felt a connection with, but for some reason or another, didn't act on. So now, I like to pass the hours of my day reading these posts, secretly searching for ones that could potentially be me...

Lately I've even been almost on the verge of trying to create a missing connection. I mean a missed connection can occur anywhere: on the street, in the subway, at Starbucks. So as I walk around the city, I find myself smiling and looking at strangers, hoping they'll give me a shout out. I'm pretty sure this is not how it works, but its fun to think about the fact that there are "secret admirers" all around the city. Now, I just have to find mine.

Is that what you're wearing?

Yes, yes it is. In my opinion, if you are going to visit camp, you have to look the part. So while my fellow camp alumni were powdered and pretty in their sundresses, I was aiming for more of a summer grunge look. Decked out in my classy Millboro Spring t-shirt, complete with the jumping deer logo, I hopped on board for our weekend getaway to visit our beloved summer oasis.

When we arrived and were greeted by swarms of sweaty, energetic girls, I think everyone was wishing they had taken my approach. Anyway, I blended right in... so much so that I was tempted to just throw my duffle on a bunk and stay for the remaining week. In fact by the end of the evening, I knew the location of every empty bunk, thanks to the invites to stay from small children clinging to my arm. Trust me, I was tempted.

But here I am, back in the real world, where my short Saturday afternoon at camp almost feels like it was a dream. Is there such a thing as a year round camp counselor? I think that is my calling.

Can you hear me now?

No.

The only thing I can hear right now is the ringing in my right ear. Last night I did something very unlike myself. I went out. Out of my room that is, past the hour of 7pm. Anyway, last night I decided to see how the other half lives, to experience the unscripted drama of the real world, by venturing to a concert [by myself].

Going to a concert by yourself is sort of liberating... not to say that I didn't look like a complete idiot standing there by myself in between acts, but its just empowering knowing that you can up and go to see whatever band you want- without having to conform to someone else's music tastes. You can dance, not dance, drink, not drink, sing, not sing- and be perfectly content because there is no one around to judge you- other than the massive crowd of strangers piled on top of you.

Anyway, I went to the concert because one of the guys in the band [The Alternate Routes] went to my high school. He was a senior when I was a freshman, and I'm not sure if we ever even had a real conversation. I went mainly because I wanted to see what someone else was doing with their life. I guess I wanted to live vicariously, just by watching.

When I showed up, early as is my curse, I turned to come face to face with my high school acquaintance. After a surprised look, he gave me a "Hey" of recognition. So there I was, in some West Village concert venue, talking to a rock star version of a person I once knew, thinking who am I?

HELLO Magic

I came into my office to drop off my stuff this morning and as I was going out the door to go down to the cafeteria and grab some breakfast, I glanced at the office across from mine. Usually I am greeted by a empty chair, or even the woman who works in that office, but not this morning. This morning I am face to face with a monstrously tall guy standing in the doorway, staring straight at me.

Of course it is 9:30, I'm barely awake, no caffeine in my body and there I am having a minor heart attack. After a few seconds I was able to calm the panic rushing through my body.

Upon closer inspection, I recognized the smiling face of my voyeur- Magic Johnson, or rather a cardboard cut out of Magic Johnson.

Good one Magic, you got me.

Angry Face

Yesterday I was at the cash register purchasing my dinner when I noticed that the cashier was looking at me strangely. He had a smirk on his face and I just couldn't figure out what was so amusing. So I just looked at him, waiting for some sort of explanation. Finally he says to me, "You just look kind of angry."

My response, "Sorry, I get that a lot."

I can't tell you how many times I've been told that I look angry/mad/too serious. In fact, at UVA the lunch ladies used to make fun of my serious look by nicknaming me "smilie." I, of course, retaliated by trying to put on my most cheery smile every time I got up to the counter... I don' think they bought it.

I'm not an angry person. I actually consider myself quite nice and friendly... unfortunately my face doesn't match my attitude. I can't help it. I was born with a scrunched up forehead.

And whatever happened to the cold hearted New Yorker stereotype? You'd think I fit right in... apparently not.

The core of mans' spirit comes from new experiences.

In my ever so adventurous state Saturday evening, I stayed in to watch "Into the Wild" in HD.

Side note: HD is my Dad's excuse for staying in because in his opinion, "HD is better than the real thing." I caught him watching a Goo Goo Dolls concert in HD and decided I should probably cut back on my TV time before I fall into the same mindset.

Anyway, Into the Wild was by far the best movie (aside from Camp Rock, don't judge me) that I've seen in a long time. It just makes you think about your life choices and what you are really capable of doing. The movie tells the story of this guy who graduates from college, burns all of his money, and becomes a tramp, or as he refers to himself, a supertramp.

I know that I could never do what he did, but at the same time his bravery and attitude toward life are admirable. It makes you want to go out and try something new... or at least blog about wanting to go out and try something new. Or maybe just watch someone else do something new in HD...

Camp Camp

This book defines my summer existence since age 11.

This book can and should be judged by its cover.

It is a hilarious amalgamation of pictures and stories from campers reliving their camp memories. With each page I read, I feel like I am going behind enemy lines- learning the insider details of camps outside of my own. Yet at the same time, I'm learning that my ability to relate to all of these awkward, yet familiar experiences shows that at the core, every camp is just camp- in all of its glory.

If you are a camp outsider and have always wondered what goes on in what appears to be a summer cult... you should pick this one up.

The Love Bus

This weekend I opted for the ultimate escape route: a 5 hour bus ride taking me from New York to Arlington. It was sort of a spur of the moment decision [about as spontaneous as I get] prompted by news of the arrival of my new car at the Toyota dealer (woo!). After peeking out of my office on Friday afternoon and realizing that practically everyone else had left the building, I decided to make a break for it. I decided to test my agility by speed walking in flip-flops & jeans in the 95 degree weather. Drenched in sweat, I made it back to my apartment in record time- only to dump out my bag and fill it with the bare essentials [toothbrush, half-charged ipod, and a copy of my recent read- Camp Camp: Where Fantasy Island Meets Lord of the Flies].

I finally made it to the bus stop around 3:50pm, leaving just enough time for me to spend $6 on a bottle of Gatorade and Diet Coke... I was so thirsty I almost bought out the whole overpriced cart.

Finally I boarded the bus, and was lucky enough to have my very own seat! I basked in the glory of this feat for a good 5 minutes until I was introduced to my oh so friendly reclining, kissy face, PDA loving neighbors inhabiting the seats directly in front of me.

First of all, I'm not a bus person. I don't do well with the jerking motion, the curves, the smells- it makes me nauseous. But add a gushy love struck couple practically in my lap- and you might as well have put me on a row boat in the middle of a storm with 10 foot waves. Or better yet, throw me overboard.

Then enters the neighbor sitting in the seat behind me. It just so happens he is going on a first date later that night and decides to engage the help of the girls sitting behind him to pick a location. So for about an hour I have to listen to the endless ramblings of "OH you should take her to this place called, You and Me, or maybe its called, Me and You, OH or you could go to this bar on the river, but I forget the name, OH and you two could go for some late night munchies at 5 Guys, OH and one time my cousin's friend told me about this really great place, but I'd have to call her..." My favorite part was the girls parting advice, "You should definitely seal the deal, if you know what I mean."

After 5 hours of the Love Bus, I was slightly regretting my spontaneity... but later on that evening I found myself wondering, did he in fact seal the deal?

I'm an Intern. I do what I want.

OK, so that is not true at all, but I'm learning that you have to be a little creative [go figure] to "do what you want" as an intern. During the first week of my internship I was told by my team that that when in doubt- do, and if necessary- beg forgiveness later. So lately I've decided to adopt this philosophy. Here are some of the things I've figured out:

1. Casual dress is open to interpretation.
At UVA business casual was defined as nice, but not a suit- think khakis and a nice blouse. So on the first day of my internship that is exactly what I wore. After noting that some of the guys come to work in jeans, a t-shirt and Nikes, I decided to adjust accordingly. Lately I've even dared to slip some bermuda shorts into the mix. I mean come on, I'm an intern- I wear what I want.

2. Carry a Blackberry on vibrate at all times.
Thank goodness I had a Blackberry before starting this internship. A Blackberry in corporate America is the key to graduating from the kids table. Everyone in my office has their phones on them at all times and are constantly emailing back and forth [during meetings, lunch, conversations in the hall, in elevators]. So to blend in, I carry mine too. Of course there is the fact that my work email isn't even forwarded to my phone, but I've decided that my gmail and text messages are probably just as, if not more, important and deserve immediate attention.

3. Whenever possible, "Do lunch."
I just love being able to say, "Lets do lunch." While it is probably more beneficial to go to lunch with the people you work with, I find that it helps your status to show you have friends and a life outside the company. So whenever possible [aka I've done this twice], make it known that you have a lunch date at 12:30.

4. Schedule your own meetings.
Meetings with other interns can sound official if you forget to leave off the "intern" part. This also gives you some feeling of control over your day. As an intern you are pretty much required to stop what you are doing at the drop of a hat to carry out whatever task that has been thought up in the moment. If you enjoying having a clear idea of what lies ahead, "intern" is not the title you want. So to rebel against the system, take the steering wheel [the kind that come in Drivers Ed cars with the extra break pedals on the passenger side, of course], and tell them about your important meeting on the 3rd floor at 2:30.

5. Befriend the "little people."
Most go getters want to go straight to the top and become buddy buddy with the big wigs. I personally enjoying mingling with the behind the scenes people- the ones who secretly keep the company running on a day to day basis. I've found that these are the people who can make the not so glamourous intern duties, less painful. Knowing the secretaries saves you the trouble of wandering aimlessly squinting at name plates. Knowing the catering guys gets you the "give this girl a double" comment at the office happy hour. These may not be the people who will get me a job, but they are the people that help me survive the one I'm in.

6. Make your own hours.
I don't have a 9-5 job. In fact I don't technically have "hours" that I keep. I try to roll into work in the middle of the pack anywhere between 9:30-9:45, not the the first, but not the last. The problem is by the time 5pm rolls around, my brain has checked out, mostly due to inactivity. The first week I felt obligated to stay until 6ish along with the rest of my team, but lately I've been testing the waters and packing up around 5pm. I'm an intern, who needs more copies past 5pm?

7. Make "long-term" projects long-term.
Interns have brains the size of peas, at least that is the common conception. Most of the projects I've been assigned involve filing, copying, delivering, or organizing. Each of these projects has been labeled "long-term" by my employers. Being the overachiever that I am, I ignored this label. I finished each project with speed and accuracy, mainly because I figured the faster I finished them, the less time I would have to spend organizing and filing. It wasn't until recently that I caught on to the error of my ways. In any office, I'm sure there is an endless amount of mindless work just waiting to be tackled. No intern can finish that in a week... so heed my advice, when it comes to this sort of long-term project, take your time, because there is always more where that came from.

All of these lessons probably make me sound like a slacker, but I'm calling them what they are- survival tactics. As an intern, you are at the bottom of the totem pole, and you have to channel all of your inner strength, humor, and wit to climb your way up. But at the end of the day, you just have to realize- despite your intern status- sometimes you just got to do what you want.

View From The Top.

I had to take a picture of this because I couldn't quite figure out what it said... Apparently they ran out of billboard space in New York, so Heineken took to the skies.

I wonder what the media spend on this kind of air time is?

Almo'oonds.

I'll admit, I'm definitely not the most thrilling person you'll ever meet... especially when it comes to what I eat for lunch. For a large portion of my life, I brown bagged it. My lunches were predictable and I loved them.

Some things never change. Since starting work in the city, I've been frequenting the same lunch venue (occasionally even on Saturdays...) They have what I like to call this "Subway" for salads concept going on where you can choose all of the mix-in options and they make it in front of you. So everyday I go and I order the same salad. But recently I've sort of become addicted to this place because I am fascinated with the man behind the salad counter.

Since I don't know his name, I will refer to him as Mr. Almo'oond because whenever I ask for almonds in my salad he always repeats the word back to me as if asking me a question, almo'oonds? [this spelling is my attempt at his accent]. So every day I order almonds, almost as an experiment at this point, to see if he'll repeat it back to me. I'm starting to question whether it is him or myself who pronounces the word incorrectly.

However, lately my experiment has been taken to a new level. Mr. Almo'oond, has started to chat with me as I'm order, which means he definitely remembers me. We've discussed a number of subjects [my excitement to leave New York, being from Virginia, Bon Jovi, the public waterfalls- you name it, we've discussed it] but for some reason I'm still getting the almo'oonds question. It's like he can retain all this other information about me, but still feels the need to question my choice of nut in my salad. I don't know what this all means, but I'm starting to think I might have to eat a whole lot of almonds to find out.

Too much green?

Never.

As I was waiting to cross the street today, I found myself standing about a foot away from this guy who was blatantly staring at me. The fact that we were so close made it hard to ignore. I turned towards him to give him that "I know that you're staring at me, could you please stop it" look, and surprisingly that prompted this conversation.

Guy: You're wearing a lot of green.
Me: Why yes, I guess I am. [I was wearing a green t-shirt along with my green messenger bag- I think he felt overwhelmed.]
Guy: Are you Irish? [We are crossing the street at this point]
Me: I have a little Irish in me, but no I'm not full blown Irish.
Guy: You look Irish. [I couldn't tell if this was good or bad.]
Me: Well, thanks. [I decided to take it as a complement as I not so subtly turned down the opposite street...]

We're Not In Kansas Anymore, Toto.

Here's a glimpse of my neighborhood and a view from the roof... Why was I on the roof you ask? It is the only place in my building I can get cell phone service. I am now starting to understand what it might feel like to reside with my grandmother who lacks a computer... and internet connection. But yes, welcome to the East Village.

Escape Routes 101

Lately I've had this feeling inside that I just need to get out of the city. I have these waves that just hit me. So my newest hobby has been to discover what I like to call my "escape routes." It has definitely been a trial and error game. It is quite challenging to trick yourself into thinking you aren't where you are [most of you probably don't have to worry about this as you are quite content with your surroundings]. But for those of you interested in living vicariously through my insane attempts to survive this place, here's a little taste of my worst case scenario survival techniques:

Escape Route #1: Sleep [low success rate]
Last night I put this one to the test. I thought that possibly I could muster some sort of hibernation technique where I slept off the remaining 4 weeks of my summer. Unfortunately my body doesn't agree with the 8pm bedtime that I attempted to enforce. Thus, this technique pretty much backfired. Instead of sleeping away my time, I ended up starting at a ceiling that made hours feel like years. I don't recommend using this escape route unless you are desperate.

Escape Route #2: Central Park [guaranteed success rate]
This is the one place that truly takes you out of the city without actually taking you out of the city. When you are surrounded by green grass, tall trees, bikers, kids, and picnics, its easy to lose yourself. I found that lying down on a blanket, staring up into the blue skies- I could almost lose the scent of the urine smelling streets. The only thing that can pull me away from the park is the lack of public restrooms... and squirrels.

Escape Route #3: Friends who live on the Upper East Side [high to moderate success rate]
Today I went to visit a friend's apartment on the Upper East Side, and I finally got to see how the other half lives. It was like stepping into a piece of heaven. I walked into the building, complete with doorman and elevator, and I didn't even know what to do with myself. I had to check in- can you believe it. I relished in the moment, chatting with the doorman, soaking up every minute of my time in my first viewing of a livable apartment. My friend's room was spacious, bright, cheery- everything I thought New York was devoid of... The only downside of this experience- having to return home to my own "unique" living situation.

Escape Route #4: The Gym [high success rate]
I figure in NY, my body needs as many endorphins as it can possibly produce. So my solution is to go to the gym and run until I'm on the verge of collapse. That way my body becomes too exhausted to worry about my surroundings.

So there you have it. However, in the event that none of these work, the real escape route is fail-safe: the 4 hr bus to D.C. An ideal escape, but getting on the return bus is like leaving behind a cute puppy at the pet store. You can love it and play with it for awhile, but you can't take it back with you.

Do You Have A Minute?

The answer to this question should always be no. No, I don't have a minute.

Today I was side swiped while standing idly in the doorway of our conference room. I was just innocently glancing at an episode of Bravo's Sheer Genius, and BAM! Out of nowhere comes the "Katie, Do you have a minute?" from a nearby office. Without having a previous excuse prepared, the word "sure" floated hesitantly from my lips.

Before I knew it, the door was being closed behind me, and there I was- trapped. Apparently today was the day of my intern mid-way evaluation. I get a mid-way evaluation? They really should tell the interns these things. I need like a week's preparation for these sort of one-on-one gatherings. Whenever placed in this sort of setting my first reaction is always to cry. I don't know why, but whenever I'm sitting across from anyone of a higher position than myself, tears seem to want to jump from my eyes.

So there I was, sitting in a closed office, fighting back tears- keep in mind nothing has even been said at this point other than the infamous words, "Do you have a minute?" Needless to say, I survived, and somehow managed to run out of the office before my tear ducts had a chance to let loose. Lets just say face-to-face evaluations aren't my favorite activity... in fact I'd prefer they just sent me an email, but in a way I guess it is good to hear what I can improve on.

I will say, initially, upon leaving the office I felt like I had been identified as a spineless jellyfish. But after about half a bag of SPK, I realized I would just have to make a goal this summer: grow a spine. And thus, I survived another day in the city.

Never Say Never

So while I was home, a conversation came up that involved the question, "Would you ever use an online dating service?" Immediately my friend answered, "NO way." And while this was the immediate response in my brain as well, for some reason the words that came out of my mouth were, "Never say never." This was obviously some sort of premonition.

Yesterday I got an email from my mom in which she wrote, "Dad discovered someone used our credit card for a dating service and a couple other charges." It just so happens that I lost that very same credit card earlier this year. So potentially there is a Katherine Chapin on Match.com, doing just what I technically would never do myself. I wonder if she got a date?

Never say never.

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

I never thought I'd say it, but I love Northern Virginia. I love my friends that have seen me through the awkward years. I love suburbia. I love taking my dog for walks, driving everywhere [aka being driven everywhere], sleeping in my own room, drinking hot tea in an air conditioned house, napping, venturing "out" even when we all would rather be red boxing it.

I spent the past five days at home and now I'm experiencing extreme withdrawal. Isn't it funny how you never know how much you love something until you're without it. I learned that I loved UVA by traveling to England. I learned that I loved Virginia by traveling to New York. For some reason whatever I have never seems like its enough when I have it, but when I'm without it, its all I want.

The Shake Shack is little old place...

Today I was introduced to the Shake Shack. I was sold on the place before we even got there. Places that serve a truly tasty milkshake are far and few between. Standing in line outside to order a burger, fries, and a shake just made me feel like it was summer. Eating outside on a beautiful day will give you that feeling- Eating outside and having a bird land on your table and not fly away will take away that feeling.

In the middle of our dinner a small bird, the size of a fist, came and landed on the table. I was in shock. The bird just sat there looking at me. I couldn't move. I couldn't even guard my food because I suddenly realized that I think I may fear birds almost as much as I fear squirrels. Needless to say my friend wasn't frozen in fear and managed to get the bird to fly away. After coming out of my mini coma like state, I realized everyone was staring at us. I think I might have been making noises. Good thing about NYC is that even after embarrassing stunts, you blend right back into the crowd.

Facebook Warned Me?

Today I received a rather surprising message from Facebook, considering our surprisingly good relationship lately. The email read as follows:

You made one or more wall posts that violated our Terms of Use. Among other things, posts that are hateful, threatening, or obscene are not allowed. We also take down posts that attack an individual or group, or advertise a product or service. Continued misuse of Facebook's features could result in your account being disabled.If you have any questions or concerns, you can visit our FAQ page at http://www.facebook.com/help.php?topic=wposts

Well Facebook, I have some concerns. First, I have traced and retraced my activity over the past few days and can't seem to find what you consider to be "hateful, threatening, or obscene." My last wall post was "Happy Birthday"... Where did we go wrong Facebook? I'm starting to think you don't like me, but I don't know why. I always play by your rules. I do my best to attend the events you recommend. I try to send warm wishes to every birthday boy and girl you tell me about. I even go so far as to keep you updated on my latest likes and dislikes, activities, work, and music tastes. I know you may not like the fact that I don't use your chat feature, but that is no reason to send me emails threatening to disable my account.

Whatever your reasons Facebook, I hope we can reconcile. I'd be lost without you.

War and Peace

In need of a book and somewhat of a time filler, I found myself strolling through the aisles of a small book store in Grand Central on my way home. After looking at all the titles, I kept returning to Tolstoy. I've always wanted to read War and Peace, maybe just for the challenge, I'm not sure. For some reason some of my favorite books turn out to be the ones that are really long and are filled cover to cover with the small details of everyday living. So anyway, as I lugged my small dictionary sized book to the counter the cashier gave me a look and sent me on my way with an apologetic "good luck" that made me second guess my choice. However, I'm 50 pages in and I'm already finding amusement in the last names of the characters. Sergyevitch, Mihalovna, and here's my favorite Vladimirovitch. Thats correct, 14 letters, I counted. The first thought that popped into my mind after this discovery was thinking how stressed out I would be if I had to bubble the name Vladimirovitch in on a standardized test. Probably not the type of thoughts Tolstoy hoped to provoke when he wrote this novel...

A Scroll Through Memory Lane

I the midst of a New York thunderstorm I found myself taking shelter inside my room and somehow I managed to stumble upon my old Xanga. Yes, I had a Xanga- and for those of you who missed the Xanga craze... I'm sorry, it was wonderful. Reading through all my old entries, it was just weird to discover that despite all the little details you forget about your life, a quick read and you remember everything you were feeling at those exact moments.

In case any of you find yourself trapped indoors and are in need of some nostalgia, here is the life of Katie Chapin circa 2004.

http://www.xanga.com/HangLoosKC

We know there's Love In This Club... but what's outside?

I love Usher, and probably listen to Love In This Club more than is socially acceptable to admit, but seriously- when you reach your twenties is that all that's left? Does everyone find love intoxicated? Am I too naive in wanting to believe that old fashioned romance still exists? I'm going to answer my own question and say probably. I mean did it ever really exist... or was that something created by novels and TV dramas?

In a scripted drama, even the girl with her head buried in a book always finds some way to get the boy. In the real life she has to put the book back on the shelf and exchange her cup of tea for a can of beer.

Miss, you have some beautiful eyes.

Is it sad that this comment stopped me on the street? Am I so desperate for attention from anyone in NY that I will turn to strangers on the street for my validation?

The answer to both of these questions is most likely yes. As I was walking towards the French restaurant right next to my building a doo rag clad, straight baseball cap wearing, guy was watching me approach. When I came close to him, he said, "Miss, you have some beautiful eyes." By the time he finished his sentence, I was already a few feet past him, but I was so shocked by his statement that I literally stopped, turned, and tried to say "Thank you." I'm not even sure if the words came out of my mouth or not, but he answered, "You are most definitely welcome."

I'm not really sure what significance this encounter plays in the larger scheme of things, but it's always nice to receive a compliment.

There's Something In the Water

FRUIT. I love my gym. Most girls go to the gym to work off drinks from the night before, check out guys, read the latest Cosmo... I go to the gym for the fruit water (OK... and for a few of the aforementioned items). Every morning my gym puts out a clear cooler of water topped off with different type of fruit.

And while this probably doesn't sound thrilling to anyone else... I find it quite amusing. I've been going there for 2 weeks now and there haven't been any fruit repeats! I can't explain the excitement that builds each morning on the subway as I try to anticipate the fruit of the day. I've experienced water with the essence of kiwi, strawberry, orange, lemon, honeydew melon, grapefruit, pineapple...the list goes on!

It's official. I'm a water [accessorized with fruit] addict.

The Wall

Getting a good seat at a musical is pure luck. You can't buy the best seats in the house. The reality is, the quality of your seat is determined by the person who sits in front of you. Today, I was not in the lucky crowd. Today I was seated behind a wall of hair. Now I'm a large, frizzy haired girl myself, so I don't often have anything to say about anyone else's hair, but for this I'll make an exception. I was out frizzed, out sized, and out walled by a mere teenage girl. She was the skinniest, boniest thing I've ever seen WITH THAT MUCH HAIR. However, to add to the problem, the girl decided that she wasn't too old for a booster seat. So here I am, seated behind a TALL wall of hair.

Needless to say I didn't get to see much of Mary, but the singing was wonderful.

Today I Fell in Love...

with the New York Public Library. Really, it was love at first sight. I walked into its entry way in all of its glorious splendor and I knew that THIS was the mecca of all library lovers. I've never set foot in such an awe inspiring library (and I've been to my fair share). So I'd have to say my first date with the Humanities and Social Sciences Library was absolutely perfect. And I can't wait for my second date- the 1 hour tour.

HELLO Ladies

In order to keep myself busy and make the most of my time here in the city, I've been waking up earlier than necessary to head to the gym before work. However, I have to admit, my main motivation in going to the gym every morning is their showers. I will not go into detail of the bathroom in my apartment, but it has been an excellent source of motivation to get me out of bed and out on the streets in the morning dressed in athletic gear. Anyway, this is my first real experience with the ways of the ladies locker room. I think the last time that I really had to deal with a locker room was high school gym, but that did not prepare me for what I've been dealing with here.

I really need to find someone who can give me a firm stance on appropriate locker room behavior. Because frankly, I'm shocked. Women somehow seem to lose all sense of modesty when they enter those doors. I won't say that the gym doesn't encourage it, with those itsy bitsy teeny weeny white towels they provide, but lets just say that some of these ladies forgo the towel all together. Now traipsing around naked is one thing, drying your hair naked is one thing, BUT having a conversation while in the nude, WHAT IS THAT?

This morning, as I was getting dressed (carefully maneuvering with that teeny tiny towel) I somehow opened myself up to conversation when the lady next to me commented on the fact that Rihanna was giving a concert for The Today Show. She was standing behind me and said, "I love Rihanna." Intrigued (by my amazing taste in music) I replied (my back to her), "Me too." As she started to say something else, I turned to look at her and yes she was greeting me with nothing. To be honest, I was thrown, mainly because I wasn't sure where to look (up, down, away?). And the worst part was that she was completely comfortable talking to me that way. And now, after all of this, the only thing I can take away from this whole experience is that I no longer "love" or even like Rihanna. I blame her for this whole incident and I regret buying Take a Bow on itunes last week. There I said it.

Humdinger

Today was laundry day. For any of you who are graced with the pleasure of having to make that weekly trip to the laundry mat, you understand the true torture of this event. However, despite my inner dread that rises every time I realize I've run out of clothes, I'm starting to look for the entertainment in my experiences.

Today there was plenty.

Now this is only the second time I've actually been to this laundry mat, and but it is usually filled with an eclectic mix of people. And today was no exception. But before I introduce you to Mr. Humdinger, you have to understand that the laundry mat is set on a radio station known for playing today's latest pop. So as I'm sitting, reading my book, waiting for the washer to finish- enters Mr. Humdinger. He looks normal enough. He looked normal, but he didn't sound normal.

After a few minutes he started doing this half-hum half-sing sort of sound. Have you ever heard a half-hum-sing? If not, hope that you never do. So it is just me and Mr. Humdinger in the laundry mat, and he is hum singing as loud as he can- no shame whatsoever. I figured he would grow bored of his hum singing, but he did not. So when I finally came to terms with the fact that it would not stop, I started to listen closer. For awhile I thought he was humming along to the music. But as Rihanna's Take a Bow came blasting out of the stereo, Mr. Humdinger might as well have been humming to Cat Steven's Peace Train.

After this discovery I started to feel bad for Mr. Humdinger, mainly because I realized that he would never be able to play Cranium. What a shame.

Chivalry Translates Across Cultures

Many people believer that New Yorkers are hardened by the city. They walk fast. They are forward. They don't waste time with pleasantries. But don't let these things fool you, today I decided that they are really softies on the inside. My evidence came in the form of an elevator ride.

As I was waiting for the elevator to arrive this morning and take me back down to the ground level, I was accompanied by a gentleman standing to my right. As he was positioned closer to the elevator than I, I figured he would get on first. But to my surprise when the elevator stopped, he held out his hand to hold the door and let me in first. Then when the elevator reached the ground floor, he repeated the gesture. Figuring it was a fluke, I walked to work and was baffled by a similar scenario. To think, I've been here for a few weeks now and I'm just now realizing that chivalry exists in Manhattan...despite the revolving doors.

I'll keep you posted on any further discoveries on my mission to find southern hospitality in the city.

What do you think?

There is something about these 4 words that make my brain go to mush. Every day so far I've been asked my opinion, and every day so far I've babbled out some 'I don't know' answer. I had this epiphany last night and decided that today I was going to give an incredibly intelligent response to boost my image. No such luck. The worst part is that in my head all I can think while I'm talking is, SAY SOMETHING, SAY SOMETHING SAY SOMETHING, and the only thing that comes out is... "ummm, I'm not sure."

File This Away...

Today I was given the simple task of moving all the contents of the file cabinet in my office to another file cabinet down the hall. Today I failed the simple task of moving all of the contents of the file cabinet in my office to another file cabinet down the hall. In the process, I managed to break the file cabinet and my self-confidence.

Day 2.

Office Space

What is the best thing that could be bestowed on an intern on their first day? Their very own office, you say? To put things in perspective, I'm working in an office that is bigger than my bedroom. Thats New York for you.

I Made Friends...

They are named Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, and Miranda. To fill the void in my own life, I decided to live vicariously, as I often do, through the scripted drama of Sex and the City. For some reason the glamour and excitement that fills their lives is just intoxicating. However, I just can't imagine living that way. It's strange to think about- can we ever really change our innate tendencies? Could any one of us actually become a Sex and the City glamour girl, or are we all on some pre-destined path?

I'm starting to believe the latter.

Yet there are those people who have life-changing experiences. Experiences that seem to shift everything into place- and I guess I'm searching for one. But I'm starting to realize you can't create or predict a life-changing experience. Because despite my attempts to thrust myself into those pivotal turning points in life, from what I can gather, everything feels exactly the same.