I've walked a thousand miles to slip into this skin...

I got back from Pennsylvania a little less than a week ago and I've been in two minds whether to blog my experiences or not. On one hand, I blog everything, so it only made sense, but on the other? I wanted to have something that was mine (ours, really). Something that no-one else was privy to.

In the end, my desire for self-publication overwhelmed all. It's the journalist in me. I dig free food and publication. So here's an abridged version of my trip to Pennsylvania. Enjoy!

My flight to Philadelphia was delayed by about two hours and while waiting at the airport, I met quite possibly the world's nicest people. A family from Bryn Mawr, PA and a very sweet lady who used to work for Disney. We started talking and of course, I told them the story of how Dan and I met. I told them about how I had pterodactyls swooping in my stomach at the thought of meeting Dan's mom and sister. I talked about how more than anything, I was just looking forward to linking his fingers in mine and knowing he was that close to me. I talked about how he can make me laugh harder with one raised eyebrow than most people can with a half-hour comedy special.

By the time we landed at Philadelphia International Airport, I was accompanied to the baggage claim by five people very anxious to meet Dan. I guess I talked him up pretty good.

People never cease to amaze me. I had known these people for less than six hours and yet, they were rooting for me to see Dan again and genuinely interested in seeing us reunite. Making connections like that is rare, but it shouldn't be. I'm sure, at point in their lives, they were all as excited as I was about seeing someone they loved. The details might be different, but the emotional experience is essentially the same. It's nice to make that connection with someone. It helps reiterate that at the end of the day, regardless of skin color or sexual orientation or age -- we're all the same.

Having had a couple of airport reunions under my belt, one would assume that I'm a pro. Not the case at all. I saw Dan, I think I gasped and I flung myself into his arms.

We hugged, we kissed, I breathed him in and then, we realized that a gaggle of people were staring at us and smiling. I didn't care, though. I was just thrilled to be talking to Dan without holding a phone up to my ear.

In the car on the way home, I kept glancing to the left, staring at my ridiculously cute boyfriend and repeating, "I'm here. I'm really here." It didn't seem real at all.

Before we got home, though -- we had to make a stop at the infamous Wawa. Now, for those of you who don't reside in the mid-Atlantic states, you probably have no idea what the hell a Wawa is. I certainly didn't and I had been hearing about their glory since I was sixteen. A Wawa is the world's greatest convenience store. They have made-to-order sandwiches, great coffee, amazing iced tea and something called a Sizzli which I think is a breakfast sandwich...but I could be mistaken. In fact, it was at the Wawa that I encountered West Chester's most infamous resident -- Bam Margera. No, I didn't talk to him. No, I didn't take a picture. No, I didn't kick him in the balls. I just looked up, saw he was there and continued paying for my iced tea.

We got home and I met Dan's mom for the first time. Within five minutes of being in her company, all those Mothra-sized butterflies in stomach disappeared. His family is incredible and I am so lucky to have met them.
In addition to being the first time I was seeing Dan in six months, it was also the first time I was seeing snow in 22 years.




















Living in Florida, you get used to three types of meteorological conditions -- hot, not so hot and plywood (as in, hit the Depot and stock up on it because y'all about to get peckerslapped by a hurricane). Snow is a big deal and I was obviously excited by its presence.




















It wasn't snowing on my first full day there, so I improvised and made it snow.



























In addition to snowball fights, snow angels and sledding, the biggest benefit of snow is looking like one of the ice climbers. Seriously. Looking like a video game character is never a bad thing.



























As well as playing in the snow at Oakbourne Manor, we also hit up Baldwin's Book Barn - a five-story barn built into a bookstore.




















































I've got a thing for bookstores and can spend hours poring over texts and tomes. Living in Orlando, you don't really get to see many bookstores that don't have a Starbucks built into them, so this was a pretty cool experience.




















We also hit up the DK Diner -- allegedly a West Chester institution. I loved it -- the service was great, the people were friendly and best of all, the food was delicious.




















I love diner food. Eggs, hash browns, cherry pie, coffee, short stacks of pancakes covered in syrup? Love 'em all...but then again, I'm the girl who would eat a couch if they deep-fried it. Seriously -- I'm a fat girl in a little girl's body just screaming to escape. Look at the mess on my plate. I actually ate that and if I wasn't completely stuffed, I would have gone back for seconds.



























Reason #16549846531316354 I love Dan: He shares his food. Actually he shares everything and since I follow the 'Sharing is Caring' mentality to a severe degree -- this makes me blissfully happy.



























When we weren't eating, we actually did stuff. We drove into Philly one afternoon and checked out Temple University (where my ridiculously cute boyfriend happens to be an esteemed alumnus) and a classic rock art show. Being us, we picked the coldest/stormiest day of my trip to drive into Philly. See how red my nose is? Luckily, we found a killer parking spot right outside of Temple Towers and didn't have to trek too far to see the school.




















While at Temple, we grabbed a slice of Fame's Pizza. See, Dan has this theory that pizza and bagels and stuff suck in Los Angeles because the water's no good. Now, I don't know how much credence this theory holds, but I do know pizza and Fame's was pretty effing delicious....and now, I'm jonesing for pizza. Great.



























After touring Temple, we headed to the classic rock art show put on by 102.9 WMGK. We saw some pretty cool stuff including artwork by Ronnie Wood of the The Rolling Stones and Tico Torres of Bon Jovi, signed photographs, handwritten lyric sheets and best of all -- a gorgeous picture of Stevie Ray Vaughan and First Wife. Beautiful. I loved it.





















The weather was starting to turn ugly, so we decided to head back home. Normally, this would be a 40 minute drive. Instead, it turned into a 2 1/2 hour expedition in which we did not exceed a speed of 30 mph on I-95. Plus side to that? I got to snap this picture of Lincoln Financial Field -- home of the Philadelphia Eagles. I like the Eagles for two reasons:

A) Donovan McNabb. He's a good guy.
B) They hate the Cowboys with an unparalleled passion and take a real pleasure in pummeling them every season. I've got nothing but respect for that.





















When we got back home, Dan had to deal with the highly unpleasant task of shoveling the driveway. The poor guy was chilled to the bone when he got back in, but silver lining? I got a great picture out of it for my photography class. Yes, my boyfriend resembled Frostillicus, but I got a gold star from my professor. You can't tell me that's not a worthy sacrifice.





















As well as spending quality time in Philadelphia, we also decided to take a road trip to the wilds of New Jersey to visit Dan's college roomie, Adam and his girlfriend, Kristen. We stocked up on roadtrip essentials...even though it's only a 2 1/2 hour drive. For a successful roadtrip, one must procure some sort of snacky food (Tasty Kakes are delicious and beat the everloving crap out of Lil' Debby any day), cold beverages, directions and a fully loaded iPod filled with all sorts of eclectic music -- Marvin Gaye, Aerosmith, The Faces, Madonna and so much more.





















Dan's a great guy to road trip with. Not only because he shares his Swedish Fish and Tasty Kakes, but also because he indulges my spectacularly crap taste in music. Not many men would put up with their girlfriend belting out off-key versions of old-school Mariah Carey at ear-splitting volumes. In addition to this, he serenades me. I'm not talking about wobbly renditions of pablum like I Swear. I'm talking an anthemic, fist-pumping, passionate version of Motown Philly by Boyz II Men. Never has a song with a lyric about cheese steak sounded so good.





















Ah, New Jersey. Despite what I've heard, I didn't smell anything funny and no-one called me a 'douchebag' on arrival. I think this place gets an unfairly bad rap. Besides, how can a place that gave birth to both Frank Sinatra and Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle possibly be bad?





















While in Jersey, we hit up Jay and Silent Bob's Secret Stash. All they need is a couple of couches, a few flat-screen TVs, some XBoxes and pizza and this place would be a 14-year-old's wet dream....and by 14-year-old, I mean me. Dear God, I am such a nerd. In addition to seeing a replica of the Bluntmobile, we also saw Banky's famous sketch of Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the male-affectionate, easy to get along with, non-political agenda lesbian and the man-hating, angry as fuck, agenda of rage, bitter dyke. We stood in front of it for about ten seconds before reciting the line, "Because the other three are figments of your fucking imagination!" at the same exact time. Yeah -- Dan and I are definitely made for each other.





















My boyfriend looks kinda like Brodie Bruce. So much so that he dressed up as him for Halloween one year. I'm not going to post those pictures, but here's a shot of Brodie at the Secret Stash.





















Since it was St. Patrick's Day, we decided to hit up an Irish pub for dinner and then we realized something -- it was St.Patrick's Day and it would probably be easier to get Paris Hilton to stop flashing her chocha than it would be to get a table at any Irish pub. So instead, we settled on a classic -- Applebee's. Burgers and beer -- what's not to love? Thanks again to Adam and Kristen for the hospitality. I had a great time hanging out with you guys and hope I get to see you again soon!





















All in all -- it was a great trip and one filled with firsts. First time traveling on a plane by myself, first time meeting my boyfriend's parents, first time spending a birthday with Dan (best. birthday. ever.) and first time visiting three states in a thirteen day period (Pennsylvania, Delaware and New Jersey). It was perfect and I can't wait until we see each other again (38 days!).

Sonic Love Byte: Shine by Dolly Parton

There are certain things you wouldn't normally put together but when you do -- they end up complimenting each other perfectly.

Hash browns, scrambled eggs, ketchup and maple syrup, for example. Sounds disgusting, right? It looks even worse. But, next time you wake up hungover with that sloshy feeling in your stomach, head to your local Denny's and chow down on this culinary delight. If your stomach doesn't explode with a fury not seen since Pompeii -- it'll be the best meal of your life.

Music is like that too. You take two completely unrelated forms and you fuse them together and end up with something greater than the sum of its parts.

Never in my life would I ever have thought I'd hear Dolly Parton belting out a modern rock classic like Collective Soul's Shine, but lo and behold -- here it is:



It makes sense, though. The introspective, spiritual lyrics and Miss Parton's sweet bluegrass sensibilities mesh perfectly. And I swear I never thought these words would leave my mouth, but the fiddle solo rocks. Now, I'm not gonna trade in my Strat anytime soon, but as far as strings go -- the fiddle's pretty fierce. Don't believe me? Listen to the solo on this track and if that isn't enough to convince you, download The Devil Went Down To Georgia by The Charlie Daniels Band (Beelzebub FTW BTW)


And for all you purists out there, here's the original. Enjoy.



Parton's cover of Shine can be found on the Little Sparrow album and Collective Soul's original can be found on the Hints, Allegations and Things Left Unsaid album.

Sonic Love Byte: Atlantic City by Bruce Springsteen

You want to see what America's really like? Look through the eyes of an immigrant. You'll see a very interesting portrait of the nation -- one both bleaker and rosier than the one you're used to seeing.

You'll notice a lot of duality like that. See, when you live in the States and you weren't born here, things are different. Now, I can't speak for the rest of the tired, poor huddled masses yearning to breathe, but I can speak for myself.

I love this country. Fiercely. Passionately. Completely. I'm not some flag waving patriot who'll stick a boot up your ass just as quickly as she'll shock'n y'all (Yes, I realize that doesn't make sense, but then again, neither does Toby Keith). I'm just a person who appreciates the opportunity and the life she has.

There is no place in the world I would want to reside besides these here United States. But in this country -- I cannot legally work. If I choose to get married, a horde of officials will demand paperwork and legitimate proof of my relationship is actually a relationship and not a scam. If I wanted to go on vacation abroad, I could not re-enter the country. Next year, my visa will expire and I have no idea what I'm going to do.

In short -- living in America ain't easy, but trying to live here? It's even tougher.

Some days, it seems like the system is doing everything in its power to evict me. But despite that -- I want nothing more than to stay. I believe in America. That it is a good place. That the Algerian ideals are true. I still believe in the American Dream.

That being said, I recently rediscovered something I fell in love with when I was seventeen -- the music of Bruce Springsteen.

My boyfriend made me a mix CD and one of the tracks on it was Atlantic City.

I played it once and as soon as the song was over, I immediately rewound it and played it again. And again. And again. With every subsequent replay, I started to remember more and more about just how much I loved Springsteen. How I've read It Ain't No Sin To Be Glad You're Alive: The Promise of Bruce Springsteen by Eric Alterman from cover to cover at least a dozen times. How I must have listened to Glory Days at least once a week back then. How I referenced American Skin (41 Shots) in a paper I wrote for an English class. How I remembered thinking that Springsteen was a real rarity because he told the truth and no-one hardly does that anymore.

Springsteen epitomizes America. Just like Mustangs, Fender Strats, bottomless cups of coffee and great greasybluesydirty guitar solos.

He understands the country's duality -- the promise and the desperation. The optimism and the devastation. But above all, he understands the hope.

Life is hard and cruel. Sometimes, you don't make enough money to make ends meet. Sometimes, your dream is further out of reach than you originally believed. Sometimes, the guy doesn't get the girl, but in America -- when there's nothing else left, there's always hope. The promise of a new day. A brighter tomorrow. "Everything dies. Baby, that's a fact. But maybe everything that dies someday comes back. Put your makeup on. Fix your hair up pretty. And meet me tonight in Atlantic City."

It may be fraught with peril ("Well I'm tired of comin' out on the losin' end/So honey last night I met this guy and I'm gonna do a little favor for him" -- an obvious reference to Atlantic City's shady criminal underworld), but if you're willing to take the chance and get on that Coast City bus to the place where the sand's turning into gold -- well, you've got a shot. At a better life. At a bigger dream. At rebirth and reinvention.

Despite the elegiac tragedy just waiting to befall the our hero, Atlantic City is a song of promise. Our hero may never win the big money jackpot. He might not ever be a high roller but he's throwing the dice. He's taking a shot and as long as he does that -- well, he's living the American Dream.

No retreat, baby. No surrender.



I couldn't find Atlantic City on Radio Blog Club, so instead -- here's another one of my favorite Springsteen tracks.

The Asian Sensation

Sonic Love Byte: G. Love

Reasons I Dig G. Love:

• He effortlessly combines hip hop, funk, soul, blues, rock, folk and pop. Now usually when artists try their hands at fusion, it ends up with the listener trying to shave off his or her ears with a cheese grater (see: Fred Durst, KoRn, most any rap-rock hybrid), but G. Love has managed to perfect the sound.
  
  
• The band's name is Special Sauce. Who would have thought that a condiment found at McDonalds could be so cool?
  
  
• He collaborates with Ben Harper, Jack Johnson and Blackalicious on his seventh studio album, Lemonade.
  
  
• The man digs food in a serious way. I think he was even featured on the Food Network once. My general rule of thumb? If they ain't all about food, don't trust 'em.
  
  
• One of his biggest influences is John Lee Hooker and John Lee Hooker is bad-ass. Real bad-ass.
  
  
• Three words -- Milk and Cereal
  
  
• And the most important reason I dig G. Love -- he sounds good.

For more G. Love -- check out the official G. Love and the Special Sauce website, Philadelphonic or you can head on over to I Am Fuel, You Are Friends for these two posts.

In other news -- I have a headache, we're getting free HBO and Showtime at Lush Manor and in eleven days -- I'm seeing Dan. I can't wait.

Sonic Love Byte: Lily Allen

Reasons I dig Lily Allen:

She's English (like me)
She's a pint-sized pottymouth (again, like me)
She's a blogger (I'm seeing a lot of similarities here...)
Her music is a helluva lot of fun -- she sings about having her ex boyfriend beaten up (Smile), her pot-smoking scrub of a brother (Alfie), her frugal grandma (Nan, You're A Window Shopper which is actually a take on 50 Cent's battle rap Window Shopper) and life in London (LDN).
She's down with puppets.

Well, Sinead O' Rebellion! Shock me shock me shock me with that deviant behavior

Britney Spears Then:



Hot.

Britney Spears Now:




Bald.

Dub. Tee. Eff?

Love ain't for the faint of heart

Happy Valentine's Day.

CONGRATULATIONS COLTS!

Colts: 29
Bears: 17

CONGRATULATIONS TO THE INDIANAPOLIS COLTS!

They deserved this.

Human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together - mass hysteria.

The Best Friend woke me up this morning at 6:45.

I don't have class on Friday, so usually he just comes in to say goodbye before he leaves the house but this morning, he roused me from a deep slumber with this little nugget of wisdom:

"The Best Friend? Wake up. Listen -- if you hear a freight train, go the bathroom, lock the door and get in the tub, you hear me?"

If it was anyone else, anywhere else -- you could assume insanity or inebriation and you wouldn't be far off.

However since it was The Best Friend in Florida, it could only mean one thing:

Tornado watch.

Living in Florida is like living in some epic weather-based disaster movie. A couple of days ago, it was freezing and this today -- we might just see a spinach-toned woman riding a bicycle in mid-air.

Even when it was the bears, I knew it was the immigants!

Damn it.

I came here LEGALLY fourteen years ago.
My parents own two successful businesses.
I graduated high school with a 3.4 GPA.
I'm currently enrolled in the journalism program at the University of Central Florida where I have a 3.4 GPA.
According to visa regulations, I am not legally allowed to work in this country but when I was awarded $3000 for my writing, I still had to pay taxes on it. I wouldn't mind paying taxes...if I had a chance to work for my money like everyone else does.

I am a legal immigrant and I get the short end of the stick on a daily basis.

I am sick and tired of people championing the causes of illegal immigrants. I'm sorry if their situation is tragic, but you know what else is a tragedy?

A family that's been here for fourteen years, doing everything the legal way and still having nothing to show for it.

And in other news, I knew Pats fans were stupid, but this is just too much.

It's cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey

Dub tee eff?

I live in Florida, folks.

It's funny 'cause it's true

Hi-larious.

Make somebody happy and you will be happy too

My Grandpa passed away last Sunday.

It's tough to say and even tougher to see in writing.

He was sick for a while -- his kidneys were failing, he was on dialysis, he suffered from multiple strokes and before he died, the doctors told him that they'd have to amputate both of his legs.

It's unfair to put a man through so much during his last days. Especially a man as fiercely proud and independent as my grandfather.

The funeral was last Thursday.

Everyone said he looked so peaceful and he did, but I don't want to remember a peaceful man.

I want to remember the man he really was -- the way his eyes lit up when any of his grandkids came home. His great appetite for life. I want to remember him for his sense of humor and the way he held both your hands during a handshake. Hell, I want to remember him for how stubborn he was -- a trait passed onto most of his progeny and further still.

I'm still a little messed up but I'm trying to get through it.

Stuff like this made me really appreciate the people in my life. Not just my mom and dad, Sparky and Dan, The Best Friend and the Crew, but everyone -- the guy at Blockbuster who quotes Talledega Nights and makes you laugh when you didn't think it was possible (thanks guy). The cashier at Publix who genuinely smiles at you and tells you to enjoy your day. The guy who lets you in at a particularly crowded intersection. The waitress who refills your sweet tea without you saying a word.

You can write it off by saying, "They're just doing their job," but it's more than that. These people don't owe you anything. They don't have to be nice nor friendly, but they are.

These are all tiny kindnesses that we, for the most part, ignore. I don't want to do that anymore.

Leave an extra buck. Smile back. Tell them that they're doing a great job and that you appreciate it. It takes all of five seconds and honestly -- you can't tell people enough.

A shot of The Best Friend I took for photography class

I used the incandescent light setting outdoors and think it actually looks pretty interesting.

You gave me the best mixtape I have...

I spent the better part of tonight working on this:



Silly really, but doing stuff like this makes the long-distance thing easier.

Ditto making mix CDs. Since we've been together, he's made me about twelve mixes (eleven of which I got for Christmas and still haven't gotten all the way through) and I've made him thirteen.

I put a lot of effort into my mix CDs and fully adhere to Hornby's axiom:

To me, making a tape is like writing a letter — there's a lot of erasing and rethinking and starting again. A good compilation tape, like breaking up, is hard to do. You've got to kick off with a corker, to hold the attention (I started with "Got to Get You Off My Mind," but then realized that she might not get any further than track one, side one if I delivered what she wanted straightaway, so I buried it in the middle of side two), and then you've got to up it a notch, or cool it a notch, and you can't have white music and black music together, unless the white music sounds like black music, and you can't have two tracks by the same artist side by side, unless you've done the whole thing in pairs and...oh, there are loads of rules.

There's got to be balance, there's got to be some semblance of eclecticism (even if you're making a mix dedicated to a single artist, you can mix it up a little by including a couple of live tracks and some really tasty covers) and every good mix should inspire at least one, "Oh my God! I love this song!" moment -- either from a forgotten gem or from a breath of fresh air.

I'm really proud of the mix I'm working on right now. It's a Valentine's mix -- lots of honeyed acoustic guitars (Stevie Ray Vaughan, Jack Johnson), twinkle-toed pianos (Something Corporate, Butch Walker) and the requisite sonic surprises (Queen, Big Bad Voodoo Daddy).

One of my favorite quotes about writing comes from German novelist Thomas Mann. He said, "A writer is a person for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people."

As a writer, I could pen a thousand pages, telling Dan how I feel. How he makes me feel. I could wrack my brain and come up with anapestic analogies and indelible imagery.

But you know what? None of it would ever sound as good or make as much sense as, "Wild horses couldn't drag me away."

Six little words would completely K.O. anything I could ever write.

And God, do I love that.

That's the beauty of the mixtape. Mixtapes, like love, make poets of us all.

Valentine's Day Gift

I was planning on getting Dan the screenplays for Before Sunrise and Before Sunset for Valentine's Day. It was supposed to be a sweet, personal and most importantly, a romantic gift.

Unfortunately, the boy went and picked the book up for himself.

So now -- I have no idea what to get him for Valentine's Day.

I'm thinking book (He owns pretty much every DVD in existence, his music collection is more digital than tangible and he's been talking about reading more. Besides, books make excellent gifts). I'm thinking romantic. I'm thinking personal. (I have a bit of an idea, but it's one of those things I think I want more than he'd want).

So, I reach out to you -- anonymous flotsam and jetsam of the blogosphere to help me out.

What does a long-distance-music-junkie girlfriend get her long-distance-movie-junkie boyfriend for Valentine's Day?

Any ideas? Past presents you've gotten for people? Books you'd like to recommend? Other suggestions? (If it helps any, we're celebrating Valentine's Day on March 14 as opposed to February 14 because I'd really like to see him open his gift).

Thanks guys!

P.S.: And lastly, for no reason at all -- how cute is this? Damn you, Fox. Why must you take away everything I love?

Nice guys finish last. Nice girls don't even get a hackneyed cliche.

There's this cliche about nice guys finishing last. Well, what about nice girls? We don't even get a lousy cliche. And, what is a "nice" girl anyway?

Someone bland and boring and vanilla? How did vanilla get such a bad rap, anyway? I mean, isn't it from Madagascar or some other place wildly exotic? It's not like it grows all over Putney or some place equally dull.

I heard this idea that men want to marry nice girls, but date naughty ones because you can do things with naughty girls that you wouldn't dream of doing with the prospective mother of your children. Is this true or is this another one of those things I should take with a boulder of salt?

I get teased endlessly and unmercifully at my naivete. Marla Sokoloff played white-washed bad girl Gia on Full House. Sidenote -- Gia is a bad girl's name. You'd never meet a bad girl named Susan.

Anyway, Jerry and I were talking about the show and somewhere along the line, I said, "Gia was so bad! She smoked cigarettes!" This caused Jerry to erupt into a fit of incredulous laughter and left me puzzled because Gia was a bad girl and did smoke cigarettes.

Now, when you consider the reprehensible gutter-trash on shows like Sally-Jessy Raphael, Maury Povitch and Ricki Lake, Gia's actually a pretty tame bad-girl composite.

I've never been a 'bad girl' or anything even remotely close. I've always been 'that nice girl in your English class.' It's not necessarily a bad thing, but fairly anonymous.

Sometimes, I wonder if anyone from high school even remembers me.

If I bumped into anyone I went to high school with, would they even recognize me? I'd like to think so, although according to Paul and Jerry, I've gotten a lot better looking since high school. "No, seriously...like a lot better looking. Yeah, you were kinda not hot at all in high school." Yeah -- thanks boys. That's a nice backhanded compliment there. Oh well, at least I'm not the Dora the Dogface girl anymore, right?

I like to believe that I've changed for the better since high school, but I don't know if I'm qualified to make that assessment.

I'm still nice, I think. I've definitely gotten mouthier and I like to think I'm less naive than I was then...but that could be wishful thinking on my part.

Life is all about growth and without the faintest trace of self-deprecation or irony [alright, maybe a little], have I grown?

Here I was in my own little world, talking to myself, dreaming about candy bracelets.

This morning, I awoke with a rather inexplicable and immense crush on this man:


He's funny, a great writer, good looking in that boy-next-door kind of way, he's got great taste in music and he blogs.

Zach Braff is just like me.....only, y'know -- richer, talented, successful and able to pee while standing up.

In other news:

I'm going to Philadelphia for thirteen days in March! I could not be more excited. I get to see the Liberty Bell, Independence Hall, the Philadelphia Museum of Art, Geno's Steaks and most importantly -- the boyfriend! I can't wait. I need recommendations for the plane -- great music to download and good books to read. Any suggestions?

Eat this and rejoice: two cups penne pasta, one tomato, olive oil, basil and balsamic vinaigrette. Cook pasta. Mix with other ingredients. Cool in fridge. Eat three hours later. Experience gastronomic ecstasy.

As of yesterday, my life has become consumed by this:



















Nintendo, you glorious bastard -- you've done it again. Highly recommended to anyone who digs the Mario Bros. franchise or cute video games. As I've said numerous times before -- Mario > Master Chief.

The Story of Us

Nine years ago, a Yahoo! search changed my life.

This was before IMDB and WikiPedia, so if you wanted information -- you had to be a little more creative to find it. I typed in 'Kevin Williamson' into the search engine and one of the hits lead to a website. Nothing spectacular -- a biography, a filmography and a couple of photographs. Though simple, I was impressed by the passion poured into the project, so I did something rather uncharacteristic -- I emailed the webmaster.
He responded and we started communicating via email. In addition to a respect for Williamson, we also discovered we had a lot in common:

We were both 15 (born a day and a month apart).
We both adored the Back To The Future trilogy to near-fanatical proportions.
We were both going through the American high school experience and trying to figure out why nice girls and guys finish last.

Thanks to AOL Instant Messenger, we had some amazing conversations and our friendship grew. Despite our similarities, the idea of pursuing a romantic relationship never occured to either one of us. He had his life, I had mine and the notion of these two very separate lives ever intersecting was pretty unfathomable.

Life interjected as it tends to do and we lost touch for a little while, but whenever we did catch a spare moment and the chance to catch up again -- the conversation would pick up where we left off and was always effortless.

Then, earlier this year, I switched cell phone providers and found myself with a new phone number. I sent out an email informing friends and family of the change and accidently, sent the form email to Dan as well. He responded in kind and not soon afterwards, we began talking on the phone.

As expected, the conversation flowed completely naturally, often ending due to dying cell phone batteries. A few months later, he started batting around the idea of visiting Florida and asked if he could crash at my place. I agreed and we arranged an actual, physical meeting.

I was a nervous wreck at the airport. Hummingbirds were loop-de-looping in my stomach and my hands were carved from fault lines. What if we didn't get along in person? What if he thought I was a complete idiot? What if our quirky chemistry worked on the phone and online but not face-to-face? However, all these fears effaced the moment I saw him walking up. I ran towards him (spilling a scalding latte all over my hand in the process) and gave him a hug.

Less than six hours after he landed, we were sitting at the Hard Rock Bar at CityWalk. I can't remember what he said, but I remember thinking, "I could fall in love with this guy." Startled by this revelation, I shoved it aside, but stuff like that doesn't stay buried for too long.


The next night, we found ourselves laying eye-to-eye in my room. The tips of our noses were practically touching and I was feverishly hoping that he'd throw caution to the wind and just do it. I waited. I waited some more and then, being blessed with a reckless, impetuous nature, I took the plunge and kissed him softly, sweetly and squarely on his mouth. A few seconds later, the reality of my actions hit me and I broke away. I started to apologize for being so rash, but I only got as far as, "I'm..." before he kissed me. A real kiss -- one that makes you feel like you're dissolving into molecules. One that makes you feel like every fiber of your being is comprised of the bubbles in a champagne flute. It was the most incredible kiss I've ever experienced in my life....and it scared the hell out of me.

That kiss amplified the voice in my head that had been growing exponentially louder and louder since being in the Hard Rock Bar. With each subsequent kiss [and there a few], the voice grew louder and louder until it was shouting inside of me like a barful of noisy drunks at happy hour.

The entire next day, I tried to keep it under lock and key. I didn't just want to blurt out what I felt...and of course, that's exactly what I ended up doing.

Before my eyelids fluttered shut for the night, I wished Dan sweet dreams, a good night's sleep and I told him, between yawns, that I loved him. Then, I promptly fell asleep. Five minutes later, the severity of my actions finally caught up to my sleep-addled brain and jolted out of my somnolent slumber. I denied saying it at least a hundred times -- how could I have done this? I spent all day walking on eggshells and biting back my tongue. I had probably terrified this poor guy. He was taking the first flight back to Philly. Oh God, he probably thinks I'm a lunatic. Then, he asked me if I meant what I had said and I couldn't lie -- I did. I was falling completely in love with him.

I guess in my panic and my frantic rush to do damage control, I didn't hear him say he loved me too.

We call it 'density' -- George McFly's nervous mispronunciation of 'destiny' and it knocks me out every time I think about it.

What if Dan had never made that website? What if I had never emailed him? What if he had never emailed me back? What if we hadn't continued talking after our initial contact? What if I hadn't accidently emailed him my phone number? What if he had never come to visit?

A guy that I randomly emailed when I was fifteen ended up being the best thing that's ever happened to me.

It sounds like something out of a movie...and when you take into account who we are and how it all started -- well, that's just perfect.

The only thing that matters

Being grown up isn't half as fun as growing up.
These are the best days of our lives.

In This Diary.
The Ataris.

Baby, all I want for Christmas is...

Three weeks until Christmas and I have no idea what I'm getting. I'm losing my touch. However, I did manage to get the following hints out of Dan. According to him, my present is:

• Orangish-yellow
• Four things in one
• Something he himself would appreciate

I did a Google search based on this information and came up with a cat toy.

He didn't get me a cat toy. He wouldn't have gotten me a cat toy. He can't have gotten me a cat toy.....right?

Yesterday, I managed to get another hint out of him -- it's actually 55 things in four things in one thing.

Now, I'm a little scared that he forgot I was his girlfriend and thought I was his 7-year-old nephew and got me a Lego set.

So, since I couldn't even crack a case at the Olsen Twin Detective Agency -- I need your help.

If you were getting an orangish-yellow-55-in-4-in-1 Christmas present for your movie-loving-music-junkie long distance girlfriend, what would you get her?

Happy Birthday!

Happy 19th birthday to my sister! I hope you have an amazing birthday in which you eat delicious food, rock out to the musical stylings of a Mr. Billy Joel and shank Whitey for keeping you down all the time.

Are you the kid from Chino who steals cars and sets people's houses on fire?

Oh no!

"Last week, Robinson was at work shooting episode 11 of the new season of the struggling Fox teen drama, "The O.C." His last day for "The O.C." is Wednesday. Crewmembers learned this month that the network decided not to continue the series after these episodes run out in 2007."

What am I going to do on Thursday nights now? Who am I going to ogle instead of Ben McKenzie? McDreamy? Gil Grissom? Joe Scarborough?!

Why, Fox? Why must you snatch away everything dear to me? Greg the Bunny, Tru Calling, Arrested Development, Get Real, Party of Five, Kitchen Confidential -- all chopped by some idiot programming exec. Hmm...I wonder what it takes to be a programming executive, anyway? I mean, besides being completely heartless and partially lobotomized?

I'm gonna have to find something else to do with my Thursday nights now. Any recommendations?

I'll have the soup. What'll you have, King Louis?

Imagine a bullfrog puffing up. Yeah -- that's what my throat feels like right now.

I am sick thanks to a particularly virulent strain of Gainesville germs. See, if you live in a college town, you become acclimated to the various airborne diseases floating around. However, if exposed to the airborne diseases from another college down, those germs will carpet bomb your body and break you down.

I need tea. I need soup. I need Love Actually. Luckily, The Best Friend is bringing me tortilla soup from Qdoba and Love Actually from Blockbuster when he comes home from class. He's a good man.

Cinco Linkos: Five random blips you should check out.

• Uno -- airbrushing has become so standard in the media now that nobody looks like their photographs. Seeing as how I feel about as aestheically appealing as say, Britney Spears right now, I figured this link was more than apropos.
• Dos -- Keeping with the whole 'rape and pillage my childhood theme' [I've noticed that almost everything I ever loved as a child is now bad -- Hot Topic has ruined my favorite movies via mass merchandising, Bob Saget is now performing 'edgy' comedy (it's not so much edgy as it is profanity-laced and we all know I have no problems with dropping f-bombs)], check out Robot Chicken's take on Calvin and Hobbes.
• Tres -- Check out E!'s new show Starveillance. If for no other reason than to hear Tom Cruise say, "Incredible, tiny, goo-covered miracle. I love this baby! Whoo!"
• Cuatro -- I discovered this guy courtesy of The Boyfriend [who, Billy Joel fixation aside, has really good taste in music]. Check out Sideways and Teresa.
• Cinco -- Holiday scented goodies. I'm a sucker for anything that smells yummy. Although, I am a bit iffy about the peppermint.

Happy Thanksgiving

A somewhat incomplete list of things I am thankful for:

Reef flip-flops.
Alessandra Ambrosio.






















Verizon Wireless for keeping me in touch with the people I love the most.
Another Dolphins victory! [Miami: 27. Detroit: 10]
Every single Peyton Manning commercial.
The Boyfriend's Slimer impersonation.
The Boyfriend's kisses 'cause they make me dizzy, breathless and weak at the knees.
Actually, The Boyfriend period. He's an amazing guy ♥
The Black Crowes.
The guitar solo after Stevie Ray's verbal interlude in the live version of Life Without You.
Celebrity gossip.
Mom and Paps. They're not just good parents; they're good people.
Sparky because she gets stuff that no-one else does [Like the To Me, You are Perfect scene in Love Actually]
Coffee that doesn't cause Jack Bauer-esque donkey punches to the heart [read: decaf]
Really good extra virgin olive oil, bread and mozzarella.
The Travel Channel for bring Anthony Bourdain into my life.
Dana for saying stuff like, "It looks like the weight I lost in my ass went to her face!"
Tackle hugs from The Best Friend. They're crippletastic!
Dana Carvey's Critic's Choice special. Eight years later and I can still recite every last line.
Ron Livingston.






















Mascara.
The internet.
The happy noises Phoebe makes when I give her bellyrubs and 'scratchies.'
Movies based on comic books.
Cooking yummy food and sharing it with the people I love.
My flat iron.
YouTube.

Life is all about the little things. Hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving. To anyone working retail tomorrow -- good luck!

Synonym for The Best Friend: Assbag.

This is my cell phone on the floor of my bathroom.
Why is it on the floor of my bathroom?

Because it started ringing while I was using the facilities and The Best Friend, in all his douchebaggery, sent it flying underneath the door and scared the piss out of me. Take that however you want.

















In other news -- I am a little caramel icicle. You can tell it's really damn cold because I've forsaken my beloved flip-flops for boots.

I have no idea how I'm going to survive a week in Philly come March. If anyone's got any advice for me -- I'd really appreciate it. Thanks guys!

I've been looking so long at these pictures of you that I almost believe that they're real

I have the cutest desktop ever.
I got it here [look for 'desktop frames']
You should get one too and show me yours 'cause sharing is caring.

That's three -- count it!

DOLPHINS: 24
VIKINGS: 20

Another win for the 'Fins! That's three since our bye -- Chicago, Kansas City and now, Minnesota.

Although the game wasn't televised at Lush Manor, I didn't miss a minute of the action thanks to The Best Friend's maniacal play-by-play via radio. If Florida experienced sub-zero temperatures, he'd be the shirtless, drunk dude with his body painted orange and teal.


In other NFL news:

Donovan McNabb tore his ACL and will be out for the rest of the season. It's a rough break for him, the team and Eagles fans. I actually really like McNabb as a QB -- he's a good, strong leader. Here's to a speedy recovery for McNabb.


In other random news:

+ Dear Gardenburger: I love you...and I think I'm turning into J. Wellington Wimpy.

+ Dear The Best Friend, The Boyfriend, The Crew and The Family: You are all going to gain weight this holiday season 'cause I'm gonna be baking like Betty Crocker on speed. I hope you guys like cookies and brownies 'cause that's what you're all getting.

And finally, this rocked my world. Hard.

Demons of Screamin'

Steven Tyler is 58. That's four years older than my dad.

Steven Tyler is four years older than my father and yet, I find myself looking at him and saying, "Damn, you're a good looking guy!"

It's the mouth. It's gotta be the mouth. Dirty, sweet and completely, maddeningly sexy. The music too. Aerosmith's live shows are pretty much religious experiences. I saw them with Kid Rock back in 2002 and it blew my mind. Best show of my life.

So, it's the mouth and the music and and the fact that Steven Tyler epitomizes the very essence of a rock star.

I love the mythos of the rock star. We need men like that -- men with divine devilry dancing at their fingertips, shamans who can raise the dead with their voices and lift spirits with their words. Men who can breathe life into the world. After all, what's a guitar? Just some wood, six strings and a couple of knobs. But, in the hands of these musical magicians, a guitar becomes animated -- a bucking, thrusting wild creature who moans, screams, weeps and howls like women wish they could.

When did the rock star die?

One can make the argument that it all changed with Nirvana. The opening chords to Smells Like Teen Spirit were the death knell for the rock star. Cobain wasn't a rock star. He became one, rather unwillingly. Both crucified and glorified by the media, but he himself was never a rock star. It just wasn't inside of him.

So, who is it inside and will we ever see it again? God, I hope so...

Cock, Rock and Hennessy

We need to put the cock back into rock. What is rock n' roll? Stripped down, it's a blues euphemism for having sex. Pop got dirrty, Snoop's making porns, Nelly's taking off all his clothes 'cause it's hot in herre and R&B's always been about sweet, sweet lovin' all night long, but rock? It's been made into a eunich!

No-one's squeezing lemons till the juice runs down their legs. No-one's screaming like Prince to Gett Off. No-one's singing about being the lord of the thighs and big ten inch....records. Enough of this pansy caterwauling, enough of the Prozac-inducing sobriety, enough of the aggression and the "Mommy didn't hug me enough as a kid" crap.

There's nu-metal which, let's face it, is nothing more than hyperaggressive, distorted shit. No sexuality there [and no kids, the Slipknot lyric -- "I wanna slit your throat and fuck the wound" does not count]. Then, there's this whole rap-rock hybrid emerging from the murky sonic depths. Again kids -- Limp Bizkit's Nookie -- and while we're on the subject, why would a bunch of grown men want to associate their band with the word "limp" -- does not count. And emo? Don't even get me started on emo. As my kid sister says, "Better retarded than emo!".

Elvis sang, "Baby, let's play house". I don't think he was talking about holding tea parties.
James Brown got on up like a sex machine.
Aerosmith loved it up while they were going down.
Led Zeppelin had their spoon inside a jar at the candy rock store.
Hell, even the cutest boy band in the world, the Beatles were in on it -- "Please please me/Oh yeah/Like I please you." Sweet innocent veiling a far lustier message.

It's all gotten way too complex. For the love of God, just pick up, plug in, play some bastardized blues riffs and sing about men, women and sex. That's all you really need. Politics and protest songs are great. Ditto computers to enhance your sound, but someone, anyone -- strip down to the basics and make it happen! Anyone except Jack White of The White Stripes. You sir, are a raging douchetard and the fact that you consider Stevie Ray Vaughan a lesser guitarist proves that point.

Get it together, strip it down, crank it up and fuckin' A, just push play! There's a reason Elvis swivelled his hips, there's a reason Jim Morrison snaked around onstage in a pair of practically-painted-on leather pants and there's a reason Steven Tyler writes lyrics like "Pink like the bing on your cherry". It's rock, not rocket science and if it wasn't supposed to be about sex in the first place -- they never would have called it rock n' roll.

I believe with every breath I breathe

Annie Savoy: What do you believe in, then?
Crash Davis: Well, I believe in the soul, the cock, the pussy, the small of a woman's back, the hanging curve ball, high fiber, good scotch, that the novels of Susan Sontag are self-indulgent, overrated crap. I believe Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. I believe there ought to be a constitutional amendment outlawing Astroturf and the designated hitter. I believe in the sweet spot, soft-core pornography, opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve and I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days.

Bull Durham. 1988.

It's a good question, Annie's question. One of those great seemingly simple questions that carry the weight of the world on their backs. One of those questions you can spend a whole week thinking about, I mean really thinking about, and never fully answer.

Crash's response is even better -- direct and completely honest. With the exception of the mention of the soul, there's no talk of theology, but rather a pastiche of the very essence of Crash.

That's what matters -- not the stuff you've been taught to believe. Not the things you've been indoctrinated with, but whatever you discovered of your own volition.

So, what do I believe?

Well, I too believe in the soul, but I also believe that music is truly greater than or equal to love. I believe in the guitar solo, real cherry Cokes made with grenadine and ridiculously impractical shoes. I believe in reciting every single line from your favorite movies, holding hands and that if you drive long enough with the windows down and the music loud -- it'll all make sense again. I believe in adding pepper to everything, in throwing your head back and laughing, that food tastes better when you share it and that flowers are a completely stupid gift. I believe there was a conspiracy to assassinate both JFK and RFK, that there is no greater pleasure than a pair of jeans straight out of the dryer on a cold day and that most writers are pretentious assholes. I believe in black and white photography, getting lost and finding yourself in big cities and a hero doesn't always have to wear a cape or stem from the imagination of Stan Lee.
And again, like Crash -- I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days.

Enough about me, though -- what do you believe in?

Exit the Federjerk,

Britney Spears files for divorce.

Shock and awe, y'all.

Federline seems like a leeching toolbag and booting him out was probably the best thing that Spears could have done, both professionally and personally.

Seriously, though -- divorce is always tough and it's an especially lousy situation when there are kids involved.

Hopefully, the divorce proceedings will be civil and neither party will resort to low blows and public embarrassment. They already suffered enough of that during every episode of Britney and Kevin: Chaotic [zing!]

For more info, check out Pink is the New Blog. If there's a better celebrity gossip site online, I haven't found it.

And we're back in the game!

And at the end of the 4th:

Miami Dolphins: 31
Chicago Bears: 13



Oh....oh...what's that? Y'all hear that? It sounds like the Dolphins shutting down Chicago's chance at a perfect season again.

How sweet it is

Rockin' the suburbs

The Best Friend: Is it wrong that I identify with all these organized criminals?
Jaime: What do you mean you identify with them?
The Best Friend: Well, I can see why they did what they did to get ahead.
Jaime: Man, that's crap! Poverty doesn't justify criminal behavior. I'm poor. You're poor and you lived in a shitty neighborhood. You didn't kill people or sell dope. You're going to med school. You're gonna be a doctor.
The Best Friend: Hey man -- hustlin's hustlin.'
Jaime: Dude, you have got to stop listening to the hip hop.
The Best Friend: "The hip hop."
Jaime: Shut up.

Guess which one of us thinks Hootie and the Blowfish rocks? Yeah...