I've been waiting for a good day I've been holding back long enough

Today was a good day for the following reasons:

Dresses -- I picked up a new one today. It's rust-colored with a deep V-neck and it makes me feel pretty. I have decided that I am definitely going to introduce more frocks to my wardrobe.

Mindy Kaling -- While it's slightly worrisome just how much I relate to the character of Kelly Kapoor, I lovelovelove Miss Kaling. My sister (who is awesome in her own right) introduced me to her blog and now, I like Kaling even more. She's funny, she likes to eat, she's got pretty good taste, she swears casually and she has an enviable disposable income. What's not to like?



Bread and champagne for dinner -- I decided to be French today. Usually this would entail public urination and cruelty to geese, but in my case -- it meant having bread and champagne for lunch. Not the healthiest option, but definitely one exploring. The bread's even better when it's heart-shaped.

















The Merita Bread Factory -- The only redeeming part of driving on I-4 is the smell of freshly baked bread. It actually makes traffic bearable.

Betsey Johnson perfume -- According to Betsey Johnson, the scent is, 'fruity floriental' but I prefer to think of it as 'yummy.' It's light, sweet without being cloying and perfect for summertime.

Demeter Gin and Tonic cologne -- If fruity and whimsical isn't really your bag, check out Demeter. My favorite scents are Gin and Tonic (because smelling like a WASP is always a good thing) and Between The Sheets, but they also have scents based on Play-Doh, Blueberry Muffin Jellybeans (they smell just like muffins. It's crazy), cannabis flowers and even dirt. I can't really imagine anyone wanting to smell like dirt, but then again I can't really figure out how electricity works or what John Mayer and Jessica Simpson could possibly ever talk about, so obviously, I don't have all the answers.

John Krasinski -- What's got two thumbs and a serious crush on Krasinski? This girl. You really can't blame me. He's just so sweet.





















The way The Boyfriend makes me laugh -- Like water bubbling up from a fountain. It's kinda absurd and kinda perfect.

A late dinner with The Best Friend at the Town Tavern -- wandering around the neighborhood, cold Peronis, good music and a great waiter named Seth. All the makings of a good night.

You say asshole, I say sister.

(In reference to a girl's MySpace picture)

Sparky: She looks too fat for that hat!
Jaime: How do you look too fat for a hat?!
Sparky: She does! Her body was too big and her hat was too small. She looked like the Michelin Man, Jemmy. A tanner version of the Michelin Man...and uglier. She's got to be easy.
Jaime: She is!
Sparky: She probably puts out after 38 seconds.
Jaime: She puts out when someone bags her groceries.
Sparky: And she works at (insert name of well-known grocery chain)!
Sparky: Why didn't you warn me that you were looking at her MySpace? Now it's going to haunt me. I'll be eating my ice-cream cone and I'll think of her and....It's like an incentive to lose weight!

Dear Beyonce -- No. Stop it. Love: Jaime

Grievance #1:

You completely ripped off Des'ree's Kissing You from Baz Luhrmann's Romeo + Juliet and laid your prosaic lyrics and vocals on top ("You are my doctor, counselor, provider, professor, my everything" -- Are you looking for a boyfriend or a life coach? Who wrote these lyrics -- a lovesick eighth grader?). Not only did you cover the song in a way that makes the deaf plead for mercy, but you had the flat-out gall to steal the track. Big hair, backside and bank account doesn't make you exempt from following copyright law, Miss B.

Grievance #2: You coupled aforementioned stolen track with an insipid rehash of Herb Ritts' smoldering video for Chris Isaak's Wicked Game?! My God, woman -- you're like a Mongol raping and pillaging her way through pop culture.


You lolling around on a beach in black-and-white? Not even marginally interesting. Chris Isaak and Helena Christensen, however?

Well, a couple of years ago -- it inspired me to write the following:

Wicked Game by Chris Isaak.

First thing that pops into that pop-culture-sugar-caffeine-booze-and-sex addled firecracker you call a brain is what? Helena Christensen rolling around on a beach half-naked with Chris Isaak. Right? Right.

Do you even stop to think about the song or the words or what they mean? Fuck no! What are you? Old? Impotent? Asexual?! Helena Christensen is half naked! With Chris Isaak! On a beach! In black and white! It was sexy, it was steamy and it hypnotized you to believe, "Hey! I could have smoldering sex like that too!" Hate to break it to you, but no-one could have sex that hot. Doing so would cause a global heatwave which would incinerate us all.

Anyway....

I managed to tear myself away from the visuals and actually sat down and paid attention to the song. Am I old, impotent or asexual? What are you, kidding?! I'm me. Anyway, you know what I discovered? Isaak wrote an amazing song. It's got this real sensual, languorous vibe to it. Slow and seductive. Like sonic foreplay. So, this got me thinking. Sex -- it's all rhythmic, right? I'm not talking the 'rhythm method' (which, by the way, is complete bullshit, so before doing construction, make sure you wear a hard-hat, fellas). I'm talking about a natural groove which you sort of fall into. The way two bodies move in perfect syncopation to feel every last touch and taste. Music creates motion; motion creates emotion and emotion creates a scream so loud, the neighbors down the street complain.

Can you imagine tapping into this rhythm? Transferring it over to big, fat bass strings? There's something real primal about the bass. The way its urgency kinda grabs you and resonates deep within the belly of your beast. It's a pretty incredible thing. Tapping into it might just unlock the mysteries of the universe....or create one helluva great track.

Lyrically, Wicked Game is real simple and real honest. It starts off with, "The world was on fire/No one could save me but you." We've all been in the throes of lust. You say you haven't, you're either lying or....yeah, you're just a dirty liar. It's a fire that nothing can extinguish. You can take a dozen cold showers and picture Margaret Thatcher naked on a cold day as much as you want, but sooner or last -- the sparks are gonna ignite again. It's human nature. Don't even try to deny it.
The next line of the song, however, is what gets me. Hits me like a first kiss and a vicious left hook -- "It's strange what desire will make foolish people do." Forget fools -- it's strange what desire will make anyone do. Logic goes on hiatus and you can justify pretty much anything -- spending your entire paycheck on pink roses, getting their name tattooed somewhere a judge could see it or getting piss drunk, standing outside her home and serenading her with a personalized version of AC/DC's You Shook Me All Night Long. Desire makes you crazy...but being crazy isn't always a bad thing. Sometimes, it helps remind you that you're alive and that's a pretty incredible feeling.

All that being said, Miss Knowles --

I'm glad that Sony BMG slapped your ass with an injunction. I'm glad the track was pulled from your album and the video was pulled from rotation, but above all -- I really hope Des'ree covers one of your songs and sings the hell out of it. Just like Tina Turner did for CCR's Proud Mary and Aretha did for Otis Redding's Respect. Oh and in case there's any sort of confusion, I'm not comparing you to CCR or Redding. They're talented, you see.

And because I don't want to leave that nasty rehashed taste in your mouth, here's a sweet little pop gem courtesy of Gwen Stefani and Akon. I dig this track because it sounds like Stefani's finally going back to her No Doubt roots.

Live every week like it's shark week.

Today:

Free Spiderman 3 premiere tickets at the new IMAX at Pointe Orlando (Thank you J-School for finally returning on my investment). Earth, Wind and Fire, Augustana and Barry White. A sky white-washed with smoke and heat. Undeclared mini-marathon with The Best Friend. Craving frosty mango margaritas and making tentative plans for Cinco de Mayo ("You call this culture? Guacamole and a ghetto blaster in the middle of a desert?!" +10 to anyone who gets the reference). Lunch and summer optimism with Pepe. Books, books, books. A serious jones for lazy afternoons at the pool listening to G. Love and Sublime. Cleaning the bathroom in pink underwear while listening/dancing to Big Bad Voodoo Daddy. Strawberry sweet tea (Iced tea + frozen strawberries + lemon juice + ice + Magic Bullet = ♥) and finally, a fan.

Today was beautiful.

The rest of the week is laid out like a deck of cards and I think I might just have a winning hand.

Tuesday -- Gainesville with Paps to pick up Sparky. Move on up and move on out. Long drives + good mixes. Fresh, crunchy salads and birthday cake bakin.'

Wednesday -- Dan flies into town! Airport reunion scene. Long-lost kisses and Lost and lots and lots of kissing.

Thursday -- Graduation. The whole family. Black robe, black and white dress, black heels, gold tassel and a funny black hat. Spiderman 3 premiere at Pointe Orlando. Holding hands and watching movies.

Friday -- Dinner with the Crew. Paper tablecloths + perverse Picassos. Celebrating D's new job and Jerry/Kelly/My graduation with Sparkletinis. Looking over my right shoulder and seeing the boyfriend there. It's not a dream. It's not a dream.

Saturday -- Cinco de Mayo: cervezas, margaritas y mas besos.

Show me a woman who's not jealous of another woman, and I'll show you a man.

(Discussing the drinks-from-strangers-in-bars policy now that we're both no longer single)

Dan: If some frat guy bought you a drink, I'd be upset.
Jaime: Why? I get a free drink. I don't have to go home with him.
Dan: Well, how would you feel if some girl bought me a drink?
Jaime: I'd make a necklace out of the bitch's teeth.
Dan (laughing): That's sweet.

Happy anniversary, baby. I love you.

Thumbs Up/Thumbs Down

Thumbs Up: Chet Baker. I've been listening to more and more of his stuff lately and it makes me happy. Good Sunday morning music to soothe that killer hangover.
Thumbs Down: That killer hangover. An oddity considering the closest I came to an alcoholic beverage last night was a Diet Coke. I think this may be payback for all those nights I got merry and woke up the next morning feeling fantastic. In the words of the incomparable Riggs -- I'm getting too old for this shit.

Thumbs Up: The trailer for Rob Zombie's reimagining of Halloween. When I first heard about the project, I was weary. Having seen House of 1000 Corpses and knowing of Zombie's penchant for low-budget gore, I was worried that he'd turn one of my favorite movies into a Karo-swathed bloodbath with no correlation to the original except the name. But the trailer doesn't look too bad. Not a huge fan of the new mask (stitching? Really?) or the jump-cuts (MTV-style editing has ruined a generation of filmmakers....and this coming from a girl who counts Baz Luhrmann as one of her favorite directors), but hopefully, the picture will deliver. One of the scariest things about Halloween was Carpenter's use of light and shadow to terrify as opposed to visceral carnage. Hopefully, Zombie keeps this in mind.
Thumbs Down: Allergies. In addition to being allergic to crunchy peanut butter, excessive sunlight, pseudophedrine, caffeine, certain types of laundry detergent and fabric softener and orange juice -- I've discovered that I am allergic to clean cars. I have a rash on my foot due to car shampoo. Nice.

Thumbs Up: New episodes of The Sopranos and Entourage tonight. I've come to the very disturbing conclusion that if I was not with my ridiculously cute boyfriend, I would date Turtle (not Jerry Ferrara. Turtle). It would be the greatest relationship ever -- hang out in Los Angeles, play video games, smoke cheeba, drink and eat. Sometimes, it kind of worries me just how much like a 14-year-old boy I really am.
Thumbs Down: The United States Postal Service. They were supposed to deliver Dan's birthday present on Friday and he still hasn't gotten it. Apparently, my definition of 'Priority Mail' and USPS' vary greatly. Hopefully it gets there by Monday and if it doesn't....well, I have no idea what the hell I'm going to do.

Happy Birthday!

24 Reasons I Adore My Boyfriend:

24. The fact that this will probably mortify him. As similar as we are, in some ways -- we are very different people.
23. His encyclopedic knowledge of minutae. Especially film and TV minutae. It's mind-bogglingly amazing. The guy's a pub quiz champ for a reason.
22. He always opens the car door for me. In the end, it's the little things that really matter.
21. He is gorgeous. When we finally met in person, my first impression of him was, "Wow....he is really good-looking." This was of course, followed by the inevitable, "Oh. This isn't good. This isn't good at all."
20. He makes the world's best grilled cheese sandwiches and french toast. I'd date him based on this alone.
19. He believes in me and thinks I'm a great writer. Coming from a writer I respect so much, that's high praise.
18. He serenades me with everything from Motown Philly by Boyz II Men to The Doors to completely retooled versions of Disney songs (I could be wrong, but I'm fairly sure that A Whole New World from Aladdin never featured lyrics about DJ's boyfriend, Steve).
17. Because even though we've been together for almost nine months, I still get butterflies whenever he calls and thinking about him will still make me smile and blush.
16. He has great taste in music and makes me the best-best-best mix CDs. I have mixes entitled, 'Dear God! Ten Volumes!', 'Eye On Springfield' and 'Now! That's What Dan Calls Christmas.' Tell me that doesn't rule all.
15. He shares his food and lets me eat off his plate (You'd be surprised at how annoying this is to some people).
14. He thinks I'm beautiful. How can you not love a guy who says things like this and actually means them? I've been called cute before. Ditto adorable and precious. Actually, think of any adjective you'd assign to a Labrador Retriever and odds are, I've heard it in reference to me, but beautiful? Never. I've never been told that. Not in a genuine sense, anyway. More in a slap-the-ass-get-me-another-beer-wouldya-thanks-beautiful way. Everyone should feel beautiful at least once in their life and because of Dan, I now know what that feels like.
13. He drives stick. No, that's not a God-awful euphemism. He's got a stick-shift car and according to numerous sources on manliness (primarily Maxim, Esquire and my dad) -- real men drive stick.
12. Despite the fact that driving stick and holding your girlfriend's hand is damn near impossible, he manages it anyway.
11. He always smells great.
10. He inspires me -- to write, to be a better person, to see the ever-evolving beauty this world possesses. Being with him, I'm reminded of how optimistic I was at sixteen. Somewhere along the way, that unabashed optimism got submerged, but now? It's starting to come back and that is a beautiful thing.
9. 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.
8. He's a great uncle and his niece adores him (His niece, by the way? Smartest child ever. But in a cute way. Not in that pretentious and scary Dakota Fanning way)
7. He's got a huge....wit. What? The kid's funny. He can make me laugh harder with one noise than most comedians can with an HBO special. (Come on now -- did you really think I was going to be so lewd? Ahh, I don't blame you. I would have expected it from myself too)
6. Dating Dan means almost unlimited access to his grey American Eagle hoodie which might just be the most comfortable article of clothing in this world. Ladies, back me up here. No matter how many sweaters and hoodies you own -- the most comfy one always belongs to your boyfriend, right?
5. He introduced Lost, Wawa Iced Tea, Bruce Springsteen's Atlantic City, Black-and-White cookies, Before Sunrise and Before Sunset into my life, thus making it ultimately better.
4. Best. Conversations. Ever. He's intelligent, eloquent, passionate and opinionated. That's why I love this picture of us so much. It perfectly captures exactly how we are together.
3. His 'Gatsby' smile. He's got this amazing smile that reminds me of a line from F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby -- "...and then, his face broke into that radiant and understanding smile, as if we'd been in ecstatic cahoots on that fact all the time."
2. When we kiss, I get weak at the knees and a little dizzy. I used to think that was a myth promulgated by Hollywood and romance novelists to sell tickets and books. I thought wrong.
1. He took the risk, flew 1000 miles and met the Internet Girl. And they'll live happily ever after.

I loved you then. I love you now. I'll love you always.

Your reason and your passion are your rudder and sails of your seafaring soul

What does your soul look like? Assuming it was a material, tangible quality. Something you could reach out and touch.

Mine would be bright and glossy. Like those metallic candy paint colors. Shiny like chrome. And sunny. Definitely sunsplashed. Lots and lots of colors – Superman blue, Bing cherry red, juicy tangerine, buzzing neon pink, sour lemon yellow, summer grass green – shimmery. It would be constantly percolating – drip-drip-dripping with ideas and thoughts and queries and philosophies and explanations and theories.

Noisy. Chattering away like a five-year-old. Flashed with fragments of songs, scenes from movies, TV and cartoons, classic quotes from books and memories and daydreams. Lots and lots of images, but lots of words too ‘cause I think in a mixture of both.

How would my soul feel?

Like squelching your toes in wet, brown-sugar sand. Like summer’s first really juicy, really sweet peach. Like those butterflies you get when you’re thisclose to kissing someone you love.

What would my soul taste like, smell like?

Easy. Well, not really, but I think it would smell like a starkissed suburban night – like gardenia and laundry and barbecue. Comforting – like you know you’re home and everything’s going to be alright. As for the taste? Probably picture show popcorn – hot, fresh and buttery. Yeah. Moviehouse popcorn and an ice-cold Coke clinking with lots of chipped ice.

However, to all this, there is a flip side because every action has an equal and opposite reaction.

So, as well as the kaleidoscopic glimmer, I’d have a darker side. Not quite Jackson Pollock, but something more black-and-white film noir…with a faulty projector which keeps snapping and slipping. It would feel cold. Like hands that just won’t warm up. Frost-bitten. It would be snarled and knotted, like tangled bedhead. It would taste like bitter espresso, making you grimace and cast it aside. It would smell like after 4th of July when the last firecracker has popped and all have deserted the streets except hazy dragons of smoke.

Front page!

My article about the closing of the Back To The Future ride made the front page of The Future!

If you're in the UCF area -- pick up a copy. If you're not, check it out online here.

I'm really proud of this piece. Anyone that knows me knows what a huge fan of the the trilogy I am, so to be involved with it on this level? It's pretty amazing.

I'm also shocked by the front page. I thought it was going to be a little blip buried on page A5. The graphics department did a stellar job. It looks fantastic.

Front page article. Lunch with Dana, Steve and The Best Friend. Universal Knights tonight, Greek birthday dinner tomorrow evening -- yep. It looks like it's going to be a great weekend :)

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?