From My Childhood Bedroom...

I had the fortune of taking over my parents' basement when I was a sophomore in high school. I had a bedroom and a living room, and I was pretty much the coolest kid ever.

Before that, I had an upstairs room facing the backyard. This room has gone through a couple phases. When we moved to Buffalo when I was 6, it was pink with some wallpaper border that I can't remember. It was my fortress of playtime where I preferred to play on my own with American Girl dolls, Polly Pockets, Barbies, you name it. I had an awesome imagination. It was the bedroom where I got ready for little league games, then came back after to make myself look like a girl, only to go running around outside barefoot and get dirty all over again. It's where I stood in the mirror smoothing out the bumps in my hair from my ponytail during the phase where I was really into those snappy clips, which were later replaced by every butterfly clip you could possibly imagine.

Around 10 or 11 years old, the room went purple with a wallpaper that had yellow and green flowers. I changed the setup and got my first TV - that I won - which completely changed that place. I no longer had to suffer through the news channels and boring shows that my parents watched. I could toon into Nick or Disney or even MTV all I wanted. That was also the room where I experienced my first childhood heartbreak, and all heartbreaks since have been handled the same way: find a comfy pillow, lay on the ground and stare at the ceiling until you can figure out all your feelings.

Though the colors and designs stayed the same through middle school, I moved my bed and convinced my parents that it was a great idea to put these dreamy, see-through curtains around my bed as if I was some sort of khaleesi. I loved this so much aside from the nights when the curtains would crash down and scare me awake.

In high school, the purple became covered in band posters. The curtains concealed my late night phone calls to friends when my parents thought I was sleeping. The heartbreaks were handled the same way. And then I moved down to the basement.

As I sit here in what is now the guest room, I try to think about what little me would think of older me. She would probably first want to know if I was happy. She wouldn't understand what a difficult question that is to answer, even though my answer should just be, "yes, I have a lot to be thankful for." She would want to know if I'm having fun. I'm pretty sure that would be a yes, if you're able to forget some of the stress that adulthood brings with it. She would then want to know if I was learning something new everyday and if I was still the most curious person ever. I would tell her about the internet and how it makes being curious the most rewarding and time-wasting trait you could ever have. And I can honestly say that yes, I am still learning something new everyday.

The lessons I learn now aren't nearly as fun as what I would learn as a child. In fact, I learn most of them the hard way. I don't know if I would tell little me how painful lessons can be when you're an adult. Why would I try to curb that intense curiosity I was known for so early? But at the same time I wish I could warn her of and protect her from the things that will hurt her in the future that some people deem as "character building."

But you can't protect everyone from everything, and you can't go through life being constantly worried or scared. That's the current lesson I'm learning, and I'm not even really sure how to feel about it. In high school and college, I learned you can't change people no matter how much you intervene in their lives. I've been trying to be good about keeping my mouth shut when it comes to others' decisions, because more often than not they still do what they wanted to do regardless of my advice. So I thought I could at least be the protector for those that I love. But now as an adult, I'm learning that you can only protect someone if they want you to. It's hard because I go in with the best intentions, but more often than not I'm the one who ends up looking like an idiot.

If I was saying all this to little me, she definitely would've asked for a snack at this point, because I'm really just going stream of consciousness style at this point. I think if I really were given the chance to warn my young self against anything, I wouldn't. Everyone has to learn things their own way and experience it for themselves. And I really just need to let go.

On Learning to Love Yourself...

It's been going on as long as I can remember, and it started some time during my elementary school years. That little voice that instigates comparisons and tells me I'm not good enough. I can be watching a TV show filled with beautiful people that basically aren't real people and start wondering how I can make my thighs not touch like the lead character. I can be out with others and meeting new people and start worrying that I'm not as witty or funny to keep up with the group. Or one of my friends makes a new friend that has different, cooler interests than mine, and I immediately try to figure out how I can prevent myself from being replaced.

I know I'm not the only one who does this, and I can't just call it a "girl thing." But a certain female writer recently put this sensation into words in a way that I never could:

What Men Want In A Woman by Chelsea Fagan

I read this piece at work the other day and started tearing up, not because I just went through a break up (no worries guys, me and the boy are still going strong after 3 1/2 years), but because I've felt everything she writes about at one point or another in my life. I know what it's like to feel the need to change every single part of myself to the point where I'm not me anymore just to meet someone else's expectations, and know deep down that it still won't be what they need.

"I have people in my life — including, yes, a man — who have chosen to be there because of what existed there already. And when I was torturing myself over the loss of someone who never really wanted me, the idea that I could have changed his mind is what really killed me." - Chelsea Fagan

 This has been a tough lesson to learn, especially as someone who looks to constantly keep improving themselves. I know I can always do something better than I've done it before and there's a fine line between improvement and changing who you are. Of course, when you think about that, you start overthinking all your decisions and drive yourself crazy.

But as I was saying, it's a tough lesson to learn, and it applies to more than romantic relationships. Friends, work, family, I know I'm always striving to everyone's ideal in these relationships. I want to be exactly what they want in a daughter, sister, friend, employee. What I've recently learned is that changing my own interests or aiming for impossible physical goals won't work. If anything, it will eliminate what these people liked about me in the first place.

I had an epiphany with this a couple months ago when I felt jealous of my boyfriend's friends that love and are great at video games. I like them but I don't want to play them all the time, and I'm not particularly great at them. After expressing said jealousy, he told me something that kind of blew my mind, which was that he loved me for what I'm into, not for me trying to be into the same things he likes. It shouldn't be mind-blowing, right? That's something I should just understand after 3 1/2 years together, or after being friends with someone for a long time, or having a job for about two years.

Which leads me to this next piece:

You Deserve Love As Big As Your Thighs by Alexandra Bochetto

I won't delve too far into the body positive message of this one (as I have done so before, here), but I'll say that the title of this piece is brilliant.

When I leave my home and walk past people on the street, I’ll constantly fix myself – keep my shirt from riding up, elongate my neck to make sure that sinful double chin isn’t sticking out to ruin everyone’s view. Because despite physically being alone, I am never quite alone. - Alexandra Bochetto

I'm figuring out just how exhausting it is to constantly compare myself to others. When I meet another girl, I need to stop noticing all the ways she's better than me and why people will like her more than me. I especially need to stop comparing my size and shape to theirs, because it's usually different in ways that are impossible to fix (and in ways that I should really just embrace).

Everyone is different and it's beautiful, and it's what makes bringing new people into our lives interesting. And when you find someone that loves the shit out of you just for being you, then you shouldn't agonize over what they like about other people that you don't have.

I think a huge part of this is accepting that there are people out there that love you exactly as you are. Many people will try to change you and make you feel bad to incite some change, but the ones that matter just want you to be your awesome, weird, quirky self. As Paul Rudd said in Knocked Up, "do you ever wonder how somebody could eve like you?" All the time. And we - and by we I mean me, of course - need to stop wondering that.

Every over-enthusiastic women's magazine I read tells me that confidence is the sexiest trait you can have, and that's the only piece of advice I'll ever take from them. It's totally true. When you meet someone who isn't insanely self-conscious or putting on a mask all the time, it's refreshing. And so I'm making it my goal for the rest of the year - since resolutions aren't only for the beginning of the year - to silence those voices that tell me I'm not good enough or smart enough, and just learn to love myself as I am. There is always room for improvement, but I can't lose myself in the process.

On Anxiety...

It's a bitch.

I'll preface this entry by saying that my anxiety decreased exponentially when Loestrin left my life. And good riddance to THAT crap.

I'll also note that I have a mind that never stops. It keeps me up late for no reason, despite how exhausted my body is. It snowballs ideas until they become something terrifying. It's basically the epitome of the "scumbag brain" meme.

So for the past two and a half years or so, I've been trying to battle anxiety with a brain that refuses to do so. It would get to the point where I could be doubled over in pain because I couldn't deal with anything that was going on around me. I never wanted to leave my apartment, but at the same time, every time I stayed in for a weekend I felt incredibly alone. Go ahead and try to take on intense anxiety on your own. It doesn't work.

All this leads to anxiety boiling up inside you until you think your body might actually physically fall apart. It leads to what Holly Golightly referred to as the "mean reds."

I've always thought the best horror movies keep some things hidden so that your imagination can fill in the blanks. Often what you yourself come up with is much more terrifying than what a filmmaker can portray on screen. So try applying that to your real life, and not being able to fill in the blank.

In the past couple months, I've been really proud of how I've kept my anxiety under control. I no longer have to curl up in a tense ball and wait for the wave of worries to wash over me. I can take a deep breath a dissect a problem rather than hide from it. But every so often it comes sneaking back into my life and brings with it self-doubt and fear. It doesn't manifest itself as physical pain anymore, but it does show up as annoying foot tapping, constantly needing to have something in my hands or just dropping out of reality to zone out and get through it while in public.

I'm not sure why I've decided to write about all of this now. It's therapeutic in a way, but I don't want people to be worried about me. More than anything, I want to know when and how it goes away. What do I need to do to turn my mind off for one night? And does anxiety ever really leave your life, or do we all just keep ourselves distracted until it slowly fades away? The thought of how long it could take to go away just makes me more anxious.

Other things that have changed in the past couple months: the things causing me anxiety will be good for my future regardless of how they turn out. First time that's happening in about...two years? I'll keep you posted on where it all goes.

On My Love of All Things Fall...

I remember living for the summer. This was for obvious reasons: I didn't have to go to school, I basically spent everyday barefoot, I didn't have to work (until some point in high school, but still, a part-time job is nothing). Now I live for the fall. I think this transition was a gradual one that began in 8th grade when I started to look forward to field hockey preseason (I also had preseason in 7th grade, but I was scared to death because it was my first year and I was a middle schooler playing on a high school team. Say what?).

Fall reminds me of getting to the field hockey fields at the early point in the morning where it's cold enough to wear a long-sleeve shirt, but you're still able to work up a sweat by the afternoon. There's a quiet in the fall mornings that isn't there in summer, because people are out and about trying to soak up as much warm weather as possible. When the mornings get colder, fewer people are out ruining the silence, aside from a few fellow athletes and runners. It feels like you're part of an elite club that braved the chilly temperatures and you all have the understanding that this is meant to be a peaceful part of the day.

My next big step of loving fall progressed my sophomore year of college (definitely not during my freshman year when I was terrified of the new field hockey coach I had never met and of college itself). Once I got through preseason (which is not nearly as enjoyable as it was in high school), it began to feel like fall and I could wear sweaters to class along with boots and scarves, which are pretty much the only accessories beyond jewelry that I even care about. Going for drives around town with MGMT blasting from my car on a fall night, sitting on a friend's porch drinking a Woodchuck, these are the types of things that make up my love of fall.

As of now, it's my favorite season. It probably always will be, mostly because I have a very small window of temperature where I'm completely comfortable and fall encompasses that range (approximately 65 degrees to 72 degrees. Below that I'm freezing and above that I'm sweating). I'd also like to point out that someone told me I would love summers in New York, and they are a huge liar. Summers in New York City are terrible, particularly for train riders. Ever been on a hot, humid, stuffy platform when the train is half an hour late? I have. I've also almost passed out during that moment and thought, "So this is how it ends."

But fall in New York? I can get down with fall in New York. I don't mind walking for blocks on blocks on blocks because the weather is perfect, and as stated before I'm likely wearing boots - with heels - and am forced to strut like Beyoncé (bummer). And people are nicer because it's not super hot and making them cranky…or maybe it's just that I'm nicer because it's not super hot, which inevitably would make me cranky.

I feel like only adults appreciate the fall, and I wish I had appreciated it more while I was younger. I was probably too caught up in the whole I-hate-going-to-school thing that young'uns tend to get lost in, and in the process I missed out on really taking in the best season. I think it's more so that fall is an acquired taste.

To me, summer is the Mike's Hard Lemonade of seasons, and fall is the dark oatmeal stout or Chianti. Yup, I just went there. I compared seasons to alcohol. And don't try to deny that these analogies aren't spot on. Winter is the almost kicked keg of Natty Light.

You know what else? Fall is the perfect time to plan a vacation as I have done for the second year in a row. I don't need to lay out on a beach or be in the water to enjoy some time off. I need to explore new places when their leaves are at their peak loveliness and when I can walk around without sweating like a pig.

Anyhow, if you're still reading at this point you know I'm a huge fan of the fall. I love all things pumpkin and apple and cinnamon. I love crisp air and crunchy leaves. I love bundling up before leaving my apartment. And I love walking around in my high-heeled boots like Queen Bey.

On Living Life Outside Your Computer...

I've touched on this theme before, but let's take another look at it.

I read this article today: On Getting #engaged

Pretty sure everyone knows I love weddings. Not in a 27 Dresses way where I'm in a bunch of them, and definitely not in the sappy I-love-to-cry-at-weddings way, but more so in the "all I have to do is show up, eat, drink and have fun" way.

Keeping all this in mind, we also know I'm a big fan of Friday Brideday on TLC, particularly Say Yes to the Dress marathons. I'm also an avid pinner on Pinterest and, yup, most of my pins are on my "Maybe Someday" board, aka, my wedding board.

I wasn't really like this until I got into a serious relationship and realized that getting married was something that could happen in my future.

When I was younger, for some reason I thought I would be married by the time I was 25, because when you're in elementary school that seems like an age where you become an adult (I was actually trying to play the "I'm an adult" card at 18, but that obviously didn't work). I'm one year away from 25, and I still don't feel like an adult. I pay bills and go to work, but inside I'm about 12 years old.

Anyway, I'm a year away from that age when I thought I would be married and start popping out kids, and I know that won't happen by next year and I am totally fine with that. And now everyone in my digital life is getting married and popping out kids by the time they're 25.

There's nothing wrong with this as long as you're doing it for the right reason. Most of my Facebook friends that are doing this have been with this person since high school, waited until after college and I could not be happier for them. Most of them also don't live their married/parented lives through Facebook and I am SERIOUSLY grateful for that.

I've seen a few here and there that spam my feed with dozens of pictures of their engagement rings, mentions of their fiance, which then turns into mentions of their "hubby" after millions of wedding pictures are posted. This is where I usually find myself getting spiteful and silently hating on their pictures and thinking things like, "ugh, I would never do that. My wedding will be sooooo much better." And then I realize that I am feeding the problem that is social media.

People only post the positive things that make their lives seem amazing (aside from those that post the ever annoying updates of "not feeling well," or "why can't anything go right?" or the worst one, "sigh...."), so it's no surprise we get jealous. What they don't post are the arguments they may have had with their family and friends in planning that wedding, or the harder times that every couple faces from time to time. Social networks capture whatever you want them too, and obviously you want people to think you're awesome.

So is that why all these people are getting married and having babies all around me (not literally having babies near me. I wouldn't stand for that nastiness)? Maybe not. But that article above brings up a great point that perhaps some of these people aren't considering:

It seems to me our generation has become infatuated with celebrating the act of becoming engaged, rather than celebrating the act of two people committing their lives to one another. The proposal pictures we gawk over on HowHeAsked.com keep us so fixated on planning our weddings, that we start to forget one important fact: weddings turn into marriages.

I think it's great that we want to keep photographic evidence of all these happenings. And it's amazing that we can keep so much of it and share it instantly. And I'm sure people want to see your rings and your dresses and hear about how the day was if they couldn't make it/weren't invited, but we also need to focus on keeping our lives outside of these pictures just as beautiful.

There are times when I want to quit Facebook and be free of checking it multiple times a day (it's pathetic, I know), but I actually do use it to keep up with people I care about and I kind of need my account for work purposes (social media = marketing, yo). People aren't 100% themselves on social networks, and that makes me a little sad. I've become connected to people on these networks who I think are incredibly awesome in person, and then they complain/overpost/overshare/become horrible on Facebook/Twitter/Instagram, and then I start to dislike them overall as a person. I know, it's not great and maybe not even the "right thing" to do, but it happens.

Why do some people decide to be someone else online? Or why do we feel the need to create a carefully crafted persona that doesn't accurately depict us as we are in real life (IRL, if you will)? Why do we care so much? Years from now, what we put on Facebook won't matter. In fact, what I put on there in high school doesn't matter already. And most of what I put on there in college is pointless, too.

If we spent half as much time focusing on just being good people and pursuing things we love, I think we would all be happier. I'm guilty of being stuck in my digital world far too often, and I'm going to challenge myself to take about 20 steps back. There's no need to be checking my email and newsfeed while also trying to watch Breaking Bad. And I don't need to check my phone all the damn time while I'm hanging out with friends.



Anyone else feel like taking a break from our tiring digital lives? Join me. Pick up a book. Look someone in the eyes when they're talking to you. Go a week without posting or tweeting. Just live your actual life instead of your #life.

On the NYC Real Estate Market and Rapid Realty...

I did something a little out of character today. I turned into a nag and put a company on blast for scamming me.

It's not that I don't like to stand up for what's right or whatever, it's that I don't like to cause a scene. I weigh my options very carefully when I have to throw a lot of energy behind something. And I hate doing something half-assed. I would rather not do something at all than not give it everything.

So lets rewind to December 2011 when I started a whirlwind adventure called, "So You've Landed A Job In New York City." This midwestern kid was aiming to get her first apartment on her own and had no idea what to expect. I had about two weeks to search for a place, and from what everyone had told me, this didn't seem like an issue considering how fast the New York City real estate market moves. I spent every free minute I had looking at Craigslist ads, researching neighborhoods, getting advice, trying to be as prepared as possible. And then I had one day to go down to the big, bad city to look at places and find the Prince Charming of apartments.

Possibly one of the most stressful trips of my life up until that point (my LA trip from June still beats it). We worked with one realtor who was a friend of a brother of my boyfriend's sister's boyfriend, and she was extremely nice but nothing she showed me was a great option. Especially not the place she showed me in East Harlem.

So a guy from this little company called Rapid Realty had contacted me when I started this search back in Buffalo. He had spent some of his childhood in Buffalo, so I immediately thought he would be trustworthy. I managed to get in touch with him as my mother and I sat exasperated and exhausted in a Starbucks near Penn Station, and he was able to set up an appointment to see an apartment out in Queens. I was relieved to walk around in a neighborhood where I didn't feel like I was going to die, and to see an apartment that actually worked for me and was within my price range.

I was ready to get paperwork and payments rolling since I needed approval as soon as possible so I could have a place to live once my job started. The realtor was informed of this before he even showed me the place. Rather than getting down to business and applying right then and there, he was all like, "I'll have our closer call you tomorrow." I was so tired and happy to have found a place I almost didn't care.

And then I learned what a nightmare it is to apply for an apartment in New York City, especially when you need to be approved within days. I went back and forth with this closer dude, trying to get bank information to wire over my security deposit, making sure I had all the necessary documents. And of course he would always forget something and we would have to run back to my mom's office to use the fax machine and send another document over. To say it was draining would be an understatement.

After all this, I still didn't know if I was approved. I was packing up my Uhaul and didn't know if I was approved. We made it to Staten Island all the way from Buffalo before I knew I was approved.

My parents and I ate at a local diner that night after finally unpacking the truck. It was a pretty standard diner, and my dad proclaimed that the burger there was the best thing he's ever eaten. It's amazing what a lack of sleep and stress can do to your mind.

Fast forward three months, everything seems to be fine with my first apartment. I still feel like a kid living in a dorm given how tiny my little studio was, but overall it was fine. And then a leak developed in the middle of my ceiling and it was never properly fixed. For nine months I dealt with buckets on my coffee table, having my laptop and other electronics get drenched, and not once was I reimbursed for items that were damaged (like the carpet I brought to the apartment) or for rent I was paying in order to live in a place that was uninhabitable.

I learned very quickly how shady my management company was, especially when they switched the building manager without informing us, and then also changed the name of the company altogether without any notice. My superintendent was the only good person who worked for that company and he fought so hard to have my ceiling fixed or to get me reimbursed, and when I would call them to check up on it, they would said he didn't do any of that.

Needless to say, I knew I was moving when my lease was up. I started looking for a new place four months in advance. I can't tell you how happy I was to sign the document saying I wouldn't renew and telling the new building manager that there was nothing he could do to keep me with their company.

I hoped the last contact I had with him would be when I gave him my new address where he could send my security deposit. Three months passed before he told me they were keeping it since I never paid my last month's rent.

Huh?

Right.

Going back to the initial deposits on the apartment. I was told I needed one month's security deposit ($1250), first and last month's rent ($2500) and a one month broker's fee ($1250). I paid all of these and had the receipts for them. I told the management company this…and they said they only required one month's security deposit and first month's rent. So I go back to Rapid Realty and ask if they can provide any documentation showing that they also gave the management company my last month's rent. I gave them the benefit of the doubt, wasn't at all on the offense, just stated that I wanted their help in showing that the management company owed me the security deposit. I spoke with an agent there that seemed like she wanted to help me, sent over all the receipts, told this whole story. She said they would get back to me. I check a month later, because why not give them plenty of time, and all she says is that corporate is still looking into it.

I have emailed at least once a month since this started in April, and that is the only response I've ever received from them. There is $1250 missing that belongs to me, and they couldn't care less and have probably pocketed it as some undocumented profit.

I wish I could tell you I don't need that money, but I live in New York City where prices constantly go up and where my paycheck is sucked dry before it even hits my bank account. I don't even live anything close to an extravagant lifestyle, but that is money I most certainly need.

Today I decided I had had enough of them ignoring me. I wrote a Yelp review exposing what they did to me, and it sits alongside many other poor reviews of others getting swindled out of money and baited. I have emailed that agent again and copied the guy who closed the deal for me back in December 2011. He conveniently no longer works for them. She has yet to respond to my email. I emailed their generic email address asking how I can get in touch with corporate, given that the number listed on their site has led me nowhere. I sent them a Facebook message asking the same thing.

Where do I go next? I'm sure Gothamist has covered this more than enough times for it not to be newsworthy. I could probably submit a list to Buzzfeed of why you should never work with either of these companies. I think NY1 has more important stories to cover than a young girl from Buffalo getting scammed by Rapid Realty. I need to do something to get their attention though, and legal action might be too expensive if it's not worth it. God knows they probably wrote some loophole into something I signed that allows them to keep my money.

As I sit here typing this, I can't believe it's allowed to happen. But these types of things just go unnoticed in a city as big as New York that has much larger problems. In Buffalo, all I would have to do is call up my local TV news station or get in touch with my newspaper contacts, and as a community we would bring these crooks to their knees. In New York City, no one cares. They've probably also been scammed and dragged through something much worse than I have.

I'm hoping that something I've done today will get their attention and convince them to get in touch with me before I start screaming louder. I know many people don't read my blog, but perhaps it will show up in someone's Google search and they won't make the same $1250 mistake that I did.

Or hey, maybe someone in that company will have a heart and give me my money back. Doubtful.

On What I've Been Doing Lately...

...because I know you're all dying to know.

I've been busy, guys. That's right, I've been busy.

I didn't do much running last week because the humidity reared its ugly head for (literally) a hot second, and I was not prepared to deal with it. I am not a damn toucan.

I did run 10 miles on Saturday though, and that went really well. I managed to wake up early by setting my alarm to Beyonce's "Love On Top" and changing the alarm's message to, "Beyonce would wake up early," and so I woke up early. And I ran before it got too hot, and it really didn't get too hot because guess what guys? Fall is here. Fall. is. here. and I'm stoked. STOKED.

So I ran 10 miles and felt like a superstar because I did pretty well and didn't have to walk at the same parts of this route where I had to walk the previous week. Then I got home and cleaned myself up and settled in to watch more Breaking Bad than one should in one sitting. But then my friend offered me a free ticket to the Mets double header and I decided to join because, why not be social and catch up with a friend I haven't seen since we both went to see the Katy Perry movie in 3D last year? Super fan right here. Don't judge me, the movie was awesome and I also own it on DVD.

The outing was a lot of fun. I saw her dad and uncle run around the nearly empty sections of Citi Field trying to score free T-shirts and fly balls. I managed to "catch" a free T-shirt by trying to catch it, letting it fall in front of me and then snatching it from the ground before anyone could think of beating me to it. It's an XL and it almost reaches my knees when I wear it, so I wear it to bed like I'm a kid again.

I sat in the seats at Citi Field for about six hours with a few stretching and walking breaks, but having my legs bent for that long after such an intense run earlier in the day made them stiffen up. Which was fun when I had to climb the stairs up to the train to go home. Except that it wasn't.

Sunday was spent at a bar with new friends, watching football, drinking beer, eating food and throwing popcorn. We ended the night by eating ramen and I was pretty happy about that. I won't turn down non-microwaved, legit ramen.

Then the weather decided to be even better starting yesterday and I've had two incredible runs in a row. Whaaaaaat??? Tonight I decided to see how fast I can run 5 miles, because why not? I can run 5 miles in 41:13. That's not bad considering Central Park is hillier than Buffalo, and the Turkey Trot is in Buffalo and I would like to run that as close to a sub-40 time as possible. Last time I did that I was 20 lbs. lighter than I am now. And I looked weird.

I haven't been doing much cooking lately because I never have time to grocery shop. I'm dying to make a huge pot of soup to bring in for lunch everyday. I could go for something hearty, like butternut squash soup with apples in it. Or this awesome escarole and sausage thing my mom makes. Or pretty much anything my mom makes.

Guys, I was thinking about Thanksgiving the other day and thinking about the awesome meal my mom makes...and my mouth started watering. It just did again.

That's all that I've been up to. I'm really not that busy. I just haven't written in here because I didn't have anything exciting to write. But this update was super exciting, yeah?