College has always meant to be a time of discovery. Many generations have experienced war, tragedy and world events during their tenures. I don’t think anything compares to what we experienced.

None of us will ever forget where we were or who we were with. I still remember sitting at Sarah Gomez’s kitchen table having a peanut butter and jelly sandwich when I was in kindergarten when the Challenger exploded. You never forget.

My phone rang the morning of 9/11 and it was my dad. Nothing new – he called most mornings. But without a ‘hello’ – he just said : “Carolyn, turn on the tv. Any channel.”

I rubbed my eyes. I remember this because I kept rubbing them – trying to figure out what I was seeing. He told me a commercial plane had crashed into a World Trade Center tower just minutes prior. We sat there in silence until I said, “oh my god. Look – is that another plane?” And it crashed. The deliberateness was now evident. I was confused – but not scared until my dad said…

“If I call you today and tell you to come home I don’t want any arguments. You are to come home.” Hearing that fear – in MY dad’s voice – I started to get scared.

I don’t know how many calls I made – “turn on the TV….” “can you believe?…” and “WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?”

Then the Pentagon, then a plane in Ohio.

The image most burned in my mind? Opening the door of room 460 and seeing Ann look at me with tears on her face – and as I turned around to the television – the first tower fell.

We sat together stunned.  Holding hands, crying.

Stunned.

I’m sure many of you felt that. Crippling – and then anger.

As the day went on and I walked across the quad it was eerily quiet. I popped in on a class that I had taken a year prior – “Middle Eastern Politics” – and the 50 person class was about 400 that day. To which my professor said… “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

We all dealt in our own ways. Flags were displayed everywhere, there was a sense of community and helping your fellow man. A year later I had the opportunity to organize and speak at a memorial on our quad. 10,000 people showed up. I cried as I read those words – and I remember just ONE line…

“As we swing the sword of justice, let us not do it lightly but with awareness and vigor.”

We will never forget that day – but my wish is that we will not forget how this country UNITED. Beyond our differences, beyond our conflicting ideals and  beyond the daily nonsense we will remember what matters.

Those people that we lost and the people that we were with that gave us the strength to get through. For this, Ann, I am grateful that if I had to experience that day that it was with someone like you. You are part of my history and part of my story of this day.

God bless all of you today – and I hope you all find a way to cope and move forward.

xoxo CB.

Meet my new daughter. She’s  furry, has 4 legs and actually likes me. Most of the time.

For those of you that knew me when I was living in Toronto you know about my adventure with another white furry companion named Rex. I named him that because he wrecked everything I owned.

Not only did he wreck everything but he HATED me. I mean, this dog haaaaaated me. From the moment he woke up in the morning until the time I locked his ass in the bathroom at night he attacked me. Viciously. Weird thing? He LOVED everyone else.  I guess I should have named him Damien as in decedent of Satan himself.

My nephew would pick him up by his fur, other dogs would play rough and he would play with everyone in the office. Not me. He bit me and drew blood daily. I took this abuse for 3 weeks until I sold him on the internet. And I swear to you I wrote up a contract that said “no returns under any circumstance.” After a year he was super happy with his new owner.

So imagine my apprehension when I decide now is the time  to try again. I got lucky this time. Lilly is super sweet, playful, loves kids and dogs… and she loves ME.

I don’t know how she puts up with me. I’d be a turrible mom to a real life child. I’m REALLY good with kids – as an auntie. Probably not as a mom… here’s how I know after 2 weeks.

Upon reading the bag of dog food and recommended servings I just stopped after weight… if I would have read further I would have noticed that most of the time you are supposed to give a puppy double because they are growing. Poor Lilly has been starving for her first 2 weeks with me. Could you imagine if it was a real kid? Oh gold…

Then she gets gas… bad gas to which I post this embarassing information on Facebook for help. Could you imagine a 12year old girl and what she’d do to me? World War III. (BTW, my kids would NEVER be on facebook – another reason I’d be hated).

One night she got a little bug. Fever complete with barfing. I had an event I needed to be at that day and after a trip to CVS and some pepto for the pup (she got a pink beard because I couldn’t bear to shove it down her throat as instructed) I asked my mom what you do if it’s a real kid that gets sick? I mean, you can’t lock it in the cage… she said you cancel. I think I had a panic attack. I use my PTO for vacations to Mexico, opening day and when I’m ill. No wonder parents never get vacation.

That brings me to potty training. I’m doing okay – but I’m such a sucker. Lilly gets cold and shakes after pretending to go. I’m serious, she’s too smart – she squats to pretend pee just so I will take her inside. Picture me bending over to see each time if my girl is actually urinating. Now imagine you are the person driving down the street as this is happening. It’s a wonder there haven’t been more accidents on my street – or in my house for that matter.

I overcompensate. She now has more toys than she will ever play with and a full winter wardrobe consisting of 2 sweaters and a puffy coat. I have a sickness and I’d go broke if I had a real baby. FYI – LouisV. does make dog collars.

Anyway, you can all rest assured that I will not be having real children. Unless one of my mom friends writes a step-by-step, minute-by-minute instruction manual or my mom agrees to raise my babies voluntarily this girl will be childless.

I am an amazing auntie and am for hire… just ask my sister!

xoxo – c

They’ve all been there for me at different times in my life – one has gotten me over an international breakup, one gave me amazing joy on a random Tuesday and the last cured my boredom and loneliness when I moved away from my family…

Their names? Louis, Christian and Jimmy.

I’m sorry to the general male population, but you’ve got some serious competition. These men don’t argue, tell me what to do or even sit around doing nothing while I work, clean, cook and take care of your lazy ass. They make me feel good, bring amazing compliments from total strangers, strike up conversation and ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS make me feel better about myself – no matter what.

So I think Mrs. Vuitton, Mrs. Louboutin or Mrs. Choo would be perfectly acceptable surnames. And I plan on taking any one of them, or all of them, for the rest of my life.

Yes, they may be outrageously priced and I may be a label whore but a good pair designer shoes or a bag can and will probably outlast the lengths of all my relationships to date… combined. As they get older I am actually more attracted to them. Vintage means better and hotter in their cases – but not yours.

I know that may not say much about me but every single real relationship I’ve had ended in part because a.) I’m pigheaded and like my independence (aka spending what I want on what I want) or 2.) the success I have that makes me able to regularly carry on my long-time love affairs with these three men.

So my advice to all the husbands and boyfriends out there? Embrace these relationships and you may even once in a while promote the affair with a purchase.

She just may like you better…

This past week I went to my alma matter for a plethora of meetings and a very special occasion.  It was a place where I spent the best and worst 7 years of my life and the scene of many, many crimes.

I also got a dose of reality. . . I’m getting old.

I took my old neighbor to lunch. She’s a freshman and doing very well. I love to see someone else having just as much fun as I did on that campus and living it up just as college should be. Oh, did I mention I was 12 when she was in the womb? I’m not joking. I remember when she was born and babysitting for her as a wee one.

Now she’s all growed up and I am old. I’m glad I don’t feel it. So you know how I dealt? I decided a random evening of debauchery was in order. What better way to prove to yourself you are not old than acting like you are 21?

I lined it all up – people, plans and pre-arranged transportation  just to be safe. Because I learned way back in the day from others that a DUI is way more expensive than a limo.

SOOOO it’s on. . .

I drank like I was in college – or like there was a limited supply  of Ketel One in the world- so the binge began. Insert a bestie from high school and a bestie from those college days and you have a recipe for success.

Stretch excursion for three? Okay! Horseshoe here we come.

This was my other indication that I’m getting old. I can’t quite convince others to partake in my nonsense. SO the staples in my life were there. And it was awesome.

Fast forward a few hours and many many drinks later. I direct my college bestie to set an alarm so I can get up and feed the meter in the morning. . .

I wake up exactly 2 hours after falling asleep to look outside at 650 am to make sure my car was there.

NOPE.

GONE.

I was like, ugh. The city towed my car. Go downstairs to read the cluster fuck of signage and arrows directing those who have been accepted into MENSA where it is acceptable to leave a vehicle to see where the hell my car could be.

No Parking 7am – 9am M-F. No parking after 2 inches of snowfall. Meter pay 8am-9pm.

My car should be there. It was at 330am when we got home.

Call 311. They don’t have my car. Call back in 20 to see if the system reset – still no car. So they tell me that they  for sure don’t have it and will transfer me to the police department to file a STOLEN vehicle report.

Fahk.

Report filed. 4 letter words invented. Insurance claim filed. It is 815 am, I’m still drunk and going on 3 hours of sleep and a year’s worth of stress.

RIIIIIIIIING. Good news and bad news.  My car was towed…

TO HUMBOLT PARK.

Now I’m fairly street savvy. Except this day of all days. My pal and I go to breakfast to stop the shakes and fill up before what will be a wonderful time with the City of Chicago’s transportation department. I only have the clothes I brought and am showered, groomed and have a Louie full of cash as we were on vacation the previous evening in East Indiana.

Except I forgot to pack one thing. . . My Glock.

The mud lot was in the middle of the second worst neighborhood in Chicago. And if you’ve ever had your car towed you know how much it sucks and how infuriating it can be. Combine that with not being able to get your car out because you don’t have a valid license or too many tickets or because your friend ‘got your shit towed’ – and you have an explosive situation. Complete with yelling, fighting and thankfully, no gun shots.  I was 100% looking for the least dirty part of the floor to hit the deck in the event that it did happen.

But alas, we got out unscathed. Apparently the city of Chicago figures if they tell you your car was stolen before actually telling you they towed it (I was informed there was a no overnight parking sign somewhere within a two block radius and shame on me for not walking around before hitting the watering hole) you will be relieved and not pissed and therefore be nicer to those that have to deal with other angry clientele from behind bulletproof glass.

So yes, Chicago, I learned my lesson and ate your healthy dose of Humbolt Pie – you can guarantee my old ass will not be visiting your 6th ward impound lot ever again.

Huh?

I know, I know. Not the beginning you were expecting. But don’t worry – it’s only one conceptualize.

I’ve had the privilege of seeing some amazing speakers in my day – Colin Powel, Billy C. and yep – Dubya. Here is a man that was the leader of the free world for 8 years, most of which was during war time. I’m expecting a serious take on some difficult events in our country’s history that he dealt with - remember 9/11.? 2 wars? Katrina?

 Instead? BoBo the Clown.

The first ten minutes were hilarious. He made fun of himself – saving me from having to. I’m telling you, if I could get drunk with anyone on this planet it would be DUBYA – he’d be that crazy guy that would do anyhting you told him to. Oh wait, I guess I just have to turn into Mr. Burns (aka Dick Cheney) to get that to happen.

Anyway, I’ll get off my soapbox. I did learn something and it really made me think about how I live my life and how those around me do too.

Dubya talked about Principles: A foundation of beliefs that guide you through decisions and form the basis of your being.

My principles? Here you go:

1. Be Yourself.  This one I got on lock. So what if I am a smartass? It’s who I am. Like today – I wanted to ask Rahm Emmanuel his thoughts on what should happen to those caught peeing on the CTA. Anything short of “execution” and my vote goes elsewhere. My fellow commuters have been lucky this week that I did not add my own signature fragrance “eu de barf” upon poorly choosing the bum car for my trek home each evening.

2. Don’t be Critical of Others.  I try. I really do… but I’m bitchy bitchy bo bitchy.  A  lot. “Those who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones” doesn’t apply to me because  I would never live in a glass house. I’m clumsy and hate to clean. SOOOO. That’s out the window. Or a wall if I lived in a glass house. I’m looking at YOU Jay Cutler.

3. Be Generous. I’d say this is my favorite one. I like making other people happy and helping give opportunities to those that are less fortunate than I. I guess I should just change the title of this one to be “Be a Democrat. (I’m not trying to incite a riot but if you are a Republican and you are friends with me consider this my gift to you. I’m being generous because I associate with you. JOKE. I love everyone. I mean, I said I learned something from the worst president in History didn’t I?) IF YOU ARE NOW OFFENDED PLEASE RE-READ #1.

4. Be thankful and grateful. Everyday I am reminded why I love my life… my friends, my job, my family. Surround yourself with genius, love and creativity and you’ll be all of those things yourself. Even if you just put them under your pillow and absorb through Osmosis. In fact, I propose we make every day Thanksgiving. Except I’d be in a perpetual state turkey and football iduced semi-consciousness. I wonder if they make a pill for that?

5. Cheer Loudly. Lately mine seem to be boos. (sadface) I’m looking at YOU Jay Cutler. Be sincere in the compliments you give to people and you’ll be surprised what you get in return. Karma is a Bitch. Or like ‘the gift that keeps on giving.’ Just decide which you want it to be…

Anyway, if you think about the best things that people say about you to your face or behind your back – these can easily be defined as your principles. Consistent patterns of behavior regarless of the situation.

Well – goodnight all. I’ll let you know what Rahm responds regarding the CTA Urinators. (I smell a c0-ed softball team name…)

XOXO

Recently I decided to leave my employer. The one that I grew up with and that in turn grew up with me. It made me think about the art of moving on. Whether it’s mutual, good terms or bad terms there is always emotion tied up with moving on.

Think about the last time you moved, or had a break up – or even a blow out with a close friend.

You go through similar stages which I will attempt to recap for you below:

Stage 1: Curiosity. ” I wonder what that would be like?” – when you see a hot new model. Car or man, they are interchangeable. You start to wander in your thoughts and visualize how your life would be if you could just. test. drive. that… (fill in the blank). The test drive is the interview process – you can instantly fall in love or hate. It can happen that fast. But when the curiosity bites you it can be crippling – so you owe it to yourself to see if the purchase is worth it.

Stage 2: The Grass Is Greener on this Side: “I could never have this anywhere else. I don’t want to start all over.” Think about how many bad relationships you stayed in just a bit too long because dating ranks right up there with trying on bathing suits or getting a bikini wax. Same thing can happen in a job – I don’t want to have to meet and get used to another set of parents. Are they going to like me? How do I compare to the last girlfriend/ sales rep? It’s just easier to stay put.

Stage 3: Hmmmm, maybe I really am worth more than I give myself credit for. “Son of a… (insert any 4 letter word)” What am I doing? I owe it to myself to explore this. In the infinite wisdom of Stuart Smalley: “I’m good enough, smart enough and doggonit people like me.” And the confidence builds – so you commit to the leaving. Or at least the attempt. Until…

Stage 4: I’m Still in Love. ” Aww. Look at that picture. We were sooooo in love there.” You were my first _________. How could I ever let that go? We have all the same friends. Who gets who? Where will the loyalty fall? Will I be friendless, jobless, loveless, brainless? I should just stay.

Stage 5: Reality Bites. “It is what it is and it’s never gonna change.” So you decide this is it. You’ve got the strength and now it’s time – because they probably left the bathroom door open and you were reminded once again why you were curious in the first place.

Stage 6: Terms of Endearment: “I love you all – and now I only have to love the best parts of you – the memories.” It’s emotional but not messy. It was the right decision all along.

I share this with you because it’s what we go through when we make changes. Big changes and big decisions. But in the end it all works out – because it was meant to.

Happy Brand New Decade to Me!

Muah.

I don’t know if it’s because I’m going to be 30 soon, (gasp) or if I’ve had a lot of ‘me’ time lately but I would like to give a shout out to all the weirdos I know.

Including myself.

As I was fishing by myself today I was reflecting on my randomness. I shall now recap my day for you. Keep reading – you know you want to.

Wake up early to go fishing – rolled over for a half hour and ended up sleeping until 10 am. I mean, I was exhausted after frantically ordering $300 of cable upgrades in order to get the NHL network and NHL center ice to watch my Hawks raise the Stanley cup banner the night before. Did I mention I talked to the kid that took the call for 25 minutes about the Hawks, the Leafs the Magic and all things Canada? I think he fell in love with my outward oddball.

Oh, and did I mention that I cried. Real tears when the banner went up. I also cry when I watch girl things – just to set the record straight. Things like cutting my hand while taking the top off the jeep, watching a rerun of Grey’s anatomy and saying goodbye to my niece and nephew after visits…

So I got up, made coffee and breakfast – colored my hair and got ready to go. On the agenda? Mani/Pedi, shoe shopping, getting my hair did and watching football and playoff baseball. Big day.

As I walked through the mall I got suckered into a new fragrance because the hot guy that was spraying it told me that it was sexy. Thank god it smells like I’d hoped because I was too busy sniffing him out – for a ring. He already had points for being hot AND having a job. We all know the second part is hard for me to find…

On to shoes. If I saw me coming I would have never thought that I was the kind of person to purchase the shoes I did today. I know for a fact that the lady who helped me probably thought I was psycho because I took off my nikes – because what else would you wear with a Greg Olsen jersey? -  and slipped into a pair of four inch glitter platform wedge jimmy choos. Damn I was a sight to see.

And when I said “I’ll take em” I thought the guy shopping with his girlfriend in the same shoe department was going to have a heart attack. Right along with the poor sales lady.

It was a good shopping day. Now on to getting my hair chopped off… Driving fast while channeling my inner  Katy Perry I looked over and realized that the bag with my hot new shoes (read ‘expensive’) was brown. I swore it was white and black when I picked it up. SHIT. I didn’t put the cap on all the way on my diet coke that I threw in the same bag.

I guess eclectic in my case also means “moron.”

I finally got home and got to go fishing. It was cut short however when I got worm guts in the cut on my hand, cried and went home.

To all my eclectic homeys out there – keep it up. Without us there would be nothing to laugh at.

Moving is no fun. Couple that with trying to act like a grownup and line everything up to make the move seamless for yourself? Equals severely shattered expectations. In a very very bad way.

No offense to the people of Fflorida but DAMN. (sassy tone on the DAAAAAMN) If I told 90% of the people on the street that I wanted them to sign a petition for me to run for President of Florida I’d have more hits on YouTube than Justin Bieber. Just sayin. Since the past week ended with me in tears on my new tile floor I figured I’d share and let you all get a quick laugh. (Miss you TONS Chi-town)

My past week:

1. Trade in the BMW  for a Jeep. It’s hot so I take the hard top off. Drive into the city in my new truck-vertible… put the soft top up because of rain? Guess what… NO zip in windows for C-Bath. Although my nickname is showerhour I did not quite appreciate the rinse and repeat this caused on my new car. I had ‘words’ with the dealer.  (this was in Illinois so you are SOOOO lucky Florida)

2. Move to Florida via 20 hour drive with my dad. No complaints there except the only choice for 1200 miles was waffle house or cracker barrel. We chose the latter… 4 times. We bathauers love variety I guess.

3. Get to Florida to pick up keys to my new apartment. Wait 3 hours because the dumbass kid who was responsible for bringing them to the exchange location failed to do so since MONDAY. Did I mention I was in the car for 20 hours and it is now 100 degrees? See steam beginning to form in my noggin…

4. Get keys, get to apartment. (Door was open I think but I didn’t want to really know or tell my father) Direct TV comes and tells me that there is a tree in the way of my signal. I love trees normally, but do you think anyone would miss it if I chopped it down? SO no NFL Sunday ticket for me and going with the Comcast version of Florida cable that is going to cost me double. F.  (steam is slowly trickling and my cheeks are red)

5. Let the rules begin. . . Remember when I said I tried to line everything up so I wouldn’t have to worry? Well I had emailed the new management co to see if satellite dishes violate association rules – I guess the only time they do is when the dish is in a place where it gets a signal. i.e. OUTSIDE.  (she was “busy” – I saw her playing solitaire on the computer. Too busy to do my 10 minute orientation to give me a parking spot and my badge… see below) HERE IS WHERE STEAM SPEWS from my mouth at this lazy person – in front of the Direct TV man about the proper ways to do ones job. I just pissed off the dictator… keep reading.

   Orientation:   More rules: A. you cannot let visitors go to your pool without you – they will check your id badge. Seriously – high school style. (Each and every one of my friends will be listed on my “lease” to get their own stinkin badges) b. No grills – fuck off.  C. No alcohol at the pool… oh gold – I guess I should have read their rule book aka. Mein Kampf before I signed the lease.

6. No T-Mobile phone signal in my new apt means I will have to get a landline. A LANDLINE???? This caused me to miss the phone call from the movers that said they would be calling me Monday to give me an estimated delivery date. THEY ARE SUPPOSED TO BE HERE SATURDAY.  So the campout on airmatresses, no television, no pots and pans continues and we cross our fingers and say prayers to the moving gods…

Steam has changed to liquid form and is now coming out my eyes.

Over/Under on how long I will be at the no-fun compound? 6 months

Over/Under before I kill a resident of Florida for stupidity / laziness / incompetence… 2 days.

Welcome Home!

I’d like to think my blog has a bit of balls… with a side of boobs. This one is going to be short because I am only going to highlight the non-embarassing parts - but after the amount of booze I consumed I  will not be held accountable for any accuracy or my behavior. And I lie about the length – like most men.

Thursday:

Go to work. Make it rain. Go to 2 dinners. Drink too much.

Birthday card for 2nd dinner talks about purchasing cans. Yep, those kinds. Somehow the conversation turns to knowing someone who can get them for 5g’s. My advice:

“There are things in life you should never do on the cheap. 1st is a boob job. 2nd is an African Safari.” 

I don’t want to look like Tori Spelling post-0p and I’d like to not get eaten by a lion. Makes sense in my fucked up head…no?

I’d like to add Sushi to that because I always hear “it’s not that expensive” when talking about restaurants that serve raw fish. I like my raw things expensive and without disease thank you very much.

Somehow we get home. (my home is a tan sectional couch in zhubes house. I pay rent with my awesomeness.)

… hear a noise in the bathroom. See one friend trying to make it out of the bathtub. Laugh. Look at other friend and laugh some more. Realize I am being a giant asshole and help said friend out of the bathtub.  And laugh. Get up the next morning and make sure to wake her up and ask if I can shower in her bed. . . giant giant a-hole I am.

Friday: Go to work. Seriously they need to turn the sprinkler off – it kills my hair. (remember the raining?) Summer hours and out at noon are awesome. I leave promptly at 12 and faceplant on aforementioned tan sectional by 1220.

Evening: Another bday party and watch the hawks lose. Barf. (Almost) because I bought a $30 all-u-can-guzzle bracelet on $2 draft night. Upon doing so I asked if it came with a free stomach pump. It did not. But in the end I made money because I drank that much. Oops.

Meet other shit faced friends out for an impromptu bar crawl… after a case of beer I now know why they call it a crawl. Oops x2.

Get home again. Thank the man upstairs for cab drivers – because I’d hate me, trying to tell me, 4 numbers and a street name at this point too…

Order food which turned out to be the best and worst decision of the night….

Saturday:

Wake up to my (zhubes) upstairs neighbors’ 3 young boys. I say they were playing dance dance revolution with cinder blocks tied to their feet but zhubes says they are aspiring jessie white tumblers. Either way, at 7am on a Saturday I was about to go to jail…

Laugh in bed with the girls about the night before and inform them that if they shake me hard enough I’d be drunk again. Laughing hurts really really bad at this point.

Went to Starbucks instead and attempted to plan my nap schedule around the little dumbos upstairs. (baby elephants – get it?)

Evening: Welllllllll….. I can’t remember anything. BUT it

Only can be described as pure amazing. I was surrounded by genius people that should try out for So You Think You Can Dance season 47 – I think they may be good enough by then. I kid - anyone who plays air guitar with my leg is awesome in my book. Oh, and guys, if you DIP a girl - you are supposed to NOT drop her on her head or knees. She’s not gonna do what you want her to.

 I had a great time and realized that in this weekend full of mostly men who blog about sports that I too write about sports….

The sport of life.

I win.

I don’t know what came over me today – if it was my former floor resident’s brutal honesty, the movie with my fave shoe saleswoman, the full moon or the voices in my head as I drove super fast tonight..

It ended up being the realization that this is quite possibly the last Super Sexy Slutty Summer together – and most of you are down for the count for Slutty… so the rest of us will have to ‘take one for the team.’ (sorry mom).

So for this and everything I must say thank you… and fuck you.

Kidding. Kinda.

Ladies, you all know what I’m talking about – with the anticipated release and subsequent cosmos, high heels and ‘girls nights’ about to commence this weekend you’ll sit and compare yourselves to Samantha and Carrie and Charlotte and Miranda. Me? Well, we all know who I am…

I knew I was in for it today after I spent the last week in Cabo (amaze.) with a guy that I just met (amaze x2.) and came back just ‘friends.’ His choice, not mine. Now this isn’t the worst part, not even coming back with e-coli was the worst part… the shot through the heart? Your bestie looking at you going… “what the hell is wrong with you?”

And all you can do is ‘sigh’ because she’s right. And she’ll call bullshit. And she’s right. And you still heart her. . . and she’s still freaking right.

You know each other better than you know yourselves – you’ll hold hands when scared (or in the hospital for stupidity), hearts when broken… and well, hair when puking. But that’s besides the point…

You will tell her what she already knows but won’t admit. Push and pull to help her be the best she can be – tell her she’s amazing and funny and down right incredible.

Even though most of the time she doesn’t believe you because she needs a man to confirm these things… it’s the burden we all bear.

But that will never cheapen the fact that you can slip n’ slide on your front lawn drinking wine out of brown paper bags (classy), or do beer bongs in the shower, or yell “what are you looking at huh?” to a bunch of crows…

OR

Take photos to replicate a certain poster for gifts for certain bf’s, or have nothing to say but “YES” when she shows up on your porch with her bags, or going to those ‘boyband’ concerts and actually enjoying them or internet stalking new girlfriends and dog-walker wives, or pretend you are ‘together’ to get rid of creeps…. (who are we kidding, that attracted more of them than getting rid of them!)

OR

Give up your futon for the sake of singlegirldom, or prank call out of boredom (who knew *67 really works?) or understanding that those last shots were quite possibly the best and worst decisions you’ve ever made, or threatening so many of those jerks that did these things to us…and on and on and on…

We’ve been through it all together and together we will get through so much more…

But above all, this city is ours and we’ve got 4 months of warmth and ball and beer to claim. So we make a pact right here, right now to validate one last summer of bad decisions before we all grow up…

I love you all more than you can know and appreciate your honesty, beauty, friendship and foolishness – because without you my life would be without story.

Thank you… and fuck you.