Worst 15 Minutes of my Life

I have always been told that giving up is a bad thing…unless, of course, it happens to fall in between late February and early April.

That's right- with this past Wednesday, the season of lent has begun. One of a variety related to new beginnings, lent has always been one of my favorite markers of progress. It, like New Years Eve, is a time to asses where you are in relation to where you want to be.

There are a lot of rules about Lent of which I am not exactly sure…having not attended CCD since i was 15 or 16, the details are fuzzy. I know you aren't supposed to eat meat on Ash Wednesday (or the Friday after, which I'm pretty sure also has a name). You aren't supposed to have sex on Good Friday. And my CCD teachers always used to tell us to wear a cross all through until Easter, so that we would feel more guilty if we broke whatever it was we had promised.

The one thing I am sure of though, is that Lent is about giving something up.

After a few failed attempts to give up the same thing in high school, I started going with a slightly less conventional approach. For the past 5 or 6 years, I've started giving up more than one thing, mainly because long ago, I gave up on the fact that I could be very sure in February of what I would or wouldn't need to get me through March. Yes, I am a woman of many vices.

Making a mental list, each Ash Wednesday of four or five things I wanted to rid myself of, by the time I got to Easter Sunday, I could be sure to have at least one that I had successfully exiled from my bank of bad habits, so to speak.

The hardest for me is usually diet pepsi. Followed by doritoes and cream cheese (yes, American through and through). But my junior and senior years of high school, those were easy…minus the caffeine headaches (which I now could have easily put to rest with a few cups of coffee)

My favorite (or most effective, really) part of lent, though, is usually to give up something emotional. My freshman year, my boyfriends late night phone calls on weekends only made me feel horrible, so I gave up answering the phone after midnight. In high school, I gave up the internet after 1am, because the conversations i had at that hour were never anything good for me.

Drinking is something I've always thought of giving up- effectively giving up bad judgement- but the problem there is that Spring Break always happens to fall in March, and even my senior year of high school, when drinking consisted of little stronger than Smirnof Ice, the only "bad judgement" would have been going into Senor Frogs in the Bahamas sober.

Anyway, this year, after careful consideration, I've come up with a short list of things to rid myself of. Cursing is one of them. This, I've learned, gets difficult when I am drinking- so taking advice from an old CCD teacher, I now sport a cross most of the time, with the hope that it will help me remember (even through the haze of a Saturday night at The Moose).

I also intended on giving up lying, but that was quickly thrown to the wind after I had to cover up for a friend the other day. And tell a professor that my "older brother" was getting married on Saturday, making it imperative that I miss the midterm scheduled for 3pm that day.

I have also effectively broken that one multiple times this week via what I am going to be doing tomorrow- but all with the best of intentions. I am not very good at things like this, as usually when I am excited about something, I immediately tell everyone I know. I've been very good this time though- so... that's all I am going to say for now

In the spirit of speaking the absolute truth: I cannot WAIT for tomorrow.

A Fair Curve from a Noble Plan

A man named Greg Behrendt once advised women across the country to always assume that they are the rule- not the exception. This stems from the fact that in life, we like to think that our circumstances warrant some extraordinary treatment. In reality though, Greg says that there are certain rules that, like it or not, are universal.

People who work harder should do better. People who want it badly enough should have an opportunity to seek it. People who have talent should be given a showcase in which to display it.

If life was a fair game, those would be the rules.

Time and time again, though, I am reminded of the injustice that often comes with the day-to-day.

From 7th through 12th grade, I slaved away endlessly in order to stay in an upper level math course. I came into school at 7:30, completed extra assignments, and could practically recite the textbook. In the end though, most semesters, I was lucky to get away with a C plus Those around me, however, skated by on a placid sea- claiming the work was "not challenging enough."

However reluctantly, I have learned that the rule, in this case, is that you are graded based on results. Not effort. And to that, I am no exception.

The upside of this rule came in my english classes. In 5th grade, I won a national writing contest with a short story I wrote in under an hour. Through high school, I quickly found that I could get As in english with minimal effort applied. English, for me, always counterbalanced math.

I think that in everyones most formative years growing up (high school) they cross paths with those that influence the way they think and behave for the rest of their lives: for better or for worse. The person I have in mind is the one who introduced me, my junior year, to the concept of cheating: an endlessly complex, seemingly simple act that is a prime example (and the one Greg most often references) of thinking that you are the exception to the rule. "The rule" in this case being that people who treat you like they don't care very much…genuinely don't care very much.

The rule that inevitably comes along with this is that when you do something wrong, you will not learn from it unless there are consequences.

My senior year, I found myself on the other side of the cheating spectrum. When I awoke the next day, I remained in bed, weighed down by a guilt that kept me from moving. I started sleeping in until noon and the severity of the pain getting at my conscious kept me quieter than usual- to the point where my mom started thinking that my problem was not faithfullness but drugs.

Though I eventually told Bryan what happened, the fact that there were no real consequences in our relationship (he, like most people in that situation, blamed himself) made it difficult for me the grasp the magnitude of betraying another person on that level. Though I was able to imagine what could have happened- the fact that nothing actually did is what took precedence in my mind.

No consequences came with my completely unnecessary, selfish actions- making me the exception to the rule.

If they had let me keep my job at Old Glory, I would've been overjoyed: I loved that job. But truthfully, it would have been unwarranted. Yes, I was sorry- but sometimes sorry really isn't good enough. Consequences are what help to shape new actions into better and wiser actions.

Over time, I have learned that I am one of those people who needs to push the limits in order to see why they are there. I cannot accept things as they are. The only way for me to learn something and have it stick is the hard way.

There are many people that are not like this- and of them, I am endlessly envious. Their ability to always appear composed, calm, and on the pinnacle of sophistication because of their lack of errors is something that I will always be jealous of.

One of these such people, let's call her "Natasha" (excuse that blatant sex and the city reference- yes, my point being that "some women are simply better") was a close friend of mine in high school. It seemed like everything that I wanted came easily to her. It seemed like every time I messed something up, she did it the right way. She was attractive, smart, and quick witted. She was one of the best cooks i've ever known and she knew a lot about art history- as those people usually do.

There are a lot of things that I will never be: I am not a good artist. I am not well organized enough to plan events. And in the face of an emotional crisis, I am not adequately composed.

Yes, there are those people that seem to always be the exception to the rule- but I am not one of them.

Not to be down on myself, though: given the opportunity, I can recognize any country song released within the last ten years after about 5 seconds. I play a mean game of pool- and after approximately infinity summers spent working at day camp, I can organize sports games and beat anyone I know (besides my brother) at tetherball. I suppose you've gotta take what you can get.

Another thing I can do is write a good english paper.

As a rule, my english grades are usually the ones that lift my GPA.

This semester, I signed up for a Hemingway english class in order to counter the difficulty of my other courses. I participated in and attended all class lectures through the date that our first paper was handed back- when I saw something I have never seen on one of my english papers: a C+.

Confused, I didn't want to be the obnoxious GW student who blames the teacher or cries to their parents, so I just worked harder on the next one. I did background research, reread the books, and underlined passages- things i hadnt done since they were mandatory in 7th grade. Sure that I had outwitted the professor, I came into class excited to get the papers returned a week later…only to be let down.

…a B minus.

Turns out, I was no exception to the rule that "effort" is not always what is represented in grades.

I'd like to say that my response to this was to go to the professors office hours and send her emails and slave away endlessly on the final paper…but I did none of these things. In any other class, I would have- but when I am sure of something, like my ability to write a good essay, I can be pretty stubborn.

My GPA far above what I needed to go abroad anyway, I basically decided to give up on the class. With one paper left to write in the semester, I figured all I needed to do was crank out the 5 necessary pages in order to attain the "C" usually granted for simply handing something in on time. And so I ignored the research papers we were supposed to read, didn't attend a good portion of class lectures, and didn't even buy the last assigned book.

Around midnight the day the paper was due, I reluctantly set up camp in Gelman, planning on being there until 5pm, the due time of the paper. Talk about grace under pressure. (Yes, forgive me. That was a Hemingway reference)

Due to decisions against my better judgement, I abandoned an incomplete draft of my paper around 4am in favor of greener pastures.

The next day, I quickly wrote the last 2 paragraphs of the paper about half an hour before it was due. At this point, I walked into the class, dropped my sorry-excuse-for-a-paper on the professors desk, and turned right back around to get some much needed rest before the nights festivities began.

Yes, the priorities of a college student are a wonderful thing.

I suppose you can guess how this story ends…I got an A on the paper.

Sometimes, despite the rules- the way things are supposed to go- we get lucky . As my dad likes to say- even a blind squirrel finds a few nuts.

Maybe Greg is right, and it is naive to hope that you are the exception to the rule.

Yes, they say 'the house always wins- so why gamble?' but the casinos in Vegas are packed as I write this- packed with people who want to be the exception to that rule.

Because to every rule there is an exception. Yes, we can sit back and assume that we are just like everyone else and that life is an inescapable pattern of stark realities that we cannot change- but in doing that, we ultimately accept defeat. With that in mind, we would never take chances, we would never make mistakes- and we would certainly never learn. In order to win big, I have heard you that have to play big. You have to push the limits. In order for tomorrow to be better, you must gamble with the security you live with today- willing to sacrifice a part of what you have in order to get something bigger, something better.

Because you never know who is hitting the jackpot.

Moon River

I am not a very cultured person.

I can't appreciate art, I prefer ranch dressing and vegetables over any foreign fare, and before this trip, my travels consisted mostly of excursions only to various tropical islands.

For the past six or seven weeks, though, I've been battling this. I've tried not to be more excited about the fact that i knew which bridge Liam Nieson jumped off of to rescue his "daughter" than I was about stepping foot into a thousand year old tomb…I tried not to order fries and a club sandwich whenever I went to lunch….and I tried to speak french to waiters- even when I knew they'd understand english. Honestly, I think I've been doing pretty well.

Today, though, my lack of culture came back with a vengeance. Yes, I have been to the lourve. It was nice. I see the eiffel tower every day. Very pretty. I've strolled down the same streets as Hemingway and I've sat in cafe's historically frequented by artists that line the walls of museums. And I can appreciate that.

But today…today, I REALLY saw it all.

I was walking back from campus and got lost (shock) only to find myself on a bridge over the seine, headed towards a huge building with a big gold, circular tower. I glanced up and breathed a sigh of relief: the building was familiar, I would be home soon.

After a few more paces, though, it came to me in a wave of embarrassment. Yes, I had seen the building before…but not in real life. No, there I was, standing on the very bridge on which the greatest scene in the FINAL episode of Sex and the City took place.

sidenote::(If you are a true fan, you will now understand the song title I chose for this blog- from the episode that the quoted line of this entry is in)

I'll be honest- I stopped. On a scale of seeing the eiffel tower to jumping into the great barrier reef…this was a ten in my book. If you know me at all, you know that I can literally recite every line of every episode of that show (no, I'm not bragging. yes, i realize this is overwhelmingly pathetic)

I stood there- now facing away from the big building (which probably holds some historical significance) and could picture the scene happening right in front of me.

Really, I laughed at the stupidity of it all…sometimes it takes something as simple as that for you to realize just where you are- and just how lucky you are to be there.

No, I didn't have a Mr. Big to come to wrap me in a long peacoat and take me home. And like Carrie, my Miranda, Charlotte, and Samantha weren't there to walk back home with me.

But that was okay.

In the past seven weeks, I have done something that I have never had to do: completely started over. Even going into college, I had people I already knew, and I was never more than an hour long flight from home. When I came to Paris, I was taking a risk. Now, I'm a "regular" at the cafe at the end of my street. I can walk into The Moose on Friday (and usually saturday and thursday…and sometimes sunday) nights and say hi to Charlie and Dotan, the bartenders. Melanie and I have frequented our fair share of historical locations and alone, I have become a master at navigating this city. I have developed a whole life here: new people, new places- new everything. It just took awhile for me to be okay with that. I am now living a new season, a new chapter, of my life.

And as "Carrie" once said in my absolute favorite episode, sauntering down park avenue in a beautiful pink and gold coat and a pair of destroyed Louboutin's from the night before-

People come into your life-and people go. But its comforting to know the ones you love are always in your heart- and if you're very lucky, a plane ride away.

I, it seems, am very lucky.

I've seen more than I can recall

Some would call many of the things that I do OCD, but I like to think I'm just being extra careful.

After being in Paris over 6 weeks, with new places, people, and food- I notice these things more and more.

Walking on the left. Waiting 27 seconds to get up from the table. Eating pretty much the same thing every single day (sweetgreen is, apparently, not internationally marketed)

I've found myself submitting to these compulsions less and less, in light of being here: I've been to countless restaurants, walked around only to get lost, and even slept on the opposite side of the bed just for the hell of it... but it has left me with an overbearing sense of guilt.

Quite honestly… I'm not sure exactly what I'm feeling guilty for, but it is palpable and the lack of any real routine here is making it worse.

Last week, when Maggie was here, I knew that I would be spending more money, and I always feel guilty when I spend a lot of money on frivolous things like daytime activities and fancy dinners (which we literally went out to every night). A few days before she left, we spent two nights in a row out with my friends here until the metro re-opened, at 5:30 in the morning (its okay to be impressed). One of the nights we found ourselves going from bar to bar with the Irish rugby team, and the other, our friends at The Moose (the bar the we frequent the most, here) let us all stay after closing. Definitely two of those most fun nights since I've been here, but for me at least, whenever I do that- go out until really late, eat whatever I want all day, and wake up at 1pm the next day only to walk around the city looking at various tourist spots...I am consumed with a kind of indirect, aimless guilt.

Before November, this guilt would come due to a lack of movement and productivity more than anything- but it was pretty easy for me to get rid of: I had a job (okay…many different jobs, intermittently, but still) and I had classes that involved both attendance and work. No, work at GW isn't hard- but it does exist. At school, I spend a fair amount of time in Gelman, positioned at a carol on the 5th floor or a comfy red chair on the 6th. There are always some nights that I cant go out- I have an early class, a paper to write, a test to study for- I've spent more all nighters in that library than I care to admit, going straight from study rooms to classes the next morning.

In light of the work I do during the week (in addition to the 5 regularly scheduled classes that I attend, and the jobs that I sometimes have) any guilt that I feel for being unproductive on weekends: splurging at rosa mexicano, leaving my tab open at Rugby, bruising my conscience at McFaddens…is pretty quickly alleviated. Honestly, last semester, I really enjoyed having to work Saturday mornings and Sunday evenings at Old Glory, because it made me feel like I deserved to be able to catch a break and have fun on the weekends.

No matter what happened on weekends at school, the pattern on monday of of going to class, walking out to SweetGreen, and going to the gym was comforting, and enough to extinguish most of the bad feeling that resonated with me.

Here, in Paris, this is just not the case. I know it sounds weird, but I feel almost like my only obligation is to go have fun (responsibly, of course, Dad). I take 4 classes-REQUIRED by the school- each class meets ONE time a week. I literally have more free time than I know what to do with. There is no night during the week that I can't go out. None of my classes involve a rigorous workload or papers or tests or well...anything. My advertising class is the only one I've even received assignments from, and they were ten minute presentations on liquor company's campaign strategies. After looking into the legalities of the whole thing, I've discovered I legally cant have a job in Paris- not to mention that my French isn't nearly good enough for what any job would entail.

It doesn't help that everything here is so expensive, and I know that I'm doing nothing to earn the money that my father still continues to put in my account each week. Going out to lunch the other day with Maggie, where we each got a club sandwich (literally best one i've ever eaten) and two cups of coffee- was 27 euro each (thats about 35 dollars)- dinners are ridiculous: drinking about half what we do at GW, ordering an entree and (obviously, because you have to) a desert, they can amount to 40 or 50 euro per dinner (around 55-70 dollars)- and a week of those meals ads up QUICKLY. Even little things- shampoo (which comes only in mini bottles) is 4 euro or 5.50 in american dollars (you could get the same quality and quantity in America for around 2.50). Buying a box of american crackers costs the equivalent of 18 dollars (I don't buy american crackers anymore). Even doing laundry can cost up to 8 euro (13 american) PER load (and the loads are much smaller, here)

Honestly, I think it was 3 things this week that put me over the edge…first was the fact that my phone broke (no…not like other times when i "wasn't sure" what happened and it "just stopped working"…i mean literally, it just. stopped. working.) and i had to buy an entirely new blackberry (granted, it is literally the coolest phone i have ever owned- its a white blackberry). Then one night we ordered from dominos- pizza and wings. do you know how much it cost? 42 AMERICAN DOLLARS. which i had to put on my french debit card which has no money on it. Then, the last night we were at the moose, I ended up having to pick up an extensive tab, there...although i must pause here to mention that the moose not taking american express is the greatest blessing in disguise i (and by extension, my father) have ever been given- so i'm forced to use my visa there.

After a restless night thinking about this, I have concluded that there's really not that much I can do about it. Should Maggie and I have conserved money a little better last week? yes, but that's over. Should I stop bringing my VISA with me to the moose, and bring cash instead? yes, probably. I called my dad today to discuss this very issue with him and, more than anything, to apologize- but what he said was right. I've grown up with a constantly rigorous academic schedule. When I get back to DC, I'll be right back there. And i will have to have a job. This summer I have to take a 6 week course that meets for 2 hours a day…and I need to get a job. and keep it. Soon after all of that, my real life will begin (the mere thought is extremely frightening)…so really, my days of sleeping until noon and waking up a ten minute walk from the eiffel tower are numbered.

Yes, my "to do before sunday" list that I create weekly consists only of 1. another powerpoint for advertising 2. attending two more classes 3. completely cleaning my room 4. grocery shopping and 5. doing laundry

(all of which could be completed in a few hours)

but my life will have a long to do list pretty soon…so for now, I'm in Paris with no obligations...a pretty sweet gig. I have not yet fully acclimated to the borderline rude attitude of the locals, the fact that they dont sell diet pepsi, or how to get around on foot- without help of the metro...but hey, one step at a time. For now i'll settle for the fact that i HAVE navigated the parisian metro system, figured out a place to buy cream cheese, and started drinking coffee. I'd say that deserves an evening in...and so, signing off- it's time for me to sit down and watch the new episode of The Office. And this weekend, I'll brave another Parisian museum.

Cheers!

Another Verse to the Song

This entry is in honor of one thing: the fact that my best friend is coming all the way out to Paris, missing an entire week of classes at GW. Friday morning, she will arrive at the airport, and by 3pm, we will be out, getting up to our usual nonsense…with a Parisian twist.

Really, I guess all best friends go through a lot together- but I have never had a friend quite like Maggie.

Honestly, I'd like to say this is the first "vacation" (i say this bc i doubt i will be attending class this coming week) we have ever taken together- but I would be doing an incredible injustice to what are arguably some of the best memories of our friendship….

I think it all started last year at the Gators game, down in Florida. We woke up every morning, went down to the pool, and made friends with the bartenders- drinking tropical rum drinks all weekend. We went out to ridiculous Florida themed locals, that my mom grew up with. Later that weekend, when worse came to worse, we were together- and we walked out into the streets of Gainsville- to find a cab. We thought it was a lost cause- but eventually ,we made it back- together.

After that was Cabo…well… Cabo…I learned a lot from that trip- more than just how to say "she is easy" is Spanish (not that that hasnt been useful) and that the term "all inclusive" has its loopholes. We booked the trip spur of the moment just 2 weeks prior and honestly I think it ended up being our best- and a lot of what made our friendship what it is today. Our flight was early in the morning, but the flight attendants were entertained when we asked for vodka at 8am…Though Maggie got shat on by birds and ended up having to pay double for a few cabs- AND my father ended up literally paying twice what he thought he would for the entire trip…well when I looked at Maggie one night in the seediest place i have EVER been and hopefully will ever be (a mexican strip club) I just remember that feeling of not being able to wipe the smile off of my face- what a ridiculous situation we were in, that night. And I think it was worth it- after all, how many people can say they've eaten burger king from a foreign country at 4 in the morning? or drank shots that changed color as they poured? Oh…and the resort had a HUGE buffet of all of my favorite foods that lasted for like…5 hours each day. Who couldn't have an absolutely perfect time when the bars open at 11am, the weather is hot as can be, and the company is exactly what you want? It was refreshing.That week was not at all what we had expected- we didn't intend on doing things like staying in on St. Patricks Day watching movies, playing volleyball in the pool with old people, or slow dancing to live music- but sometimes, the unexpected is just what you need- and even now, I wouldn't change that.

After Cabo came Pennsylvania which really was bittersweet and the opposite of what we did in Cabo. I remember waking up that summer morning in the dg house sometime in June, absolutely miserable and looking at maggie and saying 'we NEED to get out of here.' and so we did- we ran (or drove, really) from our problems all the way to my house in Pennsylvania. And whoever said that doesn't work clearly just wasn't doing it right- or with the right person. I think its hard for people to understand each other at their best, if they haven't seen each another at their worst- and this is a perfect example of that situation and a huge part of why Maggie and I have such a strong understanding of one another. Maggie and I got to PA upset, torn down, and just too tired to fight anymore. But for two girls who had reached the end of their ropes…we had a pretty great week- because we were together. We pretty much bought the liquor store out. and then purchased every carb that the grocery store had to offer. Literally, the first night we were at my house, we had a pizza, tortollini, chips, onion dip, vegetables, ranch dressing, cheddar cheese, and about 7 liquor bottles laid out on the table in my basement. We were emotionally and physically complete messes. Really, it was out of a movie. An extremely pathetic lifetime movie. And its amazing that I can look back at that and laugh now. We locked ourselves in my basement for about a week…just being honest with each other- and, finally, ourselves. We turned off our phones and cut off communication with the outside world. In light of our moods, we finished more bottles of alcohol that week than I think we did the rest of the summer (which explains my mothers reluctance to think I can handle drinking "socially") before we decided that we were finally ready to get back to real life- to move forward. And that we did. Together.

Then came New York City- actually, Maggies been to stay with me in the city more than once- though I only went to Albany for the first time over this past Christmas break…anyway- Maggies first time in New York was far more eventful than the others, as the doorman began holding a permanent grudge against me when we decided that it was the perfect opportunity to throw an enormous party. Oh and that one night that i have only maggie and marmol to thank for not getting me into what could have been literally the worst situation EVER…oh, New York…I took them to all of my favorite hotspots and got to finally introduce them to the people that they constantly hear stories about. Although, after the three of us passed out together, awoken only by my dad walking into the apartment around 12:30pm…well, it was time to get back to school. I find, in college, that my parents can usually only put up with my shenanigans for select amounts of time.

Then we have Disney World…Universal Studios…proooobably the most random trip we've ever taken, being that it was smack in the middle of first semester and finally neither of us was running from anything…no, we just wanted to have fun. And that we did. Waking up every morning and following the pattern suggested by Maggies father was one of the better decisions we've ever made. We concurred my fear of roller coasters together, enjoyed authentic Landshark's at Margaritaville more than a few times, and saw some broadway worthy reenactments. The food was great, the rides were great, the company was great, and we were surrounded by constant fun. That trip was perfect.

Sure, we've had plenty of other notable times together, in our home turf of DC…once, after a rascal flatts concert, I picked Maggie up in a limo(driven by a driver that to this day, I still owe 300 dollars) with a couple of other people. Really, we were only intending on using the limo for the Rascal concert, but after it was over, we still had bottles left in the limo and hours left with the driver, so the few (literally- 3) of us willing to champ through stuck it out. Anyway, after picking Maggie, Marmol, and Mike up- we literally just all drove around DC for an hour in the limo, blaring music and balling out of control before having the driver leave us at that big bar in Adams Morgan- it was great. Then there was inauguration, the inaugural ball, there was spending Maggies birthday at the mill, this summer- getting to control the music because it was so empty, ordering 6 pizzas and passing out in a living room later that night after she yelled on the phone with Bank of America for God only knows how long, the time she and wohl participated in getting me fired from Old Glory, Marmol and my picking Maggie up in the ghetto, all of the times we've had to make uni-beds, weekly trips to Froggys, playing "shmoopta" with her family, the Daily Grill, our rare treks to Rosa, New Years Eve last year, my trip to Albany this year, the various fights we've gotten in- and the way that they've all ended…us, together, laughing.

Yes, if you know us at all- you know we can fight. A lot. Its loud, its frustrating, and its usually at inconvenient times. We are two very different people with strengths and weaknesses in very different places, but this has, over time, ended up working to our advantage. Over the past few years, because we've been through so much- so many tears, so many sleepless nights, and so many absolutely perfect days- we've grown to be able to respect each other and rely on each other in a way that it seems is very rare. We know one anothers weak spots- the things that aren't okay to joke about- and the things that hurt us the most. Beyond knowing that I hate mustard, onions, and bloody marys, Maggie knows that when something really upsets me- its almost impossible for me to talk or show emotion about it and she knows that if I get mad at her, I probably won't say anything for a few days…both of these take coaxing from her side, that she, somehow, puts up with. Sometimes, when I do something wrong, I need her to snap me out of it, to tell me- and then to help me fix it. They say that a best friend is someone who brings out the best in you- and more than anything, as cliche as it sounds, that is how I can describe what she has done for me these past few years.

Simply said, I am always glad to have her around. We've got a solid track record…and i absoLUTELY cannot WAIT until Friday.