Down in the dumps plus a TV marathon and a Happy List.

I've been feeling pretty miserable.
On Friday, I took my first sick day ever - yes, ever - during my 3.5+ years at the Weekender on Friday. It broke my heart, too, because it was our annual Model of the Year party, the biggest shindig we throw. It's like the prom for us staffers, and what girl doesn't love her prom??

I had a horrid cold. Sore throat. Fever. The Works.
But even before that, I was pretty down in the dumps.
Fall is my favorite season and I always feeling so reinvigorated and ready to Go. Walk. Bask in the cool temps.
But these past few weeks I've been going through one of my Lonely Periods. (Plus one of my I Feel Fat periods. Ugh.)
The change of seasons made me yearn for someone to go pumpkin picking with. Someone to kick up leaves with. Someone to cuddle when the temperature goes below zero in the apartment (or someone who has a warmer house to crash at).

But enough about the lonely period.
He'd probably find it weird that, in between numerous naps on Friday, I spent an awful lot of time watching the Canadian teen drama "Degrassi." I fell right into its soap opera-y world and it was everything I knew it would be. I'm not even ashamed to say I watched it for the better part of 10 hours.
{The last TV marathon of that caliber was when I happened upon a "Ninja Warrior" on G4 a few years back. It, too, was an exquisite way to spend 10 hours of my life I will never get back.}

Now that you've snickered and judged my "Degrassi" addiction, what is your TV guilty pleasure?

And now on with 10 Things That Make Me Happy:

1. Sundays with Mommalah …
2. … especially ones when she lets me be all whiny.
3. A blue sky over the pond so dark that’s lined by vibrant fall-colored trees.
4. Fall weather.
5. Seeing leaves dance in my rear view.
6. A gorgeous Halloween-worthy moon.
7. Feeling better, finally.
8. A “Degrassi” marathon.
9. A new episode of “Family Guy.”
10. Looking forward to making Mommalah’s birthday special on Saturday.

Ramblings on ... about love.*

At least once a year, I ensconce myself within the fabulously glitzy world of "Sex and the City."

It's that time of year, as I have been smack-dab in the middle of 2009's visit for the last couple weeks. Like "Bridget Jones' Diary," it's something I turn to when I need some reaffirmations about my life which is indubitably less fabulous than my favorite foursome.

I identify with all four of the characters.

Like Carrie, I, too, write for a newspaper, have too many shoes (though not expensive or ridiculously sexy as hers, but I get by) and shit luck with men. I can be narcissistic.

I am sometimes bitchy and cynical like Miranda and so used to being the strong one and taking care of myself that it's hard to let someone else in.

I have my days where I am sometimes brazen enough, or feel thin enough from a particularly good workout that I think I am as slinky and sexy as Samantha, who says and does exactly what she feels.

And at the end of the day, despite all the bitchy narcissistic cynicism I sometimes pander to, like Charlotte, I let myself be hopeful and optimistic about love.

That it's out there.
That I'll find it one day if I just stay steadfast.
I'll hold that hand.
I'll have that arm around me.
I'll have those sweet things whispered in my ear.
I'll be loved for all the things I love when I look in the mirror - not in the narcissistic way that'll drown me, dear heavens no because there's a lot I hate still when I look in the mirror - but what I see behind my Guinness-colored eyes.

"The most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself. And if you find someone to love the you you love, well that's just fabulous."
~~ Carrie Bradshaw on "Sex and the City"

Strength. An ability to love. An ability to laugh. An ability to enjoy life.
An ability to know myself. And like - even love sometimes - myself, just as I am.

"We are shaped and fashioned by what we love."
~~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

I love my parents. I love my brother and "sister." I love my friends. I love my job. I love AIM toothpaste. I love mint ChapStick. I love blue PaperMate pens. I love my bedroom. I love music. I love food.

I love seeing people in love because it makes me hopeful.
Maybe I love enough. Maybe I've loved enough to last a lifetime.
Or maybe I just haven't loved the right person yet.

Yeah. I love that thought the best.

*The writer does apologize for the deep thoughts and heavy romanticism. She's been inundated with engagements and weddings in the world around her.

What else is a single gal to do when she can't afford Jimmy Choos?

"Rock, flag and eagle."

Last year, I became addicted to "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia."
The first episode I ever saw was "The Gang Solves the Gas Crisis."
I laughed so hard I snorted. At least a thousand times.
I. Was. Hooked.

"Wild Card" Charlie is my absolute favorite.


Though the gas episode is tied with several episodes for my Absolute Favorite, it is hard to beat "Charlie Goes America All Over Everybody's Ass." Charlie becomes a denim-on-denim do-rag clad American and, when telling off his friends for not supporting his patriotism, he out of nowhere bellows this little ditty:

Charlie Kelly: [Charlie's America Song] I'm gonna rise up, I'm gonna kick a little ass, Gonna kick some ass in the USA, Gonna climb a mountain, Gonna sew a flag, Gonna fly on an Eagle, I'm gonna kick some butt, I'm gonna drive a big truck, I'm gonna rule this world, Gonna kick some ass, Gonna rise up, Kick a little ass, ROCK, FLAG AND EAGLE!

It is possibly the most brilliant comedic moment I've ever seen on TV.
I actually fell off my couch laughing as I watched it.

I can't get over what assholes the characters are - or how much I adore them.

Having said that, I've got a hot date with "The Gang Finds a Dumpster Baby."

I hope I don't give myself a nosebleed in excitement!

I have been so ugh all week - it's just been crazy busy.
{And I may or may not have been a teeny, tiny bit of a bitch today.}
But I am bursting at the seams in excitement for this weekend. I kind of resemble a 12-week-old Labrador puppy.

I'll be taking a gloriously rare day off on Friday and heading to the City of Brotherly Love - Philadelphia to non-Pennsylvanians.

I've only really been to the heart of the city twice, and for very short amounts of time, including one when I was in 8th grade.
I'm definitely much more of a New York City kinda girl. Don't hate.
{Speaking of hate, if I hear one person chant "E-A-G-L-E-S" I'll counter with a "S-T-E-E-L-E-R-S." We've got the six rings bitches!}

My weekend will consist of:
- The Dead at the Spectrum. I can feel so strongly that I'll hear my all-time favorite song "Sugar Magnolia" that my tooth hurts. And believe you me, I will dance like I'm dancing in a ring around the sun.

- A Philly cheesesteak. From Geno's because I will be ordering in English. And because it's been featured on every food show I've ever seen about Philly.
- A tequila bar - and its Southwestern wrap. {Of course I already cased the menu, what kind of foodie do you think I am?}
- Lewis & Clarke playing in a church which I am hoping I will have some sort of eye-opening transcendental epiphany that will change my life. If I don't, I think there may be no saving my soul. {Listen to them, you'll see what I mean: www.lewisandclarkemusic.com}

I hope it all plays out like I want it to.
I tend to have make events so much more spectacular in my head than they could ever be, meaning I expect a lot, and then kind of disappoint myself.
But knowing is half the battle, according to the old "G.I. Joe" cartoon I so loved as a tomboy.

If I get myself so excited, at least I have something(s) to be excited about, right? Some people don't let themselves look forward to anything.
I'm happy I can look forward to what I have planned - and what I don't.

Finally sleep, or I was so out I had a terrible dream about my hair. Or lack thereof.

Last night, it was lights out promptly at 10 p.m.
Actually got under the covers at 9:30 to curl up with "On the Road with Bob Dylan" by Larry "Ratso" Sloman.
Took a sleep aid at quarter to 10, and that was it.

Nine hours later, I was jostled awake by my alarm, which very rarely happens.
It was glorious.
Sometimes my body just needs to shut itself down during one of these insomniac cycles, and I totally live for those nights.
Especially considering that, if I can remember them, I have some pretty far-out dreams.

I fully know that one of the worst stories someone could tell another person (aside from a detailed birth or something) is a dream. Unless it directly involves someone, who the F cares, right?

Having said that, it isn't stopping me from sharing my dream:

I was standing on the sidelines of a football game in Alabama, I think, with a friend. It was so bloody hot. I had my hair up in a ponytail and decided to give myself a trim during a break in play. Took the scissors and SNIP!

I tried to clip my hair back on to be "fashionable," but it wouldn't work so I asked my friend to help and he was staring at me, aghast.

"I think you need to look in the mirror," he said and pointed to this huge gold-gilded mirror that just happened to be hanging from the punter's practice net.

I kept running my fingers through my hair, which suddenly felt like a buzz cut hairdo - which is exactly what I somehow had done to myself.

I was horrified and began running around frantic, because seriously, we all know damn well that a women's hair is her crowning glory, or whatever way the saying goes.

So I run across the field in search of my mother, who is the only person who can make it right, but I have no idea where she is in this Alabama town, I just have to follow instinct.

BEEEEP - just a I was about to have a heart attack in the middle of a brick-housed neighborhood, my alarm goes off and damned if I don't run straight to the bathroom to check my hair.

It was all accounted for, thank God.
But I sure as hell kept checking on it all day today.
And was very wary of anyone using scissors in my vicinity.

Air Climbing with 'GMA.'

I've never really been one for news.
Local fires, murders, weather, those fluffy "water skiing squirrel" segments, etc., etc.? No thank you.

I prefer to get my news from the newspaper - I like starting it with my breakfast and finishing it with my dinner. Same grisly content, just easier to take than some anchorwoman in a shoulder-padded fuchsia blazer saying "Everyone has contracted a deadly disease ...more after this break." I love feeling the newsprint in my hand, even love how it sometimes leaves black ink on my fingertips and mon dieu, I adore the smell of our press room. Especially coming in on Mondays when my nose hasn't smelled it in two days. Deliciously addicting.

In a newspaper, all the info you need is right there in the first few paragraphs without the dramatic build up. Ahh, the sweet smell of the inverted pyramid.

But suddenly, after I acquired an Air Climber,



I began doing something crazy every morning.
I started tuning in to "Good Morning America."
Doing so also tunes me into some of my local goings on as well - or as "local" as the local news is, since so much of it isn't even from NEPA proper, but I digress.

I feel much more informed - I get some celeb gossip (today's scrim, for example, had the news that Chris Brown beat up Rhianna), news news like fires and whatnot, heartfelt moments like the Hudson plane crash survivors reuniting with the captain and crew - and it isn't really that painful.

Aside from how annoying Diane Sawyer's on-screen movements can be, I really enjoy the show. Sam Champion is an absolute delight and I really enjoy Robin Roberts' personality. It's nice waking up to them, especially since most times being up that early exercising is the last thing I want to be doing, but viewing the show makes my exercise time really fly by.

But know that I'll never tune into one of the hardcore news channels like CNN. My interest in world affairs wanes after about half and hour, just around the time my legs give out ...

"I kissed a ..." Oh, shut the hell up already (and other random thoughts).

My mind is racing - in a good way - so here are some random thoughts I've got going on in this noggin of mine:

• I lit my favorite candle in the world tonight: Yankee Christmas Eve. It is delectable, and my apartment smells fantastic. I don't know why I am so drawn to it because my house never smelled like this as a child, but I find it so familiar and comforting. I'd burn it all year long, if I didn't burn the whole thing every holiday season.
• I am astounded by how much I loathe the following: 1. Spencer and Heidi, 2. Pete Wentz and 3. Katy Perry. Who the hell are these people and why why why do we care so much about what the hell they are doing!?

1. Spencer and Heidi: What exactly is there not to hate? His face, with that peach-fuzz 'stache and her always-agape mouth like she is just so surprised to see photogs capturing a moment they probably invited the photogs too? Please. Go. The. F. Away.
2. Pete Wentz: I loved "The Jungle Book" just as much as the next person, but Mowgli as a middle name? Seriously? Jerk. Yet I don't loathe Ashlee for being half responsible. And I just have to hate any man that can apply eyeliner better than me.
3. Katy Perry: Who decided to give this Betty Page-wannabe a record contact? Are we so hungry for girl-on-girl anything that we'll lap up an off-key song for the better part of a year? She is everywhere right now and reading about her in Rolling Stone every week is making me sick. She seems like such a dick.
4. Speaking of K.P., SNL did a wonderful skit about her, which included the line "I saw a boat and I liked it." The other day, the damn song got stuck in my head, but I mixed up the song and the skit and sang, "I kissed a goat and I liked it" to myself. It happened whilst I was brushing my teeth and I almost choked because I laughed so hard. Where do these things even come from??

• Having gotten all that off my chest, I must comment on how much I adore my mom's homemade iced tea that I bring home every Sunday mixed with Cabo Wabo tequila. It's like a little dash of summer right in my Stegmaier glass and cold apartment.
• Thanks in part to an addiction to the new Guns n' Roses CD, "Chinese Democracy," I've recently come off another to Sirius' Led Zeppelin Radio, and returned to my guilty pleasure: Hair Nation. God darn I love '80s hair metal! Long live devil horns, yowza!
• I have not started Christmas shopping yet, and it's making me nervous. I am so swollen with the holiday spirit (yes, I do realize how gross that sounds, but I can't stop saying it, here let me say it again: swollen with the holiday spirit. Ewww!). But as I was saying, I am just so excited about the entire holiday. I can't wait to wrap gifts (once I get them, clearly), write out cards and revel in my gorgeous lil' tree that looks exceptionally beautiful and bright this year.
• I think I am going to hang up this blog and move on to my journal, I feel the itch of putting a pen to paper, instead of clicking keys, sneaking up. Sometimes you just have to go back to basics, non?

Where are all my vampires?

Last year at this time, I was being ravaged by my annual cold.
Being that I absolutely adore Halloween, this was unacceptable.

I had a fantastic cheerleader costume that I simply would not miss wearing, so I holed up in my apartment the week before the holiday in hopes to kill the germs.
I crashed on my uber-comfy couch with tissues, what was practically an 8-ball of OTC meds, maybe one or three vodka and OJs (for vitamin C, natch) and the remote.

To my utmost joy, I found so many Halloween-related shows and movies on my cable. Thankfully, none of them were the blood-fest slasher flicks that frighten me so, I'm talking the real deal: old black & white classic horrors, where what you see isn't as frightening as what you don't, or what's implied. By far, my favorites were the many versions of "Dracula" starring the king of the Counts, Bela Lugosi.



I also enjoyed watching shows about my freaky obsession with the real Dracula, Vlad the Impaler, on The History Channel.

So this year, I was super excited to revisit my classically scary friends. Much to my disappointment, I've not seen a lineup like last year's all stars. WTF?

Is this not the haunting season? I mean, today, the Saturday night before Halloween, there should be more marathons of Dracula, Wolfman, Frankenstein and the like, then I can shake a stick at.
Instead, crickets.

Here I was, prepared to not leave my jammies today, save for a Target run (where I picked up the most adorable black and white polka dot galoshes, BTW) and sloth in front of the tube. Instead, after a sad trip through the guide channel, I shut the TV off and mustered up the strength to give the house a long overdo thorough cleansing - how very unvampire-like of me!
Now, I feel like I can't stop cleaning - it's like once you kill the lazy bug, you get into overdrive.

"Guess I'll watch my personal copy of "Dracula" now," she said with a frown.
Well, at least her house is sparkling clean ...

A lone drifter.

There are certain songs that just "get" me every time.
"Goodnight Saigon" by Billy Joel. Tear.
"Wind Beneath My Wings" by Bette Midler and "Proud to be an American," ditto.
The church song "On Eagle's Wings?" I weep until there is nothing left.
Then there are the songs that make me yearn for romance - songs like "Beginning to See the Light" (especially when sung by Bobby Darin, swoooon) and "Slip Away" by Clarence Carter.
Let me first explain that I have become addicted to the standards, or "Great American Songbook" as Sirius is billing the Sinatra channel.
All the songs conjure up visions in my head of dapper gents and classy dames dancing the night away together at the Rainbow Room in Manhattan as they tip back martinis and everyone is a writer, poet, artist or musician. Can't you just hear the glasses clinking? Smell the smoke swirling up from the pearl cigarette holder?
One song stands out so much - the first time I heard it was on an episode of "Sex and the City," the one where Big moves to Napa. And from the first sweeping verse of "Moon River," I was hooked.
My favorite version is sung by Andy Williams. Last night I heard it while getting ready for bed and I stood in the doorway of my living room transfixed. My legs ached to be swept across a shiny dance floor by a man who thinks the sun rises and sets on my smile because we are "Two drifters off to see the world. There's such a lot of world to see. We're after the same rainbow's end-- waiting 'round the bend ..."
Ahh, a girl has to be unrealistic sometimes right?