So Long, Farewell

My dear readers and followers,

To be quite honest, I have no idea how to properly begin this blog post.

After much pondering and deep contemplation, I've decided to go on a hiatus from the blogging world.

I'm not sure if this break will be a few months or several years long.

After 25 months, 445 posts, and 42,828 page views, I have decided to say goodbye to Leggings Love.

For the past six months or so, I haven't felt like my heart has been in this blog. I never wanted blogging to feel like a chore. It was always something I truly loved and enjoyed doing, and unfortunately, I've reached a point in my life where this isn't the case anymore.

Another major factor in my decision is that I'd like to use the time I normally spend blogging on my novel instead.

I keep imagining Annabelle twiddling her thumbs in "Bingley Books" while John Rodriguez journeys closer to becoming a priest.

And I can't let that happen...or can I?

Anyways.

I will always be thankful for the wonderful friendships I've made through Blogger. 

Claire- I hope we continue to Gmail about the royals, wedding registries, and my tumultuous love life (among many other things). I love no one else's cat as much as yours, and I am eternally amazed at how similarly our minds work!

Ivana- Do you know how often I wonder if we were separated at birth? You are my European soul sister, and I don't know what I would do without your kind words and perpetually wise (and thoughtful) advice. I know we will meet up someday- whether it's getting a cup of tea in New York or eating crepes together in Paris, I am sure it will be lovely!

Jenn, Faith, EAS, Meghan- You four women have given me such amazing advice over the years! Thank you for always leaving me such sweet comments and coaching me along through my early twenties. 

Leah- Thank you for being such an amazing friend and pen pal to me from the very start (two whole years ago!). I feel like we actually know one another, and it always mind-boggles me that we've never actually met before. 

Fais- I'll never forget how you totally hooked me up with that fantastic Kate Spade paint brush clutch! ;) I could not get over how much trouble you went through to get that clutch in my possession- merci, merci, dear friend!

Caitlin- Someday, we really must meet up and go get our Harry Potter tattoos together :) It was so awesome having another English major friend to confide in and (very occasionally of course!) commiserate with!

Thank you all, my wonderful followers and readers, for faithfully keeping up with my little blog and pretending that my writing was actually good or even occasionally clever. I'll always cherish your sweet words and comments, and I am so glad that the last two years of my life will forever be chronicled on Legging's Love.

It's been a total blast, and I know I'll miss it.

I'm going to leave you with one last excerpt from my novel. I hope you enjoy it!*

Love,
Jenna

*It's a somewhat steamy scene. So seriously- enjoy it. Sorry Mum. Also- ignore any weird formatting or weird errors. Blogger can be difficult sometimes, and as for the writing errors...I am just going to plead first draft woes.

-*-

“You are not being creepy. You are not being creepy.” I mumbled to myself as I walked towards St. Rita’s that late September evening. I looked down at the Tupperware container full of homemade chocolate chip scones I was holding and sighed. “Oh my God. I am such a creep.”

            I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and took a deep, rich breath of the autumn air. Looking up at the yellow, orange, and red leaves above, I couldn’t help but smile.

Fall was such a magical time of year.

            I continued on my way to the church, continuously telling myself that the scones were a lovely gesture of friendship, and how I would feel completely normal bestowing baked goods upon any close acquaintance of mine. It was not flirty or romantic. It was friendly.

            Just a few weeks earlier, Margot had baked me blueberry muffins, and I certainly had not accused her of harboring a lesbian crush on me.

            Friends made each other baked goods. That was simply a fact.

            When I arrived at the rectory, I confidently pressed the doorbell and waited patiently on the doorstep. The welcome mat beneath me was worn but appeared to have once bore the image of a resurrected Christ. The blazing sun behind him now simply appeared as a faint, orange glow.

            “Annabelle, dear! Hello!”

            “Mrs. Richards. Hi.” I replied, inexplicably shocked that the parish secretary had dared to answer the rectory’s door. “Would you happen to know if, uh, John is here?”

This was worse than calling a boy’s home phone in junior high and having to speak to his parents first.

Mrs. Richards, nosy as ever, planted a freshly manicured hand on her hip and took a closer look at me. She began at my feet, which were outfitted in a pair of gorgeous, brown leather boots (boots she was probably currently deeming too sexual), skimmed past my worn jeans, and stopped her stare at the scones.

Those damn scones.

“And what have you brought in that container there?” She asked bluntly.

“Scones.” I murmured, heat creeping into my cheeks.

“Like those British pastries?” She licked her dry, cracked lips.

Maybe she wasn’t trying to pry into my business. Perhaps she was simply hungry.

“Well, they’re more like cookies. Biscuits, even.”

“Why are you bringing them here, my dear?” Mrs. Richards believed that she could be as frank and rude as she wanted as long as she added ‘my dear’ to whatever she was saying.

Now annoyed, I sighed in exasperation, “Because John told me he has never tried scones, and I wanted to make him some. Okay?”

She rolled her eyes at me and finally opened the door, “No need to get so snippy, Annabelle. Follow me. I believe John is in the MPR. It’s Children’s Bible School night, you know.”

I ignored her glare and dutifully walked behind her, the noise of the parish children growing as we drew closer to the multipurpose room.

Of course, when we finally stepped into the room, an area that looked as though it had been plucked directly from the 1960s, John Rodriguez was nowhere in sight.

“Hmm. That’s strange. Petunia, do you happen to know where John is?” Mrs. Richards called across the room to one of the Children’s Bible School helpers, Petunia Erickson.

“He just left for the grocery! We ran out of milk and are about to have some chocolate cake for Bella’s birthday.” Petunia rubbed a small girl’s shoulder affectionately. “Can I help you with anything? Hey there, Annabelle!”

I nodded kindly towards Petunia, a woman who thrived from involvement in any and every organization. She also made it her mission to memorize every, single parishioner’s name, which I found both endearing and obnoxious.

“Annabelle wants him. She made him scones.” Mrs. Richards announced my business across the entire room. I couldn’t help but notice more than a few adult heads turn curiously in my direction.

“I do not want him.” I mumbled, absolutely humiliated.

“Well, he should be back any minute now. Want to play hide and seek with us in the meantime?” Petunia asked sweetly, pretending that this scone-baring gesture of mine was completely normal.

I loved Petunia Erickson in that moment, which is why I stupidly agreed to play hide and seek in an ancient Catholic church with twelve children hyped up on Kool-Aid.

Dominic, a small boy with glasses and a buzz cut, graciously volunteered to be “It.” He faced the cinderblock wall and carefully covered his eyes before beginning to shout, “One! Two! Three…”

The kids scattered from the room.

“This way, Annabelle!” A darling girl whispered, motioning me to follow her up a side staircase. She stopped for a second to politely introduce herself. “I’m Frances McCormick, and I’m excellent at hide and seek.”

“I’m Annabelle James,” I whispered back, “and I’m terrible at hide and seek. It makes me nervous!”

“That’s dumb. It’s just a game.” Frances raised her eyebrows at me before pointing to a large, oak door. “Go hide in there. I can’t help you any longer!”

How pathetic.

Stealthily, I opened the door and slid inside. Strangely, I found myself in a bedroom. There was a large, wrought iron bed in the center and two worn nightstands on either side. A hideous lamp stood on one nightstand, a Bible lying beside it.

The room was void of any sort of personalization. No framed photographs from last year’s family Christmas party. No water glass sitting in a puddle on the nightstand. No small pile of neglected laundry. There wasn’t even a phone charger plugged into one of the outlets.

“Ready or not, here I come!” Dominic shouted from somewhere dangerously nearby.

My nerves shot through the roof as I flipped off the lights and dove beneath the red comforter on the bed.

Ha! He would never find me here.

I felt oddly triumphant when I heard small feet pass by in the hall. Dominic had missed me! I was the hide and seek queen!

Buried deep in the comforter, I couldn’t help but breath in a crisp, familiar scent. Dread filled my stomach as I realized whose bed I had hopped into.

And then the unthinkable happened.

The door creaked open and heavy footsteps entered the room, steps belonging to a man.

Not daring to move or even breath, I sent God an urgent prayer, begging him to call his humble servant elsewhere.

As in very, very far away from this bedroom.

He was shuffling around the room. I tried my best to guess what various activities he could be performing, but my total lack of eyesight made the possibilities seem endless. Was that metallic clink the sound of John Rodriguez taking his watch off for the day? Had he made himself an evening cocktail?

As my mind and heart raced, my body remained unbelievably still.

John Rodriguez sat on the edge of his bed. I felt my legs dip down. They were unnervingly close to his ass.

Despite the deafening sound of my pounding heart, I was able to hear him untying his shoes and presumably taking them off for the night. For at least twenty seconds, he didn’t do any moving at all.

He leaned back suddenly, his head hitting me directly in the stomach.

I yelped. He shouted.

“What the hell?” He threw back his comforter in a near panic.

And there I was. Lying in his bed.

My shirt was awkwardly raised above my stomach. My arms felt paralyzed, as they remained completely motionless as my sides. I knew I had a fine layer of perspiration on my forehead and assumed my face was either extremely void of, or extremely filled with, color.

And there he was, standing above me. His shirt off and his belt undone. He had dark tufts of hair on his chest and a firm stomach. A rugged five o’clock shadow covered his face, and I was relieved to see a look of curiosity in his eyes rather than one of anger.

I knew I should be feeling humiliated, awkward, and guilty, and I truly was experiencing a bit of each of those sensations. But most of all, above all else, I felt aroused. I ached for him. I wanted John Rodriguez to bend down and take me into his strong arms. I wanted John Rodriguez to climb on top of me, kissing my mouth and throat before moving his lips down to my exposed stomach.

I took a deep breath and willed my mind to move elsewhere.

“Um, I know this looks really, really strange.” I began weakly, unable to move myself to a sitting position much less a standing one.

“Annabelle. This is beyond strange. Please explain.”

“I was playing hide and seek with the kids. The Bible School ones?”

“Yes. I’m familiar. Go on.”

Oh, why did he have to continue to stare at me that way? And why hadn’t he gone to put his shirt back on? Didn’t he realize how distracting this all was?

“Right. So I was playing hide and seek, and I chose your bedroom for my hiding place. I mean, your bed, if we’re going to be specific here…except I didn’t realize it was your bed. Obviously if I had known, I would have never chosen it as my hiding place…”

Why did he let me continue to babble like this? Why didn’t he just cut me off and save me from my misery?

“I’m sorry. I feel like such a creep.” I finally found the ability to pull my shirt down and sit up, my short legs dangling off the edge of John Rodriguez’s bed.

He studied me a few seconds longer before a wide grin spread across his face. He burst into beautiful laughter, causing the knots in my stomach to loosen.

“It’s pretty creepy,” he conceded. “Actually it is insanely creepy.”

“It was a good hiding place!” I refuted, smiling back at him.

He nodded, “Can’t argue with that one. It’s just…you scared the shit out of me, Annabelle. I thought I had some sort of psycho under my covers for a second there!”

Right then.

“Just a pretty girl.” I flirted before realizing whom I was speaking with. “So yeah. Anyways. I am really sorry, John. I only came over here to bring you scones.”

“Ah, yes. Mrs. Richards told me you brought over cookies.”

“They’re not cookies! They’re scones!”

“She was right- you really are awfully testy tonight.” John Rodriguez smirked as he finally began to redress himself. Thank God.

“You know me. I’m always testy.” I rolled my eyes, watching as John carefully buttoned up his shirt and neatly tucked it into his black slacks.

“Well, I’m going to be really testy if there isn’t any milk in the kitchen to enjoy these famous scones with!” John Rodriguez motioned towards the doorway. “Come on, creep. I think she put them in the kitchen.”

I covered my face as I moaned, “Can we please forget this ever happened? Or at least not mention it to any living soul?”

“Guess I’ll be gossiping in the graveyard then.”

“That’s morbid.”

“At least I don’t hide in other people’s beds…” John raised his eyebrows at me suggestively before leading the way down a set of stairs and into a surprisingly modern kitchen.

“Wow. Fancy.” I said, noticing the granite countertops and rich, cherry cabinets. “Aren’t you supposed to be an advocate of a simple lifestyle?”

“Annabelle. I am studying to be a priest in a church whose leader wears Prada.” John rummaged through a cabinet before retrieving my container of scones. “Seriously though, I’ve heard that this kitchen remodel was a gift to the parish a few years ago. I guess some parishioner who used to work in the kitchen here passed away, and she left money for a kitchen remodel in her will.”

“Shut up. You’re lying.”

“Nope! Scout’s honor.” He held up his hand solemnly before breaking into one of his signature smiles. “Don’t tell me you haven’t designated money in your will for a remodel of the restrooms back in the vestibule! The good Lord knows we need pedestal sinks and marble floors in there.”

“You have it all wrong. I’m leaving money for a luxury renovation of the crying room. I’m thinking plasma screen TVs playing Dora the Explorer and a ball pit. Maybe even a stainless steel fridge full of Juicy Juice.”

We both laughed.

John grabbed a gallon of 2% milk from the real stainless steel refrigerator currently in front of us. He set a tall glass on the counter and began to pour. “Tell me when.”

My whole body seemed to warm at the gesture, but I couldn’t say why.

“When.” I murmured, the glass completely full. “You can never have too much calcium.”

“Technically you can. It’s called hypercalcemia…but I don’t think this generous helping will hurt.” He winked, passing the cool glass over to me, our fingers brushing in the process.

“Show-off. I thought you were a lawyer. Did you manage to fit in some med school, too?”

“Nope. Mom’s a nurse, remember?” I nodded at him. “Plus I may have had a love affair with ice cream at one point in my life, and my mom may have threatened me with this condition if I didn’t slow down on those Häagen-Dazs pints.”

I smiled, taking a bite of one of my scones. I had put in the entire bag of chocolate chips, and the scones had turned out unsurprisingly delicious.

John looked at me seriously before saying, “Alright, Annabelle. Here goes my very first bite of a scone. Ever. Should we be documenting this? Do you have a camera?”

“Stop being dramatic and just eat it.” I mumbled, my mouth full.

He popped one of the smaller scones into his mouth and chewed carefully.

“Mmmm…oh yes. These are awesome.” He grabbed for a second before finishing his first. “What an absolute travesty to ever confuse them with cookies.”

I knew I had a ridiculous smile across my face, but I couldn’t contain my glow in John’s approval.

“Thank you.” He said, suddenly serious.

Our eyes met, and it was all I could do to simply nod in return.

Phases of my Life

Ever since I've known Ben, his mom and I have teased him about the many "phases" he goes through.

There was the working out phase, where in addition to weight lifting with a personal trainer, Ben would eat granola straight from the bag as he imagined how buff and muscular he was going to be.

Then there was the bartender phase, where Ben attended (and graduated!) bartender school. He would arrive to parties armed with a grocery bag full of supplies to make fun and creative drinks. Ben had grand dreams of owning a chic and trendy bar where everybody knew his name.

God. I miss the bartender phase. And all of those signature drinks.

But anyway, as I was driving to work this morning and having my deep Saturday morning musings, I realized that I, too, have gone through quite a few phases.

Perhaps Ben is contagious?

Having a fridge full of Vitamin Water to offer people
This summer, I read Emily Giffin's latest novel Where We Belong. In one of the book's very first scenes, one of the main characters offers her long-lost daughter a bottle of Vitamin Water. For some unknown reason, I decided then and there that I wanted to have a fridge full of Vitamin Water so I could always casually offer my guests one.

"Would you like a drink? A Vitamin Water?" I would smile, handing them a bottle of Rise or Power-C.

Again- let me emphasize, I have no explanation why this was so appealing to me.

Couscous
About eighteen months ago, I was really into couscous. I always had a container of instant couscous in my pantry and would spend my mornings in class daydreaming about what sorts of vegetables I could saute and set upon a glorious bed of couscous. I thought my little couscous creations were incredibly healthy and innovation. They were probably neither.

via

BB Cream
Last spring, I read an article about how BB cream was the miracle beauty product every woman had been coveting. I did extensive research before zooming off to my local Sephora and excitedly purchasing Clinique's BB cream. I made myself believe that it was dramatically improving my skin for about three weeks before I admitted defeat and went back to my normal foundation.

via

"Pretty Little Liars"
This phase was pretty recent. Last autumn, I started on a "Pretty Little Liars" kick thanks to Netflix. I would sit in front of the TV for hours on end, mindlessly clicking "Next Episode." Rachel hated this phase for multiple reasons, mostly because I was totally hogging the TV and totally zoned out to the world while I watched the show.

via

I only got through the beginning of season two before this phase ended. Rachel was spending more nights away from home, and that show is way too creepy to watch in an empty apartment.

"Glad you're over that silly phase, Jenna. Watch your back. -A."

Brown Hair
For about one month a few years ago, I decided I was going to be edgy and cool and go brunette. Jill had to spend hours getting the brown dye to cover my blonde locks completely. Poor Jill.

The brown hair lasted for about one month before my unfortunate coworkers then had to spend months and months and many highlighting sessions turning me back into a blonde.

Lesson learned. I am a blonde at heart.

I am also apparently quite phase-y.

An Icy Friday!

Firstly, I would just like to comment on what a strange-looking word "icy" is. It looks like it's missing a letter or was cut off prematurely.

Weird.

This morning, I woke up at my usual time of 6:30.

Cincinnati received quite a bit of freezing rain overnight, and when I went outside? My Corolla was a giant ice cube!

I feebly tried to scrape away the ice, but it was not budging. I turned the defrost on high and sat in my cold car eating my Lunar bar while I waited for the ice to thaw a bit.

For the record, that stupid Lunar bar only eclipsed my hunger until 9:45AM. Lame.

When I reemerged into the cold, February air, the ice had really melted down quite well! I'll be honest- it was almost fun scraping those big sheets of ice off my Corolla!

Luckily, the streets had been salted, and my commute was smooth into work.

After parking my car in a semi-icy spot, I cautiously made my way towards the entrance.

Of course, as I tried not to slip and die on sporadic bits of ice, two women were being dropped off by their boyfriends/husbands/lovers in rugged SUVs.

Must be nice, I thought bitterly, hugging my red coat tighter around me.

As I went to walk across the CROSSWALK, one of the boyfriends/husbands/lovers didn't see me and almost ran me over with his rugged SUV.

Fabulous.

Single and invisible.

I am happy to report that the day only went up from there with delicious cookies in an afternoon meeting, the perfect cat nap after work, and a fun evening at a local fish fry with some coworkers.

Tonight, I am snuggled up in bed with discounted Valentine's Day candy and my space heater running at full blast since our heat isn't being fixed until Tuesday at the earliest.

Oy vey.

Happy weekend, bloggers! :)

Wednesday Weirdness

Well, bloggers. My Wednesday has been anything but normal.

When I woke up at Ben's apartment this morning, my stomach felt incredibly achey and unsettled.

I attributed it to a restless night of slumber (Ben keeps his apartment SO HOT and his cat can get a bit crazy and rambunctious in the middle of the night) and decided to go back to sleep for a bit (in my own cold but comfortable bed) before getting ready for work.

Around 7:30, I got up and showered. My stomach felt worse than it had earlier, and I knew I was going to faint if I stayed in the steamy shower any longer. The pain reminded me a lot of this episode from November.

I threw up (TMI? Sorry) before retreating to my bed.

It honestly took all of energy to email my boss and tell her I wouldn't be in the office.

Right as I was about to drift back into a self-pitying sleep, I remembered- the men were coming to fix the furnace today!

I shot up in bed and sent out a hasty text to my landlord, just wanting to give him a heads-up that I wasn't feeling well and would be at the apartment while the repairmen were here. I didn't want to scare anyone with my sallow face and unbraided hair.

He kindly replied that he would stop over with space heaters so I didn't have to be in a freezing apartment all day.

Then, my morning got increasingly weirder. As I sat in my bed wearing my lounge pants and oversized grade school tshirt with my Macbook propped on my knees and an incredible space heater going at full-blast on the floor beside me, two very nice and empathetic men fumbled around with the heating system outside my room.

I love you, Space Heater.

"What a terrible time to be sick!" the one sighed.

The other nodded in agreement, "And it's so cold in here! You poor girls!"

Yes, repairmen. YES.

This was just so beyond strange, I could hardly stand it.

Lucky for me, my mum called shortly later and told me to pack an overnight bag.

"You've been living in a 50 degree apartment for four days. And now you're sick! You're spending the night at home," she told me.

I was too weak and feeble to argue at that point.

Besides- a heated home and a cuddly Goldendoodle sounded quite lovely.

I spent the afternoon napping and woke up feeling much better. My mom made a comforting supper of chicken and vegetables, and now I am lounging on the sofa as the two of us watch HGTV.

Weird Wednesday indeed but not a completely awful day!

"It's like we're in Little House on the Prairie!"

When I arrived home from my salon shift Saturday evening, I noticed a weird noise coming from our family room vent.

"Junky apartment," I grumbled, turning off the heat. I figured it probably just needed a little rest and would be good to go in a little bit. Our apartment was built in 1890 so I usually am okay with cutting it some slack.

I mean, when I am 113 years old, I hope people do the same for me.

But anyways.

I turned the furnace back on before bed and went to sleep.

Sunday morning, I awoke to a strange smell. I also noticed that the thermostat was only at 63 degrees when I had set the temperature to 70 many hours earlier.

I texted Rachel, my eternal lifesaver in all things practical (and otherwise), that I thought our furnace might be calling it quits.

She said she would look at it when she got home, and sure enough, she called while I was babysitting that evening to confirm that yes, the furnace was indeed broken.

Bloggers, that was Sunday night.

It is now Tuesday night, and we still have no heat.

The first night I had to spend in this frozen tundra?

Not so awful.

I felt adventurous! I kept imagining some of my favorite Little House on the Prairie scenes. Would Pa be bringing more wood soon? Oh, I hoped Mr. Edwards would make it home through the snow storm in time for Christmas!

I realize none of that makes sense. So I'll move on.

We were blessed with an extremely mild February day yesterday so last night wasn't unbearable either.

Tonight though?

Tonight it is cold. Uncomfortably so.

I will be spending my evening and night over at Ben's warm and cozy apartment, watching this week's episode of Girls and making our own Jamba Juice Razzmatazz smoothies.

Smoothies! I know.

Ridiculous.

The Great Debate

As Rachel and my June 1st move-out date draws nearer, I've started to do some serious thinking about where I want to live next.

I am totally conflicted between signing another lease or moving back home.

I feel like I am getting to a point in my life where I'd enjoy living alone, but living solo is expensive.

Could I comfortably afford to live alone? Yes.

Would I be saving much money towards a future down payment for a condo or house? No. Not at all.

Right now, I am starting to lean towards moving home with my parents. Here is a little list I've put together of the advantages and disadvantages of admitting defeat and returning to my purple childhood bedroom.

Future roommates?

Moving Home
Pros

• Free rent! I could buy at least one luxury item each month (Oh, how my shoe and handbag collections would grow!) and still be saving hundreds of dollars to put towards buying something in the long run. I could also afford to travel more often!
• Clean and cozy living environment
• Ellie
• Mum and Dad (Since Ben is going to college this autumn, I'd have them all to myself and could work at establishing myself as the favorite child)
• Soaking tub and fancy shower
• Much better food than I buy
• Treadmill
• Luxurious living accommodations compared to where I am now living

Cons

• LOCATION!!!! My parents live in a part of town that I really do not like. There are no good restaurants or shopping nearby, and I would have a 45 minute commute to work! Ugh! If I ever wanted to go out for the night, I'd have to either not partake in the drinking fun or have a place to stay for the evening.
• Loss of independence and freedom
• Dealing with the "I've taken a step backwards" mentality
• Having to tell people, "I live with my parents."

Oh, bloggers.

I just don't know what I should do.

Any advice?

A Singleton's Valentine's Day

Okay, bloggers. So this was a hard post for me to write.

I cannot tell you how many times I wrote a few paragraphs, stopped, shook my head in agony, and then held down the backspace key. 

At first, I wrote an incredibly positive and cheerful Valentine's Day post. Valentine's Day is a holiday which celebrates love of all kinds! 

That's just what people say to make single people feel better about themselves, I thought, rolling my eyes.

Delete.

I then wrote an incredibly dark and bitter post. Valentine's Day sucks! I thought of all of the couples out there celebrating. Obviously, the women in these scenarios were all wearing beautiful Kate Spade cocktail dresses with matching heels, and the men had on crisp button-down shirts with perfectly ironed slacks. Fizzy champagne, Frank Sinatra over the Bose speaker system, couples feeding one another chocolate-covered fruits...as I sat in my apartment. Alone. Listening to Edith Piaf in my worn Old Navy lounge pants and an oversized t-shirt, having probably just eaten an entire bag of Dove chocolates (fed to myself by myself).

Whoa. CALM DOWN, Jenna. Calm. Down.

Delete, delete, delete.

Then, I actually took a moment to think about Valentine's Day.

More times than not -okay, 95% of the time- I am single on Valentine's Day, so I believe myself to be a bit of an expert when it comes to explaining what the day is like for a singleton. At least a singleton such as myself, anyway.

I love getting to wear pink and red for the day. I enjoy heart-shaped candies. I think boxes of chocolate are just wonderful...I always regret it when I look at the insert at all of the flavors and their respective locations inside the box. The surprise is much more fun!

But I'll be honest here, and I hope my honesty isn't mistaken as being negative or self-pitying. 

As someone who loves holidays, I feel a bit left out of Valentine's Day.

The glum feelings I have on Valentine's Day aren't attributed to being alone or lonely, exactly, but they're instead related to feeling somehow excluded from a celebration. It's a bummer not having a boyfriend to make plans with or exchange gifts between on this day. I always feel like I only get to celebrate Valentine's Day to a certain extent. It's as though I don't have full access to the holiday.

Sure, people say that Valentine's Day is not limited to love of the romantic variety, but let's be real here. Hallmark and Godiva aren't making millions today off people celebrating friendship.

Tonight, I am planning on coming home from work and changing into my most comfortable clothes. I am going to enjoy a nice bottle of red wine along with an array of fancy cheeses. I'm going to watch one of my favorite movies. Right now, I am leaning towards watching both Bridget Jones movies back-to-back or perhaps "Love Actually."

Because at the end of the day, singleton or not, when Hugh Grant states with total confidence, "Love actually is all around"?

I believe him. I totally believe him.

I'm still trying to figure out where my own romantic love is hiding, but I know he is out there somewhere.

And maybe, just maybe, he'll make an appearance before Valentine's Day 2014.

Gosh- maybe he is even BRITISH!*

*Note to God- if this is the case, all of these Valentine's Days spent alone were completely acceptable.

Put your beads away. Lent has begun!

Happy Ash Wednesday!

Ash Wednesday 2012. Good times.

This day always makes me think of a time, many years ago, when my Baptist grandma was babysitting my brothers and me. When we arrived home from school, my grandma exclaimed, "Where have you kids been? You have dirt on your faces!"

She then tried to scrub our foreheads clean.

We thought that was just hilarious.

I've always enjoyed the season of Lent.

And not just because it gives me an excuse to dine on some superb seafood and veggie pizzas.

I love the self-examination that comes with the season and the idea of bettering myself in the time leading up to Easter. Of course, as a lover or lists and resolutions, I am also a fan of Lenten promises.

I know, I know...I should do these things all of the time, not just during Lent.

But don't rain on my Lenten parade, okay?

1. Go to mass every week. I've gotten into quite a bad habit of skipping church over the past year or so. I probably only go once every six weeks, which is pathetic, and I know it affects my mood for the worse.
2. Only drink alcohol one night weekly. Time to cut down on the vino!
3. No more pop! With free fountain soda at my workplace, this one is going to be tough! I am trying to replace the pop with water. Good for the skin and waistline, right?
4. Before I go to bed each night, thank God for something positive that happened during my day. I've always been faithful about my nightly prayers, but I often feel as though they are mainly petitions and calls to God for help. I need to be more grateful for what I already have and stop asking for more.

Those are my four mighty Lenten promises. I think numbers 2 and 3 will be the toughest to keep, but hopefully I can stick it out for the next 40 days!

Here I go again!

Today marks my 8731238th attempt to lose weight.

I've decided to reintroduce the same habits I embraced a few years ago when I lost nearly 40 pounds.

• Limit my calories to 1200/daily (excluding fruits and vegetables)
• No eating after dinner
• Exercise for at least 1 hour each day

...and that was all I did.

Boring, I know.

But it was a routine that I personally found easy to stay committed to, and it worked really well for me!

Here are some of my favorite "healthy" foods while I'm trying to slim down.

• Oatmeal
• Laughing Cow and Wheat Thins (together, always)
• Pickles 
• Soups 
• Lean Cuisines (obviously)
• Crystal Light (not technically a food, I know)

Below are the goals (and rewards!) I've set for myself.

• 5 pounds: Manicure
• 10 pounds: Harry Potter tattoo (Sorry Mom. I think this is totally happening.)
• 20 pounds: A GORGEOUS Kate Spade handbag which I bought during her recent surprise sale! I had the purse shipped to my parents' house and have instructed them to withhold it from me until I've reached this goal.

This is the bag I bought- the Kate Spade Bow Valley Rosa in pink. Isn't it lovely?

via

And yes, I realize that being motivated by material goods is not exactly the preferred method of losing weight, but to each their own, right?

Wish me luck!

Psssh as if I need it!*

*Yes. I need it.

Have I become Bridget Jones?

As if my recent weight gain, weekly intake of wine, and misfortune in love weren't enough evidence to support this theory, as I was organizing my book collection this morning, I came to the shocking realization of how many self help books I've acquired.

Hmmm.

Well.

If I really have become Bridget, maybe that means there is a Mark Darcy wearing a reindeer jumper in my future?

A girl can dream.

Freshman Year of Adult Life

Somehow, it is already the sixth day of February, and I've not yet written a single post.

My future self is not going to be pleased about that.

Of course, my current self isn't too thrilled either.

But on to the post! Which, I must warn you, isn't the most uplifting of prose.

For quite a while now, I've been feeling pretty down.

Okay. Confession time. I've actually been feeling pretty sad since last June.

I've been struggling to deal with the incredible amount of changes that come with the end of undergrad and the beginning of "adult" life. It makes me feel like I'm some sort of freshman all over again, desperately trying to assimilate and fit in.

New apartment, new friends, new job.

It's just a lot to take in and handle.

I am constantly thinking back on last year, when my biggest concern was if I would finish my paper in time to go out on a Thursday night or maybe worrying if I would sleep through my alarm before one of my Saturday shifts at the salon.

I slept in at least two or three days each week, and every evening I came home to a dining room table surrounded by friends.

A typical night at our campus dining room table

I especially love to reminisce about the Friday evenings Rachel and I would spend at the campus rec center. We would go around 6:30 or 7 and practically have the place all to ourselves. We would use elliptical machines or treadmills that were right next to each other and gossip during our entire workout. We would discuss which boys we were currently interested in, where we were going that night, and which classes were driving us mad.

Those evenings at the gym will always be some of my most favorite memories.

I know that I have so many new and exciting things to look forward to in the future.

I am so thankful for my full-time job, family, and friends. I realize how incredibly fortunate I am.

But still, I continue to struggle getting my feel of this new world and figure out what my role in it will be.

I really hope I start to feel like myself again soon.