"Free Milk and Cookies", They Said...

I'm 27 years old, yet still as food-motivated as the three year old I once was. 

I was remembering this past Christmas. Mostly because during this time where winter seems to want to stick around and April Is still pretty darn cold, it seems like the faster route to happiness would be going back to Christmas and just redoing the whole experience lol! I LOVE Christmas! I still believe in Santa Claus! (I'm so kidding about that.) But I could probably willingly confuse myself into believing it for the sake of a more magical Christmas. This Christmas my brother and I went to see It's a Wonderful Life- in live radio. The coolest experience ever! Really, it topped opening this year's presents. Anyway, this bring me to my point: when I saw this live radio ad at my job's lobby, the one thing that gave me the ultimate motivation to attend the show was the "Free Milk and Cookies Post Show" comment on the bottom. No, I didn't even notice the opportunity to speak to the cast and take meaningful pictures to add to Instagram. I just kept thinking: ooh! Cookies!

Come on, let's be honest. I can afford my own cookies. But the concept of free cookies blows my mind in the saddest of ways. 

That being said: At work, we try to keep a competitive work environment. So the two most competitive people at the office usually chose what the winner's prize will be. I suggested Chick Fil A. Not a gift card or Leave Early from Work pass, but food.

Bottom line: I need Jesus. A little more everyday. 

Random Thoughts and the Hidden Pint of Ice Cream

Hola.

It's fifteen minutes to bed time and I figured I'd make good use of my time. Like any normal person, I meditate on the ongoings of the day right about now. And what better way to do that than letting my fingers do the typing instead of thinking random thoughts in all directions.

A few months ago, I started a tradition at work. Right at about 2pm, I sneak downstairs to our break room and pull out my pint of Edy's French silk slow churned ice cream. Spoon in hand, I dig the ice cream right out of the carton and eat. Just like that. Spoonful after spoonful, increasing my energy and happiness. It's truly a beautiful thing. And so it became my scheduled alone time.

As it came to pass, I was discovered by one of my co-workers, who went on to tell the rest of my coworkers. It's a sad thing, really. How quickly word travels. And how long a person can laugh at something so totally normal!

So naturally, I'm writing this on my blog as a form of confession that yes, I need help and two, I am not the least bit ashamed by being human. I'll soon be 28 years old and I eat ice cream straight from a carton. At work.

I find joy in the simplest of  pleasures. I like Coach and Prada and wearing Classy suits. But really, I'm into candy and ice cream and burgers, just the same. I don't like pretentious people that don't eat cheeseburgers. Haha. I'll take that back. Not everyone that doesn't each cheeseburgers is pretentious. And not everyone has to like burgers.

Although, I think people that enjoy eating are the best of people. I feel connected to people that enjoy the foods I do. Lol.

I'm so glad the no white after Labor Day rule is over and done with.

Did I ever believe in unicorns?

I wonder what really happened to Amelia Earhart...

Enough said.

good night

Down and Dirty- Valentines and the ER Room

Really, I don't purposely mean to write a series of blogs featuring unfortunate events in my life. But it just so happens that way lately. So here goes: this is what makes a girl real. You're welcome.

My Valentine's Day gone Wrong...

I look forward to Valentines every year. Whether I'm single or in a relationship, the thought of Valentines brings a smile to my face. Sometimes a melancholy smile, mind you. But a smile nonetheless. 

This Valentines Day took me to the ER, where I felt as if my whole world was crumbling. Really, my WHOLE world. Because one of the most dearest, loved persons in my life was sent to the ER. I received a call at work with the news. All I knew is that it was potentially heart related. I can't recall every detail but I do remember running out to my courtesy vehicle (car crash Day before) and speeding all the way to Northwestern hospital. In the small compact Yaris displaying a body shop's name in every available area of the vehicle. Thinking: I'm going to have a panic attack on the road. I don't think this little Yaris can go fast enough.

I just whispered to myself: remain calm and collected. For his sake. I didn't utter a word out loud for fear of crying. So I prayed. More like bargained with God. And that's not even something I see as acceptable. But I was desperate. Out of options. Out of my control zone. 

I looked at my little guy, looking a bit helpless and tired. And I wanted to hug him and just cry out loud with him. I wanted to make it all better for him now and forever. I wanted to take the pain for him. 

But I couldn't. 

And I sure didn't. Because I just created a whole lot more personal, muted pain in addition to his. And I again experienced in that moment how much love hurts. How raw pain feels. How life and death can come with a pretty thin line. 

And I also saw God's mercy in my life. And am grateful for the second chance to appreciate my little brother more. To laugh a little more. Talk a little more. Share a little more about life with each other. 

P.S. Mando, don't ever scare the daylights out of me in that way again. Really. I love you!