My Last Words Before Turning Into A Vampire

I cannot think of a solitary moment in life that is more optimistic than when you are listening to a high school valedictorian speech. These kids are sitting there, staring at a blank page. They have not yet been faced with life-altering decisions. Their hearts are still vaguely in one piece. They haven’t made a series of poor choices that has left them divorced, in debt, and jaded for all eternity. They aren’t quite sure what the Freshman 15 even is. They barely understand the concepts of financial responsibility and what it’s like to work a 9-5 job that makes you want to wish you were never born, just because you have no other option. Their dreams have not yet had a chance to breathe, much less die.

I get all teary every time.

I could listen to valedictorian speeches all day. Oh wait, I have been. A local TV station has been replaying all of the public school graduation videos from this past spring. For me, it’s a little slice of heaven. For everyone else, it is a rare and peculiar form of self-inflicted torture.

I am in love with school. And not just because I have an absurd obsession with the smell of school supplies. I love the feeling of that first day. A new start. Endless possibilities. Football games. Catching up with old friends, making new ones. That sickening feeling when you walk past the one person you will never have the guts to talk to. Add the fact that school starts in the fall and you have what might be a perfect storm of awesomeness.

I wish I could make a career out of attending school.

But Brit, didn’t you quit college?

I’m sorry, what?

Of course, high school is also vicious. Girls really are mean. Teenagers are unforgiving and selfish. And in the process of everyone trying to find themselves, we all have a tendency to lose a little bit of dignity. But even though I had my fair share of tearful nights and end of the world moments, when I think back on those days, they were incredible. There’s nothing like it. And never will be again.

Easy solution? Become a vampire and stay 17 forever.

What I’m going to do in the meantime? Make a sack lunch and watch Clueless.


Stay tuned. My next blog will feature pics and stories from my epic weekend in the Windy City with Lola Lakely and Uncorked!!!

Commitment: The Fire Breathing Dragon That Eludes Me

It’s fall.

If you reside in an area of the country [I like to refer to it as God’s favorite] where you experience the change of seasons, then you understand the sheer elation I’m feeling at this very moment as I put on an extremely worn-in hoody [the kind that barely keeps you warm anymore cus there are so many holes], eat a caramel apple [but only the kind I make myself], and drink a hot beverage [preferably a pumpkin spice latte] while staring at the crispy orange leaves outside my window.  Wow, don’t tell my 6th grade English teacher about that sentence, cus it definitely violated a few grammatical laws of nature.  If you can’t experience fall, then my heart aches for you.

Something about the fall just makes me think of new relationships. Why? Well, because it’s absolutely impossible to resist falling in love with someone during this time of year.  In fact, I believe almost all of my relationships have started in the fall.  In fact, I believe anything good that has come out of my life has started in the fall. Wait, but none of those relationships were good. Stop confusing me.

apple-orchardSo why am I talking about fally wonderfulness when this blog is about commitment issues? Well, you should know better then to ask me questions about why I do the things I do.  Here’s my thought process: crisp weather —> I’m cold —> hoody —> wow, I need a pedicure —> fall —> unrequited love for Jon Stamos —> new  relationships —> WHAT? I’m all out of pasta? —> commitment.

All of you know that I suffer from a very serious condition that we might call: issues. Particularly, of the commitment genre. I can’t commit to and entire box of one type of cereal, thus, my cupboards overflow with mini-boxes, which lead visitors to the general conclusion that I am either a foster parent to a surplus of midgets, or that I run my own daycare.  That being what it is, if we’re talking about way more important issues such as: weekend plans, underwear colors, or hair dye you can expect hives and/or cold sweats at some point.  And if we’re talking about anything that will monopolize 6 months to a year of my time, I lose feeling in my forearms.

This was the exact feeling I experienced when I closed on my condo, followed by nausea and hyperventilation. Needless to say, it presented quite a challenge when I had to sign all that paperwork with a numb arm.

While trying to psychoanalyze myself, I’ve come up with a number of scapegoats on which to place blame for this senseless paranoia. The first, of course, being my mother.  I have no idea why, but it just seems like a logical conclusion to just about everything.  The second, being my string of bad luck with overly possessive boyfriends.  The third, being the changing of the tides or humidity levels of the rainforest.  All of which make more sense than the actual truth, which is, I’m nuttier than that box of assorted off-brand Valentines Day chocolates still rotting on the bottom shelf of your fridge.  Guys, seriously, what did I tell you about Valentine’s Day gifts?

When I come back, I not only promise that I will be extremely parched, dehydrated, and tan – but that we will return to your regularly scheduled blog programming and I will have an announcement for you that you may or may not be excited about.  I’d like to say it is an announcement so big that it might blow your socks off, but then I remembered that I hate when people say that.  I mean, is that even possible? Come on, people.

Get real.

I miss you already!