The Scarlett Letters - Scarlett

The Good Stuff

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 09:53:19 -0500

I have having thE most Fantabulous hair day I've had since the summer humidity hit in May! It's smoothed straight, slightly curled under, oodles of volume. So i decided to have a fantabulous face to go with it - got out the sandblaster (jk) and Ta-Dum! Perfect makeup, perfect hair, and I'm at my lowest weight since July.

Sigh - life is good my friends.

Not ONLY is my hair perfection and my makeup flawless, BUT my apartment is clean! Organized, tidy, no dishes in the sink, no books and magazines strewn about the coffee table and couches - whether or not my life is in order, personal exterior and my apartment's interior are projecting that image.

So that's the good stuff.

On the flipside, its one day into the DNC Convention and, much like an Olympic Gymnast, I'm exercising amazing control over my upchuck reflex. Though I'm having nightmares of rabid donkeys chasing me and demanding more taxes from my paycheck - very disturbing.

I also cooked dinner on Saturday night using actual food that doesn’t come out of a freezer and kitchen appliances other than my microwave - equally disturbing.

Frankly,

Craziness Abated

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Mon, 18 Aug 2008 10:33:00 -0500

Army has departed for the land of hurricanes and retirees and apparently, intel officers.

And if you asked me how I felt about it, well…the less than straight answer you would receive would inevitably depend on the time of day, day of the week and/or what sappy movie I’d watched recently (last night it was the Notebook – BIG mistake).

So if I’ve been quiet, it’s mostly to do with that.

It’s also to do with the fact that I was out EVERY night last week (a recent record for me). Taking advantage of the culinary wonder that IS Restaurant Week in DC, meeting up with friends and playing host to my little cousin en entourage amounting to 4 – 22 yr. old girls in my shoebox of an apartment on Thursday evening. Besides the logistical challenges of sleeping accommodations, it was a relatively easy hosting experience – I took them out for dinner and then pointed them in the direction of the Front Page Thursday Free for All, handed them the keys to the apartment and sent them on their way!

Friday found me home from work just after 5 with plans to meet a friend from high school for HH at 6. I came in, dropped my stuff, climbed into bed for a 20 minute power nap, then hauled my ass out of bed, quickly primped and rallied.

When I got home around 9, I was LOVING being in my bed, curled up with my cats, a book and the Olympics. (I was out-cold asleep by 9:30). So thank goodness I had the trusty TiVo running and I got to see M. Phelps’ “Fingernail Gold” the next morning.

I have to say though, without a shadow of a doubt, the highlight of last week was drinks on Saturday night with Crazy Bitch at Fado, where the ENTIRE bar was watching the Men’s Medley Relay and M. Phelps’ historic 8^th Olympic god. Following the end of the race, the ENTIRE bar sang the national anthem. It was definitely memorable.

That’s all the update I can muster on this Monday morning, kids.

Hopefully my life will be calming down a bit, but knowing me that prediction isn’t very likely. I will TRY to update more, but I make no promises.

Definitions of Normal

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Mon, 04 Aug 2008 08:00:00 -0500

I’ve been confused lately.

Very confused.

From the whirlwind of work, schedules and happy hours to the swirling of thoughts in my head and emotions in my heart.

Maybe I’ll be able to think more clearly after he leaves and my life will take on some semblance of normalcy and of “me” again. But between surviving three relationships, two different jobs and one sexual assault in the past two years, how can I even remember what “normal” is anymore?

“Normally”, when a relationship was becoming rocky, or there was an end in sight, I’d be out scheduling dates and parties with either the trusty standby’s in my little black book. These included generally attractive, fun guys that I have met during my tenure in the District out of which relationships never materialized for one reason or another. However, platonic friendship never Quite developed in their place. At any rate, these are all excellent candidates for lively dinner, happy hour or movie going companions easing moi back into a the single mentally and solo lifestyle.

But I haven’t so much as perused my phone contacts list in contemplation of an augmentation of my social life.

So perhaps the definition has changed – or have I?

Frankly,

P.S. The meeting of Mr. & Mrs. Army went well - as predicted, much wine was consumed. Thankfully, the meeting did not necessitate the need for hard liquor. I was, as predicted, underwhelmed by inclusion into the Army family dynamic. However, I did not spend the majority of the weekend dwelling on where I was not. Which, I think is a step forward?

Starting with a Bang

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Tue, 01 Jul 2008 13:51:26 -0500

I hate to say it. Ok – I LOVE to say it…. I was right.

So far twenty-seven (Take II) has a “commanding” lead over its predecessor.

The long and short of the b-day shin-dig (and thanks to my friends who celebrated with me!). My rolling birthday party where people came in and out all evening was so relaxed with friends that I’ve known since birth, friends who might as well be family, and friends who just light up any room.

And after copious amounts of celebratory drinks, dancing and flirting (as is the birthday girl’s privilege) – some of my fabulous friends were feeling a little TOO fabulous to drive. Soooo – we checked into the Washington landmark – the Hinckley Hilton. Which is just like a bar…people bring you drinks and food..but its better because there is a designated “passing out” area!

It was wonderful and thank you again to all who came.

The weekend ‘o celebration continued with an evening under the stars at one of my favorite DC venues, Wolf Trap, an experience which I’ll elaborate more upon later.

And then mimosas and movies on Sunday as a way to escape for the afternoon heat.: Get Smart and The Happening – both of which I would recommend seeing. I’m still waiting with bated breath for the next Batman Movie and Heath Ledger’s final and rumored to be his best performance. Something to look forward to in July…then James Bond in November – this year keeps getting better and better!

Cheers,

Sticking

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Mon, 23 Jun 2008 11:14:22 -0500

Is it just me, or does everyone have that wonderful age in mind? That magical age, perhaps completely arbitrary, at which you think your life will come together, that by this age you’ll be mature enough or make enough money, or achieve enough zen-like self awareness to make greater sense of the world around you.

27 was supposed to be that year for me.

Don’t ask me why, perhaps it seemed the perfect distance from 21 while sufficiently at arms length from 30. Maybe because it was the age at which my mother tied the knot. Or it could be that I inexplicably prefer odd numbers to even. Who knows??

But 27, I must say – you let me down. You did not live up to your promise or your hype. Some may say that perhaps I had you on a pedestal, and it’s my own fault for attempting to hold you to such high expectations. But no. In my opinion, you didn’t even try. Let’s review your academic record, shall we?

You left me with not just a broken, but a shattered heart; you made me go crazy waiting for a security clearance, fearing unemployment; you gave me the perfect boyfriend but left us with no future; you got me mugged; and in the waning days of your administration you threw my back out, sending me to the emergency room via ambulance, literally paralyzed with pain leaving me bed ridden for the last four days.

Frankly, you flunked. You are the chronological equivalent of a juvenile delinquent. And so, to help you reach your full potential I’m holding you back.

I’m sticking. Today I celebrate my 27^th birthday part deux. And it has already turned into a beautiful day. Perhaps it’s the muscle relaxers and vicodine talking, but I know it’s going to be a GREAT year. I’m not another year older, but certainly another year wiser.

This newer, shiner version of my age has already found me waking up beside a hot man, the gorgeous Tiffany’s watch he had given me the day before still glittering on my wrist. My family and friends calling to serenade me with wonderfully off key renditions of birthday songs. Breakfast in bed and then off to a wonderful new job.

Sigh. I do believe this 27 will undoubtedly trump its predecessor and I’m looking forward to enjoying the year to come.

Frankly,

Everyday Love

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Tue, 17 Jun 2008 07:58:00 -0500

So it took me awhile. It doesn’t mean anything. I love them just as much as everyone who went to see them on May 30! I’ve just been busy! But its OK. This weekend, I made time. And in true SATC fashion, the celebration of the rebirth of our beloved Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte and Samantha began with brunch.

I’m usually a fan of the Clyde’s brunch – and ALWAYS a fan of time with TravelGirl, my chick-cinema brunch buddy. I ordered a mimosa, on the supposition that it would be a fun alternative to my staple Belvedere Bloody Mary. But when my pre-noon alcohol fix arrived, I couldn’t help but notice that it was delivered sans “O”.

TravelGirl chuckled at what could only now be described as a mim-sa, otherwise known as Champaign without so much as an orange slice floating among the bubbles or a wedge citrus perched on the side of the glass. Sigh. There goes my Vitamin C intake for the week!

I laughed and sarcastically expressed my appreciation to the waiter for the apparent dedication of the Clyde’s management team to the successful mid-morning intoxication of their patrons. The poor boy smiled obliviously, the dry humor evidently escaping his notice. An exchange to which TG so astutely pointed out an obvious explanation: “Um – I don’t think he knows that a mimosa is supposed to have orange juice in it” – and true to form, she was absolutely right. I laughed it off and we proceeded to the movie after my uncharacteristically sub-par meal.

Once the light went down in the theatre TG popped one of the two (I shit you not) contraband bottles of Champaign we smuggled individually into the theatre. TG, ever the fabulous friend, supplied the travel friendly plastic wine glasses which came in handy for the several toasts we made throughout the duration of the film.

The movie was utterly wonderful. I laughed. I cried. I cried. I laughed. I cried. Maybe it was the Champaign. Maybe it was the joy of witnessing the reunion of familiar characters. Or perhaps the degree to which I related to the story line. In any event I found myself tearing up twice throughout the film and one particular instance of what could only be described as sobbing leaving MAC mascara to forge a river unceremoniously down my cheeks.

The punchy dialogue, the poignant narration, the brilliant story line. I didn’t quite realize how much I missed them until Saturday. The same sentiment could also be said of TravelGirl. If you haven’t seen the movie yet, please run to see it – and please take one of your most stylish, sarcastic, fabulous single friends to enjoy it with you.

But while you watch it, allow yourself to be inspired and infused with the rediscovered knowledge that Love can be real; hearts have the eventual ability to mend; hope is a renewable energy; and safety does, indeed come in numbers.

So here is the literary equivalent of a Champaign “pop” and toast for my girls: my rocks and truly, my family. To those of you that read this blog and those that catch up on life over dirty martinis and pints of beer. Thank you. For all you do for me every day. All the hugs, the emails, the smiles, the memories, the encouragement, the shoulders that bear my mascara stains (I really need to start investing in the water-proof variety), the ears the listen and the hearts that forgive. You are ALL the Charlotte’s, Miranda’s and Samantha’s to my inner Carrie.

And even though we all spend the majority of our time looking for that “big love” this movie reminds you to stop, look around and try to appreciate the forever love you receive day by day.

Frankly,

P.S. It should be noted that after the movie – I called the Canadian, who will forever be my own, personal, Mr. Big.

The Month of June

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Thu, 12 Jun 2008 07:58:00 -0500

Though its well into the month, I feel compelled to say – June (le sigh) . You’re everything I hoped you’d be. I’m so glad you’re here. Please stay forever.

A New Kind of Vacation: June is and was supposed to be the month where GOOD things happen. For me it started with vacation: a whole week of relaxation. But not a mere vacation, oh no – most vacations don’t allow you to fully relax or to exhale due to the thoughts of what might be happening at the office in your absence, the proverbial fires which will be singing your heels upon your return. But not this vacation – and therein lies the beauty of my weeklong courtship with unemployment.

A New Job: which I’m slowly but surely easing into. The federal government with its security badges, bureaucracy, and labyrinth-esque corridors is certainly an intimidating and confusing place to say the least. But I’ve already met some amazing people and I feel as though I will definitely be challenged by the work, and working for causes in which I sincerely believe.

A New Birthday: I’ll go into greater detail regarding this personally auspicious occasion later, perhaps tomorrow (I know – the mind reels at the possibility of three posts in one week!). But it is coming – and it WILL be fabulous.

A New Start: Finally, “they” say it takes half the time you dated someone to get over them. And by that calendar, by July all thoughts of what’s his name will have completely eroded from my mind. All resentment, anger and residual inexplicable emotional attachment will have past its expiration date.

It’s a good month.

Frankly,

R&R

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Mon, 09 Jun 2008 08:55:00 -0500

I know many of you took my last post to be a fond farewell to these pages. Silly readers, I’m simply back from the land of hopelessly slow dial-up internet connections and negligible cell phone reception, otherwise known as my vacation.

I ultimately didn’t have to catch 2 planes, travel however many hundreds of miles and brave the infamous security implantations deemed necessary by the revered Department of Homeland Security in order to indulge in a significant amount of personal reflection. I can internally analyze and obsess ad nauseam just as well in Washington, DC as I can at the family lake house I suppose.

But it was the wolverine state I picked as the chosen locale for my attempted rejuvenation and relaxation. And it was the wolverine state in which I found a rather quieter inner monologue. It’s truly amazing.

Thoughts seem thoroughly digestible, truths seem more self-evident and life seems to travel on a more unencumbered road when the daily cranial pressure of worry, stress, and routine is eased and contemplation is given the space to roam freely. The constant meeting Lake Michigan’s waves to her shores introduce a certain peace and a sense of timelessness to those entrenched on her sand and thus, the need for self-analysis, fixation, and cerebral obsession seemed almost non-existent.

Free of the urban congestion and fighting throngs of strangers on mass transit systems, I traded my SmartTrip card in for a chair turned flotation device drifting on the wind directed current. Lounging in a swimming pool equipped with cup holders for margarita glasses on a beautiful June Monday morning at 11:00 a.m. when one is normally and reluctantly at one’s place of employment.

I traded in the cracked sidewalks of Dupont Circle in for backcountry roads I could drive blindfolded. And I exchanged the din of tourists, political pundits on never ending news cycles and coffeehouse chatter for the chirping of crickets, the crunch of the dirt road under my running shoes and the high pitched giggles of my cherubic nieces.

It was indeed a rejuvenation and a reminder of places born into me. Helping me to reconcile, though never allowing me to completely irradiate past wrongs and regrets but hopefully fortifying me for a stronger future.

Today is the first day of my new job (deep calming breath). Needless to say I’m slightly terrified, feeling akin to a newly minted high school freshman wondering if she’ll be accepted at the “cool kids” table at lunchtime.

Wish me luck!

Frankly,

I'm Movin' On

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Wed, 28 May 2008 11:06:00 -0500

As a hybrid southern gal I love my country music. Somehow I can always find some tune within the genre to capture whatever mood I happen to be sporting at the time.

Songs like “What Hurts the Most” or “My Give a Damn’s Busted”, “Wide Open Spaces”, “Strawberry Wine”. “You Won’t Find This” still makes me cry.

But today, while talking with the Canadian, he asked me if I was ready to ‘move on’. And while he was specifically referring to my change in career, several events has occurred over the past several days that made this particular question resonate in my mind.

I’ve unloaded several burdens over the past two days. I don’t feel the need to address the specific, surprising and individual feelings of relief and liberation I’ve experienced upon their gradual easing if not complete dissolution from my mind. It’s been a ‘letting go’. It’s been a ‘moving on’.

Once again the poetry of Nashville has expressed exactly what I never could. I’ve loved this song for a long time, but for the first time. I understand, really understand its meaning.

Life has been patiently waiting for me over the past six months, but I don’t think it will have to wait for much longer.

Sometimes the truth is the only way out.

More Freckles, More Time, More Me

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Tue, 27 May 2008 09:59:00 -0500

This weekend was heaven.

Bliss.

Just what the proverbial Dr. ordered.

The short, short summary of activities include: A road trip to the outlets in Hagerstown, Maryland where my new favorite shopping buddy, "Crazy Bitch", CB (be assured, it’s a nickname bestowed with love and affection) and I spent, I shit you not, approximately 7 hours buying out every store we could find. We literally shopped till we dropped, and let me tell you, the retail therapy was better than lithium chased with a bottle of red. As were the margaritas that followed.

Sunday, I rested my tired shopping feet by lying by the pool after a much needed trip to the gym. I heart the pool. And even though it may first appear that all I gained by laying in the sun underneath a protective barrier of SPF 30, was a few more freckles, I assure you that were you to compare sun kissed skin to tan lines, you would be impressed…I know I am.

Sunday night was Oysters and dinner at Clyde’s followed by a trip to see Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, leaving me with yummy dreams involving Harrison Ford and his whip dancing in my head.

Monday, unpacking the new wardrobe purchased on Saturday, complete with not one, not two, but SEVEN new pairs of shoes. (I’ll admit: your Scarlett went little nuts if not completely off the deep end of the retail swimming pool). Yesterday was extremely productive as I gutted my closet to make room for said new wardrobe, re organized, purged and laundered. Sigh the satisfying (if fleeting) feeling of organization.

I also, foolishly decided to spend another two hours by the pool – a miscalculation that has left my skin more freckley and decidedly pink.

I went to bed last night after soothing my burn with Pineapple scented Body Butter from Bath & Body Works (my new favorite scent) feeling productive and confident that my life is beginning to fall back into place.

As he has been busy with work, this was the first weekend in quite awhile I hadn’t spent a great deal of time with Army, and to tell you the truth, I enjoyed it. My schedule can get hectic during the week and so, as many of us do, I use the weekends to re-organize, re-assess and rejuvenate – tasks which sadly cannot be accomplished effectively if at all, whilst he is around. This is not to say I don’t enjoy spending time with him, but I definitely require a significant amount of ‘me’ time – a luxury abundant in long distance relationships.

Sigh. Back to the work week – which will be my last spent at my current position. I’m counting down the days until I fly off on vacation to the exotic beaches of Lake Michigan. And then, onto the next chapter.

Frankly, I’m eager to turn the page.

Speaking of pages, I've updated my Cast of Characters. If I thoughtlessly left you out - it was, indeed, unintentional, and please, please don't hesitate to bring it to my attention!

Kiss Me then Spank Me

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Wed, 21 May 2008 10:21:00 -0500

Five -- Count them FIVE people have sent me this "Piece of Flare" over Facebook today. What does this say about me I wonder?

I know its a lousy excuse for a Wednesday post, but I've been sick! The only interesting things I have to share is that I've been having some trippy NyQuil induced dreams/nightmares:

1. I have a reoccurring dream that i have random conversations with Fuckhead. Conversations about life, us, etc. Last night I ended up yelling and throwing things, but its not always an unplesant cerebrial encounter. Could be I just miss talking to him, could be he randomly popped into my IM list before I went to bed? Could be the drugs laced in decongestants are more potent than any of us imagined.

2. Last night, I dreamt I was dating David Cook (of American Idol fame). Could be I find rocker guys to be hotter than the strings of Jimmy Hendrix' guitar? Could be I reminded myself to TiVo the finale? Could be it is my psychic ability telling me that David Cook will win American Idol...???

Frankly, I think it may be all of the above.

The Right Stuff?

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Fri, 16 May 2008 10:03:15 -0500

As a child, pre-teen, early teen, I never had it. I was a terminally un-cool.

I was daddy’s little girl, and daddy is a double PhD who’s cocktail party trick consisting of herding everyone upstairs and challenge one of his academic cohorts to name a country so that his three year old daughter could point it out on the giant map of the world which hung on her wall obscuring the Rainbow Brite decorations. A seeming prodigiousness destined to fade throughout her academic career.

Always the last picked for gym teams – not because I was the slow kid, or the fat kid, but I was the kid who would always be playing with her hair while standing out in center field, failing to run and catch a pop fly because I was mid-French braid.

I was shy. I deliberately worked slowly on all my morning schoolwork so that I would have to finish it over the lunch hour and avoid the social Amazon that was the elementary school playground. Instead, I found my kindred spirits among the characters of Anne Shirley, Mary Lennox and Laura Ingles Wilder.

And when the Coolest Girl in the 4th, asked her “so, do you like the New Kids on the Block”?

I replied quite honestly, “I don’t know – I haven’t met them yet.”

A pop culturally illiterate answer that would continue to haunt me throughout summer vacation 1989.

Maybe I’ll get it the second time around?

I would like to point out that I did eventually mature socially and was voted Prom Queen, Homecoming Queen and 20 years later, that 4^th grade “cool girl” is working at the local Burger King in our hometown. See – its good to be a nerd!

Porn, Bugs and Rock & Roll

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Fri, 09 May 2008 09:10:00 -0500

The following adds up to what has been a bizarre little week. I look forward to spending the weekend playing my new Wii (yes, I’m a dork), cleaning my apartment, drinking margaritas in the rain – and hopefully getting my ass into the gym. Perhaps Sue Ellen will even get a call on Sunday, after several fortifying brunch Bloody Mary's of course.

The Most Bizarre Week Ever

I was assaulted by paparazzi while attempting to drive a getaway car – I have a new respect for the reasons behand Brittney Spears' insanity. Cuz crazy cameras in your face can really freak you out!

I keep having a reoccurring dream that I’m dating John Bon Jovi. Don’t get me wrong, it’s an AWESOME dream, but I wake up with Captain Crash & the Beauty Queen from Mars in my head.

Twice this week, men have talked to me on the metro – when a stranger speaks to you while you’re in a Zen mp3 state, it can be very unnerving.

I briefly revived my high school musical theatre role of Rizzo as I sang Sandra D. to a roomful of people. Sadly to say, I was NOT at a karaoke bar.

I’ve watched the entire last season of the OC and cried more than once.

I helped fight an infestation of caterpillars in a friend’s back yard.

I became an aunt for the 8^th time.

I found out that a friend of mine has decided to move out to LA to start her porn career (directing, not acting).

Crazy Town

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Fri, 18 Apr 2008 15:49:18 -0500

Yesterday, I was elected, via popular vote plus an almost unanimous bid from the super delegates (Britney Spears and Michael Jackson pulled two votes each) the sole party candidate for the Presidential election of Crazy Town. I am currently attempting to withdraw my candidacy effective immediately, but the locals keep pulling me back in with bribes of happy pills and bottles of wine.

I have severe reservations about disclosing the exact events and/or circumstances under which I earned a VIP seat on the Express Train to Crazy Town (which bypasses Obsessive-ville, goes way beyond Nuts-o City and stops just short of Lunatic Junction) yesterday afternoon. Let’s just say it was a very, very low point that did no one (least of all ME) any good. A low point, a cavern if you will, which ultimately left me sitting across from Barbie #3 at a Dupont bar last night recounting my ride to Crazy Town whilst tears streamed from my red, puffy eyes that I tried to mask oh so cleverly behind Jackie-O sunglasses.

Thankfully, by the time my second Guinness was delivered by what had the be the WORST waiter in the history of food service, the tears had abated and I had re-applied my eye makeup, the evening took a decided turn for the better. By the end of the night, life didn’t seem quite so hopeless, and while I was still VERY crazy, at least I was laughing at my own insanity.

I will spend this weekend waiting to purchase a one way ticket back to the realm of sanity while I try to forget the fact that my friends are at my alma mater without me. And that despite his undeserving behavior, Fuckhead will be with them and I will not. I will try not to remember last year’s reunion and look, instead towards to future and concentrate on the present.

I have a beautiful weekend planned with Army to be spent on the Eastern Shore at a little Bed & Breakfast with sailing, shopping and sea food. Frankly, it sounds infinitely preferable to fraternal drama, substance abuse, and feeling significantly older than my 21 year old, undergraduate counterparts.

Frankly,

What I Love More Than Love

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Thu, 17 Apr 2008 09:51:00 -0500

So continuing with the more positive, upbeat attitude (at least I’m trying to fake it), I accepted the challenge of Michelle in the City. I doubt any of my silly joys and obsessions hold very much interest for you, dear readers, but here they are and I encourage you to do the same! What do YOU love?*

I love coming out of cold movie theatres into warm summer nights. I love the smell of suntan lotion. I love the feeling of silk pajamas on my skin. I love wearing my hair in pigtails. I love the smell of fresh cut grass. I love swinging on swing sets. I love Cowboy hats. I love hearing my cat purring next to my head. I love waking up to freshly fallen snow. I love the crunching sound of my shoes as I walk along a dirt road. I love my bed. I love the smell of pine trees on my family’s farm.

I love seeing babies smile. I love key chains. I love the fact that I have six toe rings. I love angry girl music. I love InStyle magazines. I LOVE hot hot showers. I love the sound of rapidly typing on my keyboard when I have fresh, new ideas to share. I love road trips. I love mixed CDs with no rhyme or reason to their song choices. I love the colors red, yellow and pink. I love blogging. I love driving even though I don’t own a car. I (unfortunately) love to worry about things over which I have little to no control. I love glitter. I love my red hair. I love Facebook ‘Flair’.

I love classical music – more specifically, especially anything by Mussorgsky. I love party dresses. I love rediscovering how many stars are really in the sky when you’re away from the city lights. I love the smell of lilac bushes. I love the grainy feel of sand between my toes. I love falling asleep on the couch. I love sleep masks. I love dark nail polish on my toes. I love Subway’s seafood subs on wheat bread with vinegar. I love books on tape/CD/mp3. I love red wine. I love the large fountain in the National Sculpture Garden on Friday nights when they have live jazz.

I love Christmas trees. I love playing the piano. I love my high school. I love to sing in the car. I love the fact that I have volumes of journals dating back to 1994, they’re a record of my growth, my life, experiences, hopes, dreams and loves. I love long, passionate kisses. I love getting caught in misty rain. I love music and lyrics from Dar Williams, Tori Amos, Ani DiFranco and Diana Krall. I love phone calls that last for hours. I love musical theatre. I love all books written by Jane Austen and Elizabeth Wurtzel. I love Michigan football. I love Texas football. I love IMAX 3-D movies. I love my hometown with its one traffic light.

I love leopard print high heels. I love Potbelly’s skinny chocolate malts. I love Washington DC monuments illuminated at night. I love history books. I love Sudoku puzzles. I love Marilyn Monroe and Bette Davis movies. I love oysters. I love kicking ass while watching Jeopardy (even if there’s no one there to notice). I love traveling. I love skimming across the water in speed boats. I love the smell of salt water. I love Hugh Grant movies. I love reading books about classical history. I love the first sip of beer on a Saturday morning during football season. I love finding hole-in-the-wall restaurants with great food. I love catching all the metro trains at just the right times.

I love the smell of spring. I love Opera. I love walking barefoot in the front lawn of my parent’s house. I love stretching after a hard workout. I love Riesling. I love rubies. I love funky t-shirts. I love giving people presents and watching them get excited. I love waking up next to someone I love. I love lacy boyshorts (and the way my ass looks in them!). I love collecting Owls. I love listening to talk radio. I love Goat Cheese! I love singing all the lyrics to Kid Rock's 'Cowboy'. I love the way my cats follow me around. I love the smell of clean laundry. I love falling asleep to Wyndham Hill cd’s. I love grilled cheese with cheddar and tomato. I love hot tubs. I love sitting around campfires and eating s’mores. I love flavored coffee with skim milk. I love bubble baths.

I love the way my legs look in heels and a short skirt. I love flirting. I love yellow jellybeans. I LOVE red lipstick. I love itty bitty kittens. I love walking down the street with music that reflects my attitude singing through my headphones – as if my life has its own soundtrack. I love fresh strawberries. I love ribbons. I love my Cherry Chocolate cell phone. I love crossword puzzles. I love friends that you can sit in silence with and still enjoy the company.

Frankly, With Love,

*I challenge you to make your own list or leave a love of yours in the comments. The only catch? You can't include a single person you know on your list. No "I love the way my husband laughs" or "I love hearing my little girl call for me." It'll be tough, I know. But this particular little exercise is about stripping away everyone who defines you and figuring out what you (not his partner; not their mother/daughter/sister/friend) love.