Why You Should Not Use Dishwashing Liquid in the Dishwasher by Meagan P.

It was Laura's idea.

Well, first she suggested Tide. But I wasn't sure that would work as well. In our defense, we were out of detergent... there really were an awful lot of dirty dishes... and, after all, "Palmolive® dishwashing liquids are formulated to be tough on grease yet soft on hands!" So although I think I knew deep down that the prudent idea would be to wait to run the dishwasher until we purchased the stuff formulated for just that purpose, I embraced Laura's suggestion with tremendous enthusiasm. As swift as I am to point out that my awesome and creative roommate provided the inspiration... it was I who gaily poured about half a tablespoon of neon-green dishwashing fluid into the dishwasher and turned it on.

Now that I think about it, I do recall hearing that this method has the potential to produce bubbles. Lots and lots and LOTS of bubbles. I have confess, then, I wasn't entirely surprised when I heard Laura gasp "Meagan!" and I rounded the corner to find we were just minutes away from being able to host a thoroughly exciting foam party right in our very own kitchen. In another day and age, I might have gone running for my bikini. Instead... I dashed for the towels.

Anyway, in the spirit of kindness and generosity, I want to share with you now some valuable lessons gleaned from this experience in case you totally ignore this post and inadvertently flood your kitchen with bubbles.

1. When your roommate is doubled-over, nearly wetting herself with laughter... you absolutely must stop laughing and snorting hysterically yourself. Otherwise the phrase, "Stop laughing! Help me! It's not funny! Stop laughing!" really has very little meaning.

2. Colanders and white vinegar are surprisingly useful for respectively scooping out bubbles and diminishing the foam in a swift and effective manner so your other roommate doesn't find out and yell at you for stupidly using dishwashing liquid in the first place. (Hi Jenn! We love you! Thanks for finding it funny!)

Um, yeah. That's it. I got nothing else out of the experience. Oh wait. Except this:

3. Go for the camera before the towels, colander and vinegar if you want to capture the moment on film. Otherwise, when you try to take a picture after the drama has occurred and the bubbles are winding down... it doesn't look nearly as impressive or wildly humorous when you try to post it on your blog later for posterity.

Into the Dragon's Lair

Today I did something I have never before dared.

Today I opted to be brave. To buck the system. To journey where many fear to go.

Today I woke up very early... and I went shopping.

There was a time when I loved shopping. I mean, really, really loved it. I embraced it with every fiber of my being. So much so that I would happily head out the door to buy, like, a pair of shoes... and wake up several hours later with armloads of stuff I had no recollection of purchasing. It was like I went into a fugue state or something and the other Meag... the impulsive, wicked Meag... took over, running amok at the mall.

I really don't know what happened, but somewhere along the line I went from loving shopping to positively loathing it. Trips to the mall for me have become more of mini-missions that I approach with dual senses of dread and impending doom. This is probably because I know that somewhere - just beneath the surface - seethes a Meagan that finds it virtually impossible to tell herself, "No! You do not need a $200 pair of boots! Or a rice cooker! Or the Complete Works of Mozart with 170 CDs."

So going to the store today was absolutely the last thing on my agenda until last night, after a tasty Thanksgiving feast, my friends pulled out the newspaper to explore the Black Friday sales. And that's when I was lost. It was not the $130 Digital Mini Camcorder that snagged me. Or the 3 frying pans for $20.

It was the luggage. 6-pieces for $60 at Target. They tantalized me... drawing me in like a fly to a porch light. Understand I do not currently have a good set of luggage... and these bags were so clean and new and pretty. What's more, they actually had functioning zippers. I was utterly seduced.

Still, I held out. When I went to bed last night, I fully planned on following through with my initial goal of waking up as late as possible, enjoying a cup of coffee and starting to wade through my last paper in my two and a half year pursuit of my MPA. But fate took over and I awoke, sans alarm, at 6:30 AM. "Huh", I thought and lay there for a few minutes trying fruitlessly to fall back asleep. When, after five minutes I was still staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, I came to the realization that this was clearly a sign. That luggage had to be mine. So I threw on a pair of jeans and a shirt and ran off to my local Target.

I expected mayhem. Women running down the aisles with shopping carts, body-slamming anyone who got in their way. Kids digging through toys, tossing aside undesired Barbies and Thomas the Trains like so many pieces of garbage. Men wrestling those who dared to take the last $100 6- megapixel digital camera.

Instead, I parked easily, acquired a cart with minimal effort and strolled leisurely to the back of the store where I found exactly what I sought - a bright-blue 6-piece Embark luggage set. No one grabbed the other side of the bags, engaging in an impromptu game of Tug-O-War. Nary a person bargained with me for the privilege of taking them home. Nor, I found when I got to the front of the store, did I even have to wait in line. Sure, Target was a bit busy for 6:45 AM on a Friday... but all in all, it was a painless and civil process. I was in and out in less than 10 minutes. I was so inspired by this, that I drove to Rack Room Shoes and purchased 3 pairs (for $60) and had a similar experience there. No insanity. No violence. No bloodshed. What I thought would be an all-morning adventure worthy of a Medal of Honor wound up taking less than an hour and being actually sort of... boring.

I must say I am a little disappointed. However, I was able to vicariously share in Tara, Garrett and Kelli's 4:45 AM quest for the $999 42" plasma TV and feel most uplifted by their courageous and lengthy battle towards success.

Onward, Black Friday Shoppers! Onward!

Happy Thanksgiving

In honor of Thanksgiving, I thought I would take the time to write about some of the many things I love... and for which I am most thankful....

• My awesome, amazing, fantastic family
• My incredible and enduring friendships
• My absolutely fabulous boyfriend Ryan
• Dogs, cats and other fuzzy creatures
• And also turtles (I have a soft spot for turtles)
• Happy kids
• Sunrises and sunsets
• Being in love
• Naps
• Curling up in front of a hot fire
• Red licorice, Jujubes and Sour Patch Kids
• Poker (I am surprisingly very good at it even though I am a rotten liar)
• The long stemmed red roses currently on my dresser
• Running outside on a chilly morning and feeling so alive
• Chinese food (eggrolls... yummmmm!) and Thai food (Pad Thai... yummmmm!) and Japanese food (sushi.... yummmmm!)
• Having a roof over my head, good food to eat and a job I like
• Music - all kinds!
• Road trips and singing along with the radio at the top of my lungs
• The ability to go where I want to go... and do what I want to do... provided it doesn't hurt anybody
• Spearmint flavored gum
• Volunteering
• Putting stuff together like desks and tables and stuff... (it's weird, I know)
• Cell phones, digital cameras and computers
• Books, candles and bubblebaths
• Funky purses and jewelry
• Bulgaria (Even though I haven't gotten there yet)
• Back rubs
• A good haircut
• Surprising someone I love
• The option to travel
• Brown socks, lint brushes and the "I Love the 80's" boardgame
• Red wine... and white wine too!
• Sexy tank tops, soft sweaters and comfy jeans
• Snow and sunshine at the same time
• Smiling people
• Laughing until my sides hurt
• Starry nights
• The health of my family, friends and self
• Playing in the rain
• The smell of fall leaves and pumpkins
• Dancing anywhere I feel like it
• Dolphins
• The beach and the mountains and the ocean and trees and lakes and the forest and pretty much anything to do with nature
• Except spiders (but I suppose even though they scare me, I am thankful for them too since they apparently keep our world from becoming overrun by flies and other insects... but why oh why do they need so many LEGS???)
• And since we're on the topic of spiders... Charlotte's Web... this includes the book AND the old movie AND the new movie that is coming out SOON!!
• Thumb wars... (Be prepared to LOSE, Ryan!)
• Birthdays, Official Holidays and Made-up Holidays that have really funny but intriguing titles (Today is "Flossing Day"... who knew?)
• Hugs and Kisses...lots, please!
• Weddings
• Turkey cooked in a pillowcase (the best kind), and "Holiday Potatoes" and "Woodchip Salad" and Stuffing and Cranberry Sauce and Pecan Pie
• And much, MUCH more!!! I feel so incredibly lucky for all of the gifts in my life... I can't even begin to name them all!

Have a great Thanksgiving!!

Reasons Why I am Freaking Out

I leave for Bulgaria in 33 days... I'm not sure I can wait that long.

I cannot find my bedroom floor.

I miss Ryan. A lot.

Soon I'm going to miss everyone else but Ryan. A lot.

I do not currently own snow boots and I'm not really convinced I can find cute ones in Florida.

Laura hates all my clothes. (Okay, so I'm not really freaking out over this one, but it does make me paranoid that I have bad taste and everyone looks at me going "How did her roommates let her leave the house looking like that? Gawd!")

I have one more super yucky paper to write for Grad School.

I still haven't found a job in Bulgaria, although let's hear it for those few promising leads.

I have 17 people that I know with birthdays in November (including both myself and Ryan)... and 12 more in December and I'm sadly short on birthday present funding.

I haven't cleaned my bathroom or my bedroom in 5 weeks. That is just gross.

In the next month I must: go to my 9th wedding in just over a year, play in the Disney parks one last time, pack, make my outstanding Eggplant Parmesan for my roommates per their request, graduate, thoroughly clean both my car and my room (this will take a very long time), sell my bedroom furniture, my textbooks, my CDs, my dining room table and my car, give away a bunch of stuff to Goodwill, pack some more, give Power of Attorney to my mom, double-check to ensure Verizon and various and sundry other services really will be turned off the day I leave, and have I mentioned the packing?

I leave for Bulgaria in 33 days... and I have no idea how I'm going to accomplish everything I need to.

But I'm really, really, really freakin' excited...

** Edited to add: Laura read this blog and felt she sounded like a bitch. She wants me to let you all know she is really very nice and that she doesn't hate all of my clothes.... She only hates some of them...

Confidence

I'm a confident girl. I mean, I look in the mirror and like what I see. I am comfortable noticing other beautiful women and will exuberantly point them out to my boyfriend. I graciously accept compliments and very much enjoy giving them in return. Plus, I'm really pretty fun. (I would hang out with me, at least.)

I'm convinced, though, that this self-esteem is due primarily to the fact that over the years I have accumulated more than my fair share of embarrassing moments and have internally built up my confidence level as compensation to avoid permanently curling up in a ball on the floor. I embarrass myself a lot.

Case in point - this past weekend I went to my adorable cousin Jess' wedding and had a fabulous time. Congrats Jessica and Nick! However, I decided to wear a super-cute strapless black dress that won out over all the other super-cute dresses mostly because it was the first one I tried on and it only cost me $25 at Charlotte Russe. It was a flattering little thing and since I hate shopping, I didn't really examine it too closely. It serves me right, then, that I learned this weekend in addition to being cute, it also had a very special zipper that would periodically decide to just unzip itself all the way down my back. Yay! After the zipper split for the 10th time, opening my dress to my waist as I entered the reception, I clutched my dress around my chest in a frantic effort to prevent it from puddling around my feet. Luckily I turned to my left and found a girl who had been a stranger barely an hour before, and said - and this is a direct quote- "Hi Natalie! Can you zip me up, please?" Thankfully my stepmom had brought a sewing kit and took care of the situation so I could dance freely without fretting that I might, in the middle of Aretha Franklin's "Respect", turn the reception into something that ordinarily necessitates $1 bills and a pole.

This was not my first wardrobe incident. When I was 16 I went to a water park. For the occasion, I donned a new pale pink bikini in which I looked quite smokin', if I do say so myself. I went down a few water slides. I frolicked with my friends. I played like a Baywatch Babe in the wave pool. And then I noticed that I was getting quite a bit of attention from both men and women. I made a guy walk into a table. I am not kidding. He walked into a table. Cool, right? I strutted my way through that park thinking, "Oh yeah. You want me. You know it. Uh huh." Then a friend ran up to me and wrapped a towel around me, saying "Meagan. Oh God. Please don't cry!" Turns out my brand new pretty pink bathing suit was entirely see-through. It literally looked as though I was walking around Cameron Run celebrating the joys of public nudity. Swell.

These scenarios are in good company. Over the years I have:

• Fallen down the stairs at my senior Social Work ceremony in front of 200+ classmates and their families
• Almost set my hair on fire with the candle I was holding at the same ceremony because I was staring at a cute boy in my class on whom I had a crush (to my eternal chagrin, this did NOT go unnoticed...)
• Gone wind surfing with my friend Kristin when I was 26 and blatantly flirted with our incredibly hot instructor who ultimately turned out to be 16 years old and still in high school
• Upon watching a preview for Showgirls (yes, yes... the one with Elizabeth Berkley) in college, got excited and tremendously inspired... and proceeded to show off my considerable dancing skills with... the closet door (you will not be surprised to learn that this did involve consumption of some alcohol)
• Lost my snorkel while on a cruise and spent some time searching for it with the help of my friends and three very attractive divers... only to have my dear, sweet pal Christy point out quite loudly and enthusiastically that the snorkel was, in fact, resting gently on top of my boobs
• Introduced a guy with whom I went on a few dates to my friends whereupon he got extremely intoxicated, barked ferociously at the waitress and suggested a provocative group activity to Steve and Garrett, two of my guy friends. Neat, huh?
• Thrown up on a classmate's bare foot in the high school locker room (In my defense, I had the flu)
• Gotten excited over something someone said and wound up inadvertently flipping an entire plate of Chicken Parmesan in my lap on New Years Eve
• Fallen up the stairs at the Boardwalk Resort at Walt Disney World and... later that day... fallen actually into the lap of a young boy on one of the Disney buses (What can I say? Some of those bus drivers are worse than me!)
• Went with some friends to the Food and Wine Festival on my 29th birthday and, after some drinks, decided spontaneously to get a piggy-back ride from my friend Sherri by launching myself at her and slamming us both into the ground

I walk into doors and trip over the sidewalk. When I think I'm really ultra-hot, I'm actually trailing toilet paper behind me or something. I sometimes snort when I laugh. Yep! The list goes on. And on. And on some more.

But I have confidence. And it's a good thing, too, because the next time my skirt splits up the back or I run headlong into a wall (probably tomorrow), I'm gonna need it.

Desperately Seeking a Roommate

So as part of my move to Bulgaria, I find myself actively engaged in the process of finding someone to take my place in my lease. It's a beautiful apartment. The area is safe, picturesque and centrally located. My roommates are fun and considerate. You'd think it'd be easy, right?

It is not.

Tonight, however, it has become vastly entertaining.

But, wait. I am getting ahead of myself. First - some history. To aid in this ongoing process I have enlisted in the assistance of friends, coworkers, roommates.com and the ever-popular craigslist. For those of you who live under your beds or in a hole somewhere (haha, Marla, I am just kidding!), craigslist is a bulletin-board type website that features something for everybody. You want a Guitar Shaped Elvis Clock? You got it. How about a ride from Orlando to Birmingham? You're in luck! And if you are Naughty and Need to be Spanked, there is a 47 year old man in Central Florida looking for you.

Incidentally, you can also find apartments or roommates on craigslist. Of course there is a certain amount of, shall we say... sketchiness... involved with this process, but luckily I am a savvy girl who promptly deletes those messages offering me Viagra to increase my penis size or a really great deal on my next home loan. So when I received my first response to my ad from a "Humanitarian Officer" living in Australia seeking to move to the US, I was a little suspicious... but my hackles weren't entirely up. Just in case she was authentic, I sent a friendly reply informing her I had already found a roommate. But now there seems to be yet another Australian Good Samaritan seeking to relocate to Orlando and after some Google-ing, it is apparent the scam artists of the world have infiltrated virtually every aspect of our existence.

I know you are just dying to know what the e-mail said, so out of the kindness of my heart, I will share it with you!

"Hello, How are you doing? Guess fine I presume.... I saw your advert and I am interested in your room apartment. I am from Australia and I will be having seminars coming up soon in USA. Right now I am working for a Non Government Organization on a programme on children with orphans, heart related problems trafficking in children and women.My next programme/seminars will be in the USA and I will be in need of a room to stay for this seminars and I need to secure a room before my arrival to the US. I can't wait to arrive to the US because I have greatly appreciated the complexity and the nature of the United States. More so I will be staying for the period of 12-13 months, Please do get back to me with the room description, move in rent fees for the first month, Utilities and deposit if integrated and please look and tell me every conceivable circumstances of the place to avoid anything unaware. Please do email me undeviating at my personal email address. Look forward to read from you. Have a magnificent and prolific day. Kindest Regards."

Clearly this man is hoping that not only will I respond, but after exchanging a few e-mails, he will somehow persuade me to send him large amounts of money from my bank account. (Which is hilarious in itself because he really should have picked someone else if he's hoping to be financially successful in life. Right now I could send him about $12).

But I digress. Normally I delete these messages and promptly forget about them. Not this time, though! I have crafted the following response that may not only aid my little "Australian Humanitarian" in his endeavors, but will hopefully also snag us a new roommate, making my move to Bulgaria much less stressful!

"Hi! Thank you so much for your swift reply to my ad! The apartment is still available and you sound like the perfect roommate! You should know a few things prior to moving forward with any financial transactions.

1. My roommates like bats. A lot. In fact, they are both zookeepers and regularly bring home critters to care for them when they are sick. Don't worry, though! They do keep the bats in their rooms most of the time, only letting them out to get their exercise for an hour or two in the evenings. The bat sh*t is something of a problem... but the carpet is tan so it kind of blends in. Plus, if you spray some air freshener every morning, the smell is usually not too bad.

2. One of my roommates belongs to a Polka Club and she has members from the local Polka Pigs over until the wee hours. There is lots of singing and dancing! After experimenting a bit, I have discovered earplugs do not work very well, so I've learned to just join in. May I humbly suggest you do the same? After all, my motto is if you can't beat 'em, join 'em and now I have so many great moves I can break out at the clubs! Plenty of fun for everybody!

3. The other roommate has a foot fetish. Do you mind if she clips your toenails for you? She only needs to do this periodically - maybe twice a week. She'll also paint them a pretty color of your choosing if you want... but since I think you are a guy, you might not be interested in this part. I don't think she'll mind if you just let her tickle your toes with a feather instead.

4. My room (which you will be inhabiting since I am moving out) has a ghost. It's an old man ghost and he doesn't jump out at you or go "Boo!" or anything, but he does like to rattle his chains around 2 or 3 AM and rock the bed back and forth. If you just say very nicely (but firmly) "John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt! Stop it! I need to go to bed now!" (John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt is his name)... he usually he stops. He also likes it if you sing "My Humps" by the Blackeyed Peas.

5. My roommates do not make much money and I am moving overseas to herd goats, so we will need you to transfer $310,789 USD into an account that we will send to you upon acceptance of these terms. Once we receive this money, a representative of our apartment complex will contact you and return your money in full, plus a 20% bonus. If you want, I could maybe persuade my roommates to throw in a bat or two for your room, as well.

Thank you for your interest and we can't wait to welcome you into your new home!"

P.S. - To any potential roommates, the stuff about the bats, the Polka Pigs, the ghost, the$310,789 and the foot fetish (I think) are all entirely made up. The apartment is great. Really!

The Twelve Step Program

My name is Meag and... I have Road Rage.

A few months ago my roommate Jenn and I planned to make the trip out to Tampa for the Def Leppard/Journey concert. I happily jingled my keys and opened the car door for her only to look over to see her putting her stuff in her car. She tossed me a look and said firmly, "No, Meagan. NO! You are not driving. You won't be able to handle the traffic and I definitely won't be able to handle you." Hmf.

On another occasion, my friend Mindi refused to let me drive to Ormond Beach for the Paul deBruyn 15K. I wanted to know why. She replied, "Meag, you are seriously one of the nicest people I have ever met. Really. It's hard to think of anyone nicer. Until you get behind the wheel. Then you are a raging bitch. It's like Jekyll and Hyde."

They are not wrong. Although I think of it as a necessary evil, I tend to curse and use my horn more frequently than is probably truly warranted. Personally, I think I am a superb driver, but evidently unless you grew up in a big city like DC where assertive driving is a bonus, I have come to realize I will... (inadvertently, I promise!)... scare you. The exception, of course, is my friend Kendra who grew up in Smalltown USA, but for some reason really likes the way I drive. She says it's because I get her where she's going quickly and (I must add) safely. I prefer to think it's because it's always an entertaining experience, driving with me.

I am not really proud of this "condition", though, and am always coming up with new ways to be more Zen-like behind the wheel. In fact, I once kept a sticky on my dashboard with the date and time of the last time I used my horn to remind me to exercise patience. It was exactly four days, six hours and 38 minutes before I found the "need" to blast away at the man in the the Ford Focus who apparently deemed it necessary to stop in the middle of the road while he figured out where he wanted to go. Nevertheless, this was a record of which I am pleased since it's often hard to make it through one day without finding fault with the shockingly awful drivers of Central Florida.

Contrary to popular opinion, however, I actually enjoy driving. And since my remaining time in the States is limited, I don't want to scare you away! Being a passenger with me behind the wheel is not all bad! No!

And to prove it, I will now provide you with the Top 5 Reasons why driving with me can actually be FUN!

5. I sing along with the radio. Badly, yes... but sometimes I make up my own words which can be really funny. Plus - you like country? Me too! Rap? Hey, one of my favorite songs is "Air Force Ones"! Classic Rock? I don't mean to brag, but you should be aware I know all the words to "The Bohemian Rhapsody" and feel absolutely compelled to add in the requisite enthusiastic head banging a la "Wayne's World"! It's true!

4. As I have already revealed, I am a packrat. This means there are often a lot of really cool things in my car for you to explore, like... ummmm... magazines and water bottles... and... my tent! At one time I even had a bumper in my car! (I feel I should clarify, it was actually my bumper. This probably does not do a lot to support my "I am a good driver!" theory... but that is a story for another time.) So you see? Entertainment for everybody!

3. I tend to get lost. A lot. So if you like adventure and discovering new locales that were not necessarily on our itinerary like Clermont or Winter Garden or, I don't know... Maine... I am definitely your girl.

2. Have I mentioned the singing?

1. Come to think of it, I am not certain there are 5 reasons why you should drive with me. Drat.

So... I, uh, hear the bus system in Bulgaria is pretty good!

My Dirty Little Secret

Yesterday, I found myself irrationally excited. Not just, as you might imagine, because it's finally starting to hit me that I am leaving in less than two months. Nope. I was also psyched for another reason.

MTV was airing a Laguna Beach marathon.

Yes, okay? Yes! I watch Laguna Freakin' Beach! Not obsessively, mind you. I mean, I'm not really a huge television fan to begin with; I only seek out Lost and The Amazing Race regularly and that's about it. Plus I always forget when it's on, so the only time I really see it is if I somehow catch an episode or two or five while flipping channels on a lazy day. (Although I did buy my roommate a very special Christmas gift last year so if I want to relive the drama of Kristen, LC and Stephen, I can. The Laguna Beach Season 1 DVD - the gift that keeps on giving.) Anyway, I could rationalize this all day, but I still have to admit this show completely sucks me in. I don't know why. It could be because it inspires fond memories of the days when Brenda, Brandon and friends made 90210 the most famous zipcode ever. Maybe I enjoy the mindless entertainment. Perhaps it's because the show is just so bad it is actually awesome. Whatever the reason, I am Laguna Beach's bitch.

Of course it is somewhat embarrassing to be spellbound by the lives of these incredibly obnoxious spoiled brats living in California. Nonetheless, I find myself utterly absorbed in all the shenanigans and expressing outrage as "the popular girls" shun Tessa or Alex dumps Rocky because he is a big fat jerk. I do not like him at all. Cameron is also a playa', but he is hot, so I find him a little less objectionable. They sure didn't have boys that looked like him when I was in high school. See what I mean? I'm telling you; it is really quite sad.

I am aware I am 31 years old, thank you. But I know many others my age who also share this guilty pleasure. I am not alone! So here's to you, Laguna Beach. You make me ever so grateful that I am no longer in high school while simultaneously wishing MTV aired in Bulgaria.

How Far Will You Go To Make A Difference

I didn't want him to go.

Until recently, I had never been romantically involved with a guy longer than six weeks. While I thoroughly and enthusiastically engaged in dating, flirting and "hanging out", I had been unsuccessful in meeting someone who held my interest beyond these fun, but superficial activities. I preferred to keep things casual whilst secretly battling concerns that my perennial single-hood would eventually result in my becoming a “Cat Lady.” (Oh the horror!)

Then, in July of 2005, I met Ryan. We were each other's last date at Pre-Dating (a 6-minute version of the 8-minute phenomenon) and bonded over Illinois basketball and tales of living overseas. On our third date he told me earnestly, "I don't know if you can tell, but I really like you a lot." This was after I had belted out a most enthusiastic version of Pat Benetar's "Hit Me With Your Best Shot" at his friends' karaoke party. Those who know me well can attest that while I have a lot of passion… a recording career is definitely not in my future unless it involves getting the neighborhood dogs involved with some backup singing. Luckily my lack of musical talent was not a deal breaker. It was also after I discovered he drove… the hot… the sporty…the ghetto fabulous… 1990 Dodge Caravan. However I had already figured out that I really liked him a lot too. If I wasn’t yet pairing my first name with his last, I was, at the very least, dancing giddily around and going “Eeeeeeee!” Er, not out loud or in front of him or anything… just in my head… and… um… maybe in my bedroom when I was pretty sure there was no one else in the apartment. And actually, I'm not that impressed by flashy sports cars, so the van was pretty darn sexy, too.

Despite the promising start, it didn’t stop me from encouraging him to follow in my footsteps by joining the Peace Corps. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with his life… he liked travel… he was intrigued by international development… it seemed a good fit. After only dating for three months, I figured I likely wouldn’t be in the picture when he actually did join. Sure he was amazing and a heck of a lot of fun and really cute and smart and cool and we definitely had chemistry… but would it really last? Could it be I wasn’t destined for cats after all?

As it turns out not only did our relationship continue to grow, but I went and fell in love for the first time in my life. Then things got scary. First he had his interview. Then his nomination. And in May, six months after I said “Hey Ryan! Have you ever thought about joining the Peace Corps?,” he received his invitation for Business Development in Bulgaria. I’m not ashamed to admit I begged him not to go. I told him I would break up with him if he did; I absolutely wouldn’t do long distance. Was I being reasonable? Probably not, but all I could think was I had waited my entire life to find someone like him… and what was more I knew he felt the same way too. To throw it away seemed desperately unfair.

After much intense discussion and plenty of tears… clearly Ryan did decide to go to Bulgaria. Just as plainly, my vow to avoid the dreaded long distance relationship has been unsubstantiated. We both knew when we said our tearful goodbyes, it was really “see you later” as neither of us could imagine not having the other in our life. He left on August 4 and surprisingly, the very thing that I felt would be disastrous for our relationship has actually proved to be a tremendous turning point for us. I never would have imagined it would turn out this way… but here we are, stronger than ever.

Today, after two and a half months of training, Ryan swore in as an official volunteer and has moved to Stara Zagora, his town of placement. My initial opinions notwithstanding, I am so proud of him for stepping outside his comfort zone and trying to make a difference. He has an energy and wisdom that is rare and I feel so lucky to have him in my life. At the risk of waxing romantic (like I haven't already, right?), I love him so much and I am so excited to see what Bulgaria has in store for us!

I Owe It All to Charlie Sheen

With all of the excitement and planning invested in my move to Bulgaria I have kind of overlooked the fact that I am going to graduate in about a month with my Masters in Public Administration and a Graduate Certificate in Nonprofit Management. Luckily I am not so absorbed that I am forgetting to do homework or write papers or, like, go to class and stuff.

When I first went to college back in 1992, however, this was sort of a problem for me. For some reason I just couldn't grasp the concept that you probably needed to show up and take actual exams in order to pass. Instead I took a strong academic interest in a campus organization and tended to hang out there quite a bit in order to broaden my educational experience. (Okay, so the president of said organization was unreasonably hot and I took great pleasure in doing lots of giggling and occasionally throwing tootsie rolls at him. C'mon. I was 17. I had not yet learned that flirting involved more than flicking my hair over my shoulder, pouting a little and dressing in low cut tops and short skirts). Somehow I made it through my freshman year by the skin of my proverbial teeth. But sophomore year was my downfall when one day, while skipping class, I was presented with the opportunity to become a paid extra in a classic film (Major League II) whereupon I decided that I... yes I... was going to be an actress. Not just any old actress. A soap opera actress.

Heh.

Needless to say I dropped out of school to pursue my burgeoning acting career. I facilitated this process... by waiting tables at TGI Friday. How my parents made it through this time with their sanity intact is both a mystery and a miracle. The acting career, of course, never materialized and after two years of wearing red and white stripes and suspenders covered in "flair", I made the fortuitous decision to go back to school. Three years later I graduated Summa Cum Laude with a Bachelor of Arts in Social Work.

It took me some time to decide that I wanted an advanced degree, plus a little more navigational fine-tuning as to what, exactly, I wanted to do with my life. (And, truth be told, I'm still not sure). But once I made up my mind to do it, I embraced the idea whole-heartedly. I knew what I wanted to study and where I would go to do it. Although it has been tough at times, particularly when I was working two jobs and was literally at some place of employment or school 6 - 7 days out of the week, I can't believe it's almost over. Tonight I finished my final exam for my Capstone course and am left with one paper to tweak a bit and another to proofread... and that's it. I will be a graduate of the UCF MPA program. Wow.

During our orientation to UCF my friend (and fellow impending graduate) Garrett joked that the students would soon unite and, in "Old School" fashion, chant the mantra "Meag the Keg! Meag the Keg!" as I frolicked in the Reflecting Pond outside Millican Hall. I have thus far refrained from this shocking behavior as I am above such frivolities. After all, they simply do not befit a graduate student. No... No, I am waiting until after I graduate for that...