On Faxing and Picasso

There comes a time in life when instead of inking the back of your hand with hearts and stars and your crush's initials, you begin to scribble mundane lists. Things like FAXES appear, double-emboldened and triple underlined in block letters because the stakes have suddenly become that much higher.

And to think that a year ago I didn't know how to send a fax. Come to think of it, the process is still a little foggy.  But it's the sentiment of the thing, the necessity for it. The mysterious passageway to grown-updom, faxes.

There also comes a time when your living room walls are adorned with Picasso prints encompassed by tacky gold frames.  This is the time you never thought would come, the time when you can possess a living room with words such as mine, as if the scattered books and shoes strewn across the carpet didn't scream it first.

There comes a time in life when you can smack on a bright shade of lipstick and disappear into the night until the rising sun beckons you back to bed.

But with freedom comes responsibility. Heavy words like work, paychecks, bills, rent, schedules and of course, 

faxes.

If I can't be Kate

Can I just wear her dress?

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Alright, sweet.

Ceiling Can't Hold Us

Another post brought to you mid-Stats.  But this time it's more like 10/14 of the way through, so that's ok, right?  This just looks like so much fun. . .

Chasing Bliss II

Remember this?
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Today a well-coiffed, bespectacled young man asked me what I was studying.

I replied, "Public relations, with minors in nonprofit management and. . . music."

I guess I'm used to people raising their eyebrows and nodding (probably in manners-driven approval and usually, ironically, most fervently at the music part), because his retort fired me up just a bit.

"Well," he said (partially joking), "You're definitely not following the money."
Which is probably true.

"You know," I said, "I really believe that if you are passionate about something and good at what you do, the money will follow."

And I do believe that. And something I'm beginning to believe even more is that if you are passionate and proficient and always looking outward, the money begins to matter even less.

It's about chasing your bliss, eh?

And in that vein of thought, I would like to note that this blog post was brought to you two questions into my statistics homework. At least I'm identifying what isn't on my bliss list.

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A Dash of Cinnamon

This week happiness tastes like a piece of peanut butter and banana toast with a dash of cinnamon.

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I know this is not a groundbreaking concoction, but I tried it for the first time today and oh my, I am in love.   Like, I-can't-wait-to-sleep-so-I-can-wake-up-and-reunite-at-the-breakfast-table kind of love.


It looks like:

Wonderful roomies, including Clarissa who is missing from this picture.

And sounds like:



Country?  Yes, I am feeling it this week.

And the mysterious city? Here it is--I'M GOING TO CHICAGO!  I recently got the good news about an internship I applied for earlier this year. You can view a news release about it here. Look for updates starting the beginning of June and wrapping up mid-August.  I will be armed with a new camera in hopes that I can adequately capture in word and photo the essence of this amazing city and the incredible organization I will be able to be a part of.

(Life) - (Statistics) = so good.

It Happened

And I have been internally (ok, and externally) freaking out for the last five hours.  I'm scared I'm going to have a terrible crash--it feels dangerous being this happy.

 Details to come.