Texts that...

... give advice and encouragement -

MEESH 7/8: Yay! Get rid of that pollution girl.

JESS V 8/8: Girl you should try to casually bump into his big muscles and tell him that they got in your way :)

... are life -

JESS R 7/7: I hope in return you ordered a No-Chance-In-Hell martini.

ALI 7/17: So I changed [redacted]'s name in my phone to "heinous bitch" and every time I see it it makes me giggle like a little school girl.

ANONYMOUS 7/26: This... for once... this late... is not a creepy sext message.

JOE 7/27: On the way, Rampage.

ALI 8/2: Rachel is drinking beer through a Twizzler.

ALEX 8/9: Dan Marino, your boyfriend from the Tap, asked for you.

... predict the future -

NOHN 8/7: New future slash blog: Noelle and Maria v. Food

ERIN 8/10: We're moving to the village. At transgender bingo right now.

ANONYMOUS 8/11: It's destiny, Maria. Maybe not anytime soon. But we're going to get married.

My, how we've grown.

It's funny how fast things change.

Not three months have passed since Erin and I began planning our book on how to survive college with enticing chapters such as, "What to tell your parents when you're still drunk at noon" and "How to survive an Irish crack den." [Don't worry, dad. These chapter titles are hyperbolized.]

One of the best nights of senior year was Erin's birthday. Our friends came to our apartment where we danced to 90s music, played games and managed to break half our dishes and glasses. Erin, exhausted from the festivities and excitement, fell asleep early. We decided to take advantage of the situation by expressing our love for her. In permanent marker. All over her body. The pictures mysteriously disappeared but it looked something like this, except she was wearing a shirt and we stuffed random playing cards in her clothes:

It seemed like a good idea at the time. We didn't really take into consideration her morning commute to Long Island. Fate mocked her by loading the ferry with inquisitive nuns. Just more proof that our senior year was probably scripted.

Cut to this weekend. The girls of Ann Arbor decided to have a goodbye party involving several popular college drinking games fueled by a keg on the porch. The obligatory "food run" at 2 am lead two of us to Panchero's, where we were told to order two burritos for a straggler. When we returned, said person was asleep on a futon in the basement. Naturally, we decided to pelt the burritos at his face. Luckily, the beans and rice sprinkling out of the the collapsing burrito and onto his face did not disturb his sleep.

That was enough for me. I climbed over a web of high school boys giggling at Dumb and Dumber to claim my couch for the night. My partners in crime decided to dole out some more punishment. They grabbed a dry erase marker and returned to the basement with plans to defile Sleeping Beauty.

Tagger One: Dude, don't draw on his face. He has work tomorrow.

Tagger Two: Ok... Let's get his ear.

And so in that moment, Life After Graduation was defined.

Whereas before we would have dismissed the threats of humiliation and punishment as irrelevant, we now hesitate to hide even two small dots in our drunken friend's ear, fearing the repercussions ushered in with the dawn. Whereas before we would celebrate milestones by staying awake until hours past sunrise, we now consider midnight a feat.

The next morning I woke up under a pile of cushions. I couldn't find a blanket so I burrowed in the crevice of the couch. After determining that there was, in fact, a human being under all those cushions, one of the guys proclaimed, "Well, kids. I can honestly say I'm glad I'm not in college anymore."

I don't know if I agree with him but I do know that that was the most comfortable couch I have ever slept in.

Farewell, Packard house.

Farewell, reckless [permanent marker] abandon.

We talk in code

Conversation greetings with Mark often last several minutes and involve intricate puzzles and tricky decoding.

Infiltrating your earbuds starting...

I've selfishly guarded my brilliant idea for long enough. I'm never going to make it alone anyway.

Fearing that this will only prove the terrifying extent of my nosiness I would like to share with you an invention I hope to one day enjoy.

Presenting: Maria's Super Sound Spy. Device. Thing.

I realized I needed to develop this further when I was at the gym the other day. I was working the elliptical and jamming out to a screamy playlist I made to pump Joe up before wrestling meets when something in my peripheral scope stole my attention.

It was the guy on the elliptical next to me; he was shimmying rather violently with a scowl on his face. And by shimmying I mean the dance move I was forced to perform to Love Shack in 5th grade. And by scowl I mean the look I gave to no one in particular when the neighbor's brand new dog woke me with it's depressed howl this morning.

Back to the point. How on earth do you shimmy with a scowl? I mean, who isn't happy when they're shimmying? If anything, he should have fallen off his machine when his uncontrollable jazz hands popped up and threw off his balance. What could this man possibly have been playing on his iPod to provoke such dance moves/involuntary twitches?

Perhaps some kind of up-beat gangster rap? Some kind of disco/death-metal mash-up? I'm not really sure. In general I think it's wise to avoid confronting scowling shimmyers, so I never asked.

This is why I need someone to develop Maria's Super Sound Spy. Device. Thing. When pointed at an iPod, the device will pick up whatever the person is listening to. It's not always on because that would be annoying. It's point-and-click activated. Also, it should come with a blocker so that I can occasionally listen to embarrassing music like Burnin Up by the Jonas Brothers without the tattooed hottie at the gym judging me.

But that option will only be available to me. Obviously.

A brief review of Funny People...

... by my little cousin, Nick.

The lowest lows, the highest highs.

In return for his friendship, I am providing Joe with a necessary education on life. Can you believe he's never heard of Missed Connections?!

Last night, he and I went to see Incubus. It was my second time seeing them. The first was about 5 years ago in Zurich.

The concert, my first in Michigan, was at the DTE Energy Music Theatre. We had VIP tickets, which allowed us to park in a special lot. Little did I know, people in Michigan tailgate concerts. I'm talking lawn chairs, frisbees, grills and coolers. There was a football game in the parking lot. I see the appeal of tailgating, but clearly live under a rock. In Boston, we didn't drive anywhere. We didn't tailgate concerts. My single tailgating experience occurred before a hockey game in New Hampshire where we grilled in a parking structure and drank from a keg Sean brought in the back of a van. I'm new to this.

Joe and I people watched (or, more accurately, made fun of everyone in the parking lot) while listening to Incubus before the concert. The venue looked like an amusement park. The seating sloped down to a large stage with a banner announcing the 89X 18th Birthday Bash. (My dad lovingly pointed out that I am older than the radio station. Thanks, dad.)

Here is where our education began.

We learned who The Duke Spirit are. The opening band hailed from London. The singer, a spazztic little blonde girl, danced around frequently taking positions that resembled yoga poses. The band was entertaining. They embellished the typical British grungey-new-rock genre with unique yodels and hoots from the singer. On first listen, the music sounded dark and grimy, which I like. I'll explore them more later.

Joe learned the beauty of Craigslist Missed Connections. A group of girls sat in front of us and Joe claims to have been exchanging unusually meaningful eye contact with one of the girls. I told him he should write a missed connection and see if she responds. He was intrigued by the idea and expressed the desire to draft several humorous MCs to see if people actually respond.

I've always wanted someone to write one about me, but apparently when I stare intensely at strangers it just creeps them out instead of inspiring them to find me again. Just in case, I wore purple pants yesterday to facilitate an accurate description when my future friend/date decides to search for me.

I learned that I love my purple pants. I've had them since Christmas. The only exposure they've had was when worn by Joe for 70s day at school. Feeling bold on my big night out, I decided to bring them to Incubus. I broke them in by dancing and thrashing around during the show. It was fantastic. They will be worn again.

The Purple Pants on 70s day at high school:

The Purple Pants at Maria's Big Night Out:

Incubus was pretty great. They played a lot of old songs, which made me happy. They also played a string of four slow/acoustic songs, which was nice but too slow when played consecutively. Joe and I were disappointed that they played Dig acoustic. We remedied our disappointment by blaring it in the car on the way out of the parking lot. As expected, they did not play the two songs I wanted them to play. It's ok though, because by the end of the show Brandon Boyd was not wearing a shirt.

It's amazing how versatile a band Incubus is. There were all kinds of people there: little kids, old people, goths, preps, stoners (who provided a potent aroma for the entire audience) and even, shock horror, guidos.

And now, the moment you've all (slash maybe just I) have been waiting for:

I MADE A FRIEND!!! WHO IS YOUNGER THAN 65!!!

Before Incubus started, the girl sitting next to me asked if Joe and I were twins. We hit it off. She's my age and wants to be concert buddies! Fantastic! We danced together, enjoyed the music together, laughed together and exchanged numbers.

All-in-all a fantastic night. Operation: Find Maria Friends is in full effect. And just in time, because Joe won't be around for UFC 101 on August 8th and I do not want to go to the bar alone.

Over and out.

Requests

Michael cracks me up. He can really make friends wherever he goes.

Case in point: I received an e-mail from my old man yesterday describing his new, exciting relationship with a radio DJ from Michigan State University. Dad was driving when he heard a new song he liked. The DJ announced his request line phone number so my dad called to ask what the song was (Come On Come On by the Von Bondies) and request a song (something by Cage the Elephant.) The DJ played the song immediately. Dad called again to thank him and request AFI. The DJ played Girls Not Grey and told a story about his first time hearing the song. Dad called again and requested Billy Talent.

I mean, seriously. My dad's the man. He ended the e-mail saying, "Yes, I'm a youngster at heart." That phrase dates him more than it should. He doesn't make a very believable 50 year old. (You can pay me later, fat man.)

I think I need to take this as a lesson and step up my game. I've gone to the gym every day since I registered. The first time I spoke to anyone was yesterday when two women looked at me, perplexed, wondering how to adjust their stationary bike seats. "There's a lever thing," I said pointing beneath their seats.

Here's the thing. I'm a pretty outgoing person in the right environment. I still don't feel comfortable approaching strangers in a gym. I have shared my dilemma with older, wiser acquaintances. Here are their suggestions:

1) Ask the guy how to use a machine.

2) Wait until you haven't seen him for a day or two and then approach him and say, "Hey! You haven't been at the gym, what's going on?"

3) Stare at him until you catch his eye, then smile a lot.

So clearly, I haven't hit the nail on the head yet. All seem pretty creepy to me. I don't want a pick-up line. I don't want to say anything that could provoke a restraining order. I just want a friend.

Can someone draft up some Wanted signs that I can tape up in the gym?

P.S. If you ever decide to try Exercise TV On Demand, BE CAREFUL. Some of those programs are a maximum pain in the gluteus. Burning surges still shoot through my thighs and butt cheeks after the video segment I tried yesterday. Thank God for saunas.

Gyminy Cricket! Maria gets a membership.

It's true. My funemployment has lead me to explore new horizons, most recently the YMCA. Prior to scouting the facilities, I envisioned being greeted by buff men dressed as police, cowboys and indians. Apparently that's just a rumor. (Or another delusion...)

Dad accompanied me for moral support. Deciding to join was easy. I can walk from my house (which hasn't happened yet) and it has all the equipment I need (an elliptical and two five pound weights.) I figured this would be a safe place to work out amongst old people and little kids forced to join by their parents. I figured I would be safe from all the hot, buff men I spotted at Joe's gym. Little did I know, the YMCA draws fit, young men and grannies with iPods alike.

The problem with this situation is that after about six minutes on the elliptical I look like I've been chasing mirages in the Sahara for three weeks. My face turns bright red and glistens under cascades of sweat. My legs show obvious warnings of collapse as they struggle to climb the pedals. It's not pretty. Certainly no condition to be attracting men in.

Today was an exception. One dark, handsome stranger with a tight shirt hugging his sculpted abs decided he either liked the desert-roaming look or needed to make sure I didn't pass out and get a concussion. I noticed him strutting around the room testing the machines behind me. I enjoyed the scenery as I walked to the water fountain trying to look like I'm really in better shape than the 65 year old powering away on the elliptical next to me.

On my way to the locker room, I noticed the weight room was empty and decided to try some of the exercises Joe taught me. I gathered my five-pounders and assumed the position on a bench in front of a mirror. After six reps I noticed Muscle Man walk by the room. He looked in through the window, stopped, turned around and looked out the parallel window facing the road, then turned 90 degrees walking away from the weight room. Not two minutes later was he walking back toward the weight room. I moved on to crunches and was on rep 60 (or dividend thereof) when all of a sudden Muscle Man was standing literally right over my face. I avoided eye contact. He pretended to look for a weight. He left the room empty handed. Hmmm. I decided to cool off on the treadmill and who should appear on a machine behind me but Muscle Man?

He's either seriously creepy or really worried about me. Either way, he's very good looking so I'll allow it. For now.

I repeated the story to my parents when I got home.

Dad: Did you talk to him?

Maria: What?! No. I'm not going to pick up a guy in a gym. Or anywhere. (Pours water.) Plus, what am I going to say? "Hey. You come here often?"

Mom: Ask him what his zodiac sign is!

Enter flashback to a club in Boston with Noelle. Mom would fit in well on the dance floor.

[P.S. If you have any good gym pick-up lines, do share. Maybe I'll test them out at the local YMCA.]

The Rundown

It's amazing what you can accomplish in one week. Including, but not limited to:

• Playing in four states (MA, RI, CT, NY)
• Bringing joy to all grandparents (and one aunt)
• Witnessing your brother win third and first place in a big tournament in a casino
• Making new friends and connections
• Sleeping in no less than four different locations
• Mastering two new CDs during travel
• Visiting many (but not all) friends from college and work
• Verbally assaulting friends who have failed to keep in contact
• Swimming in a pool for the first time in two years (and having diving and splashing wars with your brother for the first time in a looong time)
• Observing the zoo that is Long Island and Jones Beach
• Celebrating a holiday
• Jamming to a live band
• Devouring some Dunkin and Uburger
• Staying out past midnight

... and more. Good times! Steve was a fantastic host. Heading for my last night in Boston then early to the airport for a long day of travel back to D-town.

I hope the airports have free WIFI like the commuter rail!

On Life After Graduation

ROSIE (May 20) P-p-p-poker face just came on at a lobster sandwich stand in Cape Cod... I have mixed emotions.

ERIN (May 23) Home is rehab. I'm watching my friends play whiffle ball... Everyone has to play with beer in hand.

ALI (May 23) Oh good god. Splitting a bucket of PBR with my mom, aunt and uncle. What has the world come to?

MARK (May 24) I won at the casino again! Suga daddy status remains.

MARK (May 27) Oh God. We totally forgot to use protection. Now I have some weird WCTD.*

*WCTD = Web cam transmitted disease.

ERIN (May 30) You better not be kidnapped.

CHRIS (June 12) I'm glad Michigan hasn't corrupted your mind and soul.

ALI (June 12) Meesh just awed at a 5 lb rat.

ALI (June 17) A 60 year old just took my shoe.

STEVE (June 23) Do you think if I sang 'the dogs don't shine in Philly' and you and Joe beat boxed we'd make it [on America's Got Talent]? I'm practicing now.

JON (June 25) Answer your phone Michael Jackson is dead!

First person to find me a friend WINS!

I have printed a couple hundred copies of the card above. It's time to take drastic measures. [Feel free to print and distribute.]

Last Saturday, we had another high school graduation party to attend. With each graduation party, the level of embarrassment increases several notches. Here are some scenes from that night.

SCENE ONE:

(Maria, mom and dad enter the house and fill their plates with food. Mom and dad choose a table outside while Maria retrieves a drink. She plucks a Coke from a big blue cooler and scans the area for her parents. She spots her father taking a seat and approaches the table to discover that the only free chair is at the end of the table across from an elderly couple.)

Maria: (whispers to herself) Sweet.

(Maria occupies the vacant seat facing an elderly man perpendicular to his wife.)

Elderly woman: Oh hello! My name is Judy. Yes, you look like a Maria. I have awesome stories and was one of the first people to ever purchase contact lenses for which I had to take out a loan.

(Maria and Judy share stories and giggle with each other until Judy leaves for another party... But not without swapping e-mail addresses with her new best friend.)

SCENE TWO:

(Maria walks across the yard clutching her cold beer thinking to herself, "Thank GOD for liquor.")

Drunk woman: I'm sorry. I have to ask. (Quiets to a whisper and squeezes one eye shut) How ooold are you?

Maria: (exasperated) TWENTY-TWO! I should just start wearing my license around my neck.

(Maria continues on her path walking past her brother and his hoodlum wrestling friends.)

Tyler: SHAVE YOUR BEARD!

SCENE THREE:

(Maria, mom and dad are standing in a circle with the hostess of the party talking about life.)

Mrs. S: So how's being home?

Maria: Oh it's nice. Lots of down time.

Mom: Yea, it's just hard for her because she has no friends here.

Dad: She went from being in college with all her friends to being here with us. She needs some friends here.

(Maria purses her lips and raises her eyebrows. This story has been repeated too many times. She takes a sip from her beer and doesn't notice the wheels spinning inside Mrs. S' head.)

Mrs. S: (grabs Maria's hand and drags her to a circle of six older people.) THIS is Maria. She is a wonderful girl who just graduated college and has no friends here. Maria, (she points to one woman) this is my cousin. She has a very nice son who just graduated Michigan State. Talk to each other.

(Maria feels awkward conversing with Mrs. S' cousin. Everyone in the circle enjoys the spectacle of a friendless stranger being set up with an absent relative. They laugh often and lean in to hear all about Maria.)

Cousin 1: Well, why don't you give me your number and I'll give it to Tommy for when he comes back!

(Maria hands the woman a small piece of torn paper with her name and number on it and scampers away imagining Tommy's laughter when his mom hands him her number. Later that night, the cousins stand in unison and gather their belongings.)

Strange man: Did my wife get your number?

Like father, like daughter.

When I was little, my dad used to call my feet pontoons. Apparently they were abnormally large for my size. A couple decades later, his ability to make fun of me using creative nagging techniques has only sharpened. "Moose and I," he chuckles as I struggle to haul my bike up the garage stairs after a long ride. That's not even a fraction of it.

(Dad harassing me from a very young age)

There are too many great memories, milestones and quirks of my family to list. Nevertheless, I will copy Tara and share a few goodies about my dad in honor of Father's Day.

......

1. If there is ever any mention of a guy in my life (which, thanks to my overprotective siblings and an unfortunate abundance of psychos out there, rarely happens) my dad has but one important question: Can he skate? Regardless of the answer, Test #1 for any prospective suitor will be doled out in an ice rink with hockey sticks. And probably no pads.

(Dad after a hockey game in winter '08 with one of his leagues.)

2. One of our favorite things to do, especially recently, is bike ride. We explore the town, philosophize, people-watch and guess how much houses for sale cost. We also have water fights that usually don't end well for me.

3. Our favorite game to play is Guess The Song. We compete to see who can name the band and title faster. The date of production factors into who wins but we keep each other on our toes. One Christmas, grandma gave me some of dad's old records and a record player. That's when I discovered Creedence. I haven't been the same since.

Dad and I have bonded through music since I was two and screaming "mookie!" in my car seat. Since we both appreciate different eras and types of music, I predict this game will last forever.

4. We are shopping buddies. Dad understands my disdain for shopping in almost any form. I live by his motto that has been repeated to me ad nauseam: Do you love it? Only buy it if you love it. Dad and I are particularly fond of the grocery store. We enjoy discussing any deals or bargains we come by because, after all, no one should pay full price for anything.

5. We are social. My dad (like my mom) loves talking to people. Anyone. Everyone. He wants to know what people are doing, how their day is going, what makes them happy, how he can relate to them. He knows half the neighborhood and a good portion of the city (impressive considering he's lived here only two years.)

Before college I was a pretty shy kid. I hated it when dad made me talk to people. "Speak up!" He'd demand. My first day of orientation at Boston University was horrifying. I knew no one. Didn't know Boston. Had only been to the school once before.

Dad and grandpa brought me to Rich Hall for orientation. I tried to stall their departure but eventually dad pointed to three kids, told me to go introduce myself and said goodbye. After cursing him in my head and watching him walk away, I slowly walked up to the group of kids. They didn't notice me coming, which made it more awkward. "Are you guys here for orientation?" I asked the kid closest to me as I fiddled with my lanyard. "No," he informed me and turned away. I laughed a little and walked to the cement ledge overlooking Nickerson Field.

"Well, that went well!" dad chuckled. I don't know which was more embarrassing, that I got shut down by the first group of kids I interacted with at college or that there was a witness. Dad reassured me before leaving for real. I ended up making a lot of friends at orientation and having a great time.

Needless to say, I have overcome my shyness and developed dad's ability to have good conversations with different kinds of people (though I haven't developed his eagerness to interact with every stranger he sees yet.)

(Dad protecting me from the rain before Commencement)

Most importantly (as it pertains to this blog, at least) I developed my passion for writing because of my dad.

Dad- Because you're cool, I'm not a loser. (For the most part.)

Thanks dude.

Another day, another pinched nerve

Big Mike has been encouraging me to explore my funemployment through bike riding. As a result, I've also been exploring our extensive collection of pain medication (BenGay, BioFreeze...)

Today we journeyed through Birmingham. I was immediately thankful I popped a Zycam before our ride when we came across a field of huge chunks of pollen resembling the fluffy remains of the Canadian Geese that messed with Sully.

I prefer getting exercise outdoors (stop laughing) whether it be running, whiffle ball or engaging in drive-by water soaking wars with my dad. It's more interesting when the scenery changes.

We had quite a selection of varied terrain on our journey. The trail made of thousands of little pebbles that kept shifting under the weight of the tires was probably the worst. Oh no. Wait. The worst were the GIGANTIC HILLS we had to maneuver amongst oversized moving vehicles that (wanted to but) were trying not to hit us.

I must have pinched a nerve in my left butt cheek trying to get up that hill. At some point, my entire left leg went numb. I thought I was out for the count. But alas, I am here sitting on my tingling butt blogging about the hazards of the road.

Maybe I should work out more.

When they think you're sneaking spiked punch...

Ok tell me the truth. How old do you think I look in this picture?

That was taken Saturday night at a graduation party for a family friend. Joe and I were eating cake and trying to decide if he would end up like the group of old men in a circle in the back yard smoking cigars while checking out the (decades younger) waitress. We decided, most likely.

A woman that looked exactly like Bette Midler (but with redder hair) interrupted our laughter to introduce herself. After asking Joe about his wrestling career, Bette turned to me with a smile reminiscent to that of Sadie Ratliff from Big Business and asked:

"And what grade are you in?!"

...

EXCUSE ME??? I just graduated college, thank you very much. This is the face of a wise and (fairly) weathered Bachelor of Science recipient.

I mean, seriously. I could handle Erin's ten year old cousin innocently guessing that I was 15. He's young. But Bette? Straight out of The Real Housewives of Oakland County? And she's not even close to being the first person to think I was in middle or high school.

While we're talking about mistaken identities...

Last Christmas, Steve and I struggled through a travel nightmare trying to get from Boston to Detroit. We had to stay overnight in Cinncinnati because of flight complications. We approached a counter at the Marriott at four in the morning. The woman bowed her head to look at our IDs. Paused. Looked up with a dumb smile and asked:

"Would you like one bed or two, Mr. and Miss F?"

...

EXCUSE ME??? We are siblings, woman! Don't toy with my emotions, it's four in the morning.

Ugh.

This is a time of transition. And in said time of transition, one must exhibit restrained patience in the face of confusion.

...Or just start wearing descriptive sandwich boards to avoid stupid questions.

Christina on Greece

Maria: How was Greece?!

Christina: Girl it was fantastic. It was amazing.

Maria: Man. I'm jealous.

Christina: It's so... different there! I mean. Men are actually... respectful! What happened to guys here?

Maria: Haha I have no idea.

Christina: ... Girl I don't think men wax their eyebrows there.

Maria: What? Do guys do that here?

Christina: I meannnn..... Their eyebrows. There were some hairy, hairy men there.

Maria: Well. Greeks ARE notoriously hairy.

Thanks for calling, Jess and Christina!

The rest of you... get dialling.

Anyone need their lawn mowed?

Aaah family dinners. A time to feast on sarcasm, insult, and Vicki's delicious home cooking.

It was at said daily gathering that we could be found devouring the spoils of a newly purchased grill when all of a sudden the door bell rang. Weary of robbers and environmentalists, mom and I sent dad to deal with the interruption. He opened the door and adjusted his gaze to the pudgy ten year old standing on our porch. Mom and I tried to decipher the child's muffled request over the crunch of our perfectly salted peas. Dad closed the door and returned to the table with a smirk on his face.

Dad: The kid wanted to mow our lawn. He and his sister were pulling a wagon with a weed whacker and some wires and tools.

Dad chuckled as he scooped up some peas with his fork.

Dad: Hey! (he pointed his fork at me) You should go ask if they have any jobs!

This is what I'm dealing with, people. Send sympathy cards.

Maria Goes to Long Island

Mrs. D flew me down last Thursday as a surprise to Erin and in turn I was surprised by the lack of guido and orange skin as Erin introduced me to Long Island.

Things I loved about Long Island:

1) Erin and her seriously fantastic family (yes, even the dog, who trapped me in a room Day One but was eating hot dogs from my plate by Sunday.)

2) Erin's crazy/hilarious/super fun friends and their fire pits and weird cars with animal noises.

3) The wheel at Billy's Bar. So exciting!

4) The water. And rocks. And shells. If I lived on Long Island I'd be down by the water every day. There were awesome lifeguard lookout towers that I refused to jump off even though they were three feet from the ground. Noelle threw rocks at me in a failed attempt to persuade me to jump. I would need to build up some courage.

5) Crazy people. Like this guy with a metal detector.

After exploring Long Island on Friday, Erin's family brought me into the city Saturday. Some switch flipped the second we started driving into the city. Attacked by the impulse to explore for hours, I annoyed my family and friends with texts declaring my wishes to move to the city right then and there.

We went into the Hershey and M&M stores where Erin and I played with giant chocolate bars and her sisters joined us in the mood detector to determine our M&M color. (Mine was Almond Mix or something. Apparently I like excitement and adventure. So true, M&M mood detector!) The machine was acting up all day; it offended Jill by telling her she is not a person who "does many things well," declared Sarah dark chocolate mix and Erin dark pink. Bizarre.

We headed toward Carmine's next. A legend in my mind, I was excited to experience what Noelle and Erin spent hours salivating over. Mr. D went in to get us a table and to everyone's surprise there was no line. He brought us in through the special door and we took our seat on the second floor. I will be dreaming about those zucchini sticks/fries/straws/pieces-of-heaven for YEARS.

After Carmine's, we walked around Times Square where we reunited with Mark.

The weather was perfect on Saturday. We walked to Central Park where we climbed a rock formation and people-watched. A ten-year-old boy hit on Erin with the sweetest pick-up line ever: Wanna climb with me? She turned him down. It was as good a time as any for him to learn about disappointment. He slid down the formation and walked off with his mom.

We experienced many strange and wonderful things walking through Central Park. A bride, a man (with a small dog) that looked like a pedophile, a man tanning in very tiny shorts, a large group of people roller skating in various outfits including (but not limited to) furry pink pants and cut-off shirts with fringe, a woman on a unicyle dancing with a man on roller skates, two Aztek-ish warring violinists in thongs, a woman making a stuffed chicken dance on her lap, and much much more.

I need to move to NYC.

Dessert was necessary after our long day. We indulged in cheesecake and chocolate cakes before seeing the hilarious off-broadway play, Altar Boyz. Is it strange that I want to download the soundtrack? We had a perfect view; our seats were four rows from the front. Erin and I were relieved to hear this showing did not involve audience participation.

We drove through the brightly lit city and I resisted the urge to jump out of the car and peek in all the restaurants and bars and apartments. I drilled Erin and her parents about life in the city, imagining myself living there.

This whole being out of college thing is kind of exciting when you realize that you can literally go anywhere. As long as there's money. And benefits. And housing. I'll save my list of living requirements for another time.

Sunday was barbeque day. Erin and Jill had a joint party for graduation and Sweet [s]Ixteen respectively. Mrs. D and the girls prepared me for the invited company as Mr. D and Sarah prepared the outdoor games and fire and the rest of us helped assemble the mounds and mounds of food Mrs. D bought.

The food was delicious (and plentiful) and the company was great. I even found a new boyfriend. James is 10. He thinks I'm 15. He's a little fresh but he's a great kickball player and super clever (he dubbed Noelle "No-LOL" without hesitation.) Sarah was the Smore master. Noelle, Erin and I ended the party around Mr. D's expertly crafted fire and then laughed in the kitchen for hours with Erin's friends.

Monday afternoon the family drove me to the airport. I'm thankful to have had the opportunity to get to know them. The trip gave me hope that even though college is over, friendships really will last forever. There's no way Erin's getting rid of me now! MUAHAHAHA.

Flying out of the city I admired the faint flicker of advertisements from Times Square imagining myself wandering amidst the skyscrapers. After a moment, clouds poured over my window leaving only my imagination to construct variations of my future.

Bitchin Beard: Championship Edition

I've almost recovered from the Bruins' loss to the Hurricanes. It helps that the Hurricanes just got swept out of the Playoffs. About time too. I don't think I could handle one more bad weather metaphor in a blog post.

There is one thing that the Bruins are still kicking ass in. And that's the BEARD-A-THON!!! WOO!!! The spirit of the fans can not be broken. The Beard-a-thon is a way for each of the eight playoff teams to raise money for a cause of their choice.

The Boston Bruins Foundation is a 501(c)(3) non-profit foundation whose mission is to assist charitable organizations that demonstrate a strong commitment to enhancing the quality of life for children throughout New England. ... The Foundation, which provides grants to organizations that meet the standards of its mission, concentrates on athletics, academics, health, and community outreach programs that assist in helping enrich the lives of children throughout New England.

At $93,564, Bruins fans have raised more money than each of the eight other fan bases. 

Let's go $100,000!!! Go donate to someone. 

The lead profit generator is Bob Sweeny, who has raised $21,000 so far.

The final four teams have raised as follows:

Red Wings: $12,874

Blackhawks: $20,002

Hurricanes: $53,680

Penguins: $82,784

Red Wings fans need to step up. A championship means nothing without some sweet playoff beards.

Maybe they should take a hint from this guy.

David Traver recently won the World Beard and Moustache Championship. I wish I knew this was happening! Traver spent 2 1/2 years growing this 20.5 inch beard. Now THAT's dedication.

I want to be on the judge's panel next year, Alaska.