Now what do I do?

The Olympics are over, you all.

We have to wait four more years. And don’t even say “Oh, but there’s winter games,” because those don’t even come close.

Ice skating is not as fun as gymnastics to watch and while I’ll tune in for some skiing, it’s no swimming and diving..

And it’s because of these Olympics I have a new song on rotation.

Yes, it’s by a guy that won American Idol, but.. it doesn’t sound like it’s by a guy that won American Idol.

It was the theme song of the Olympics and if you excuse me, I’m gonna go listen to it on repeat as part of my continued morning process that this year’s Games are over.


Gold Medal in Spectating

You guys, I am so obsessed with the Olympics. I’m watching it as I write this, like I have been, with any second of free time I have except for from 10-11 on Sunday nights because that’s when Breaking Bad is on and I need to know how much crazier Walter White’s gonna get.

I live-tweeted the Opening Ceremonies. I’ve been tweeting at least twice about every event I watch. I have seen volleyball, archery, badminton, tennis, basketball, soccer, track, rowing, whitewater kayaking, cycling, fencing, gymnastics and swimming.

OMG swimming.

If Olympic swimming was on year-round, I’d have to quit my job. I wouldn’t be able to focus. I barely can focus now as it is. I had to change the channel.

I want to take Andrea Kramer’s job, not just because she gets to talk to the swimmers as soon as they get out of the pool, but because she is the worst, dumbest interviewer I have seen in my life. And she doesn’t try to touch their abs, which is a travesty in itself, because that’s all I’d be doing.

How could you not?

Related: In one of the group texts I have going with some of my girls, we had a discussion about which male Olympic swimmer’s abs you’d like to lick Nutella off of.

I’m not picky.

But anyways, yeah I’m a little obsessed. I know so many olympians names.. from Team USA, from other countries, from all kinds of sports. My new favorite Olympic sport is archery, I think, but who knew badminton was so intense, because it is.

Also, I still do not understand tennis scoring. It’s played the same way as badminton, ping-pong and volleyball yet it is too good for normal scoring.

These athletes are beasts in every single sport…Gabby Douglas is so adorable I can’t stand it and it’s ridiculous how good she is at gymnastics. The women’s volleyball team – Misty and Kerri – have inspired me to do even better at my just-for-fun outdoor volleyball games Monday nights…

Ryan Lochte’s kind of a d-bag, but he’s not bad to look at. And he wins medals.

And Michael Phelps is superhuman. That’s all there is to it.

I don’t get this way about winter Olympics. Just summer, for some reason. Maybe because there are more ripped male athletes doing things shirtless?

It’s just so exciting though. No matter the sport. People are making their dreams come true and proving that they are the best in the world at something.

And I am the best in the world at watching. Pretty sure.

I have no idea what I’ll do with myself once the Olympics are over, but I do have a wedding to keep me busy for a bit. And Shark Week starts soon.

Thank God.

For more observations on Olympics and the amazing specimens competing in them, follow me on Twitter – @LoBoogie.

Getting all crafty up in this piece

So after I went to jolly ol’ England and took loads (that’s such a British word) of photos, I took a couple of them and blew ’em up.

Thanks to a well-timed Groupon and a week I didn’t have to buy groceries, I splurged on two canvas prints from a Web site. The pictures I chose for the canvas-izing – yeah I made that word up, so what – are my two favorites from the trip. And there’s a third in the running.

Only problem? Where to put them. You see, my room doesn’t really have any specific design aesthetic. It’s just kind of stuff I’ve collected and decided to hang on the wall. Case in point – there’s an old school Marlon Brando poster about eight feet away from a clock with the numbers from LOST. Both purchased for me by Rachel, in fact. Thanks, Rach!

I love all of it, though, and it will all probably look really cool one day in separate rooms. But for now, I want it all in this room.

And I’ve got this one blank wall to decorate. Therefore, I need some help.

Luckily for me – and you – I’m pretty good with InDesign. So I played around with a couple options.

First though, the space we’re working with:

Ignore the mess. It never always looks like that.

Here’s my first idea – the two canvas prints I already have and a larger print in the middle. It’s a picture of the London tube system, which is really confusing when you’ve had no sleep for 24 hours but is on a map in a bunch of pretty colors with even cooler names for stops. Like Westferry, Wapping and Cockfosters.

The second possibility includes that third canvas I was thinking about getting made. It’s of the London Eye, which we saw but didn’t get to ride. And I wasn’t too upset. On account of the height.

There’s another option with four prints, but it’s probably my least favorite.

And if none of those work, there’s always this option:

The colors even match the wall. It’s like he’s supposed to be there.

The last day

By the last day I had decided a few things.

I’d decided that I 100 percent plan to make my next significant purchase a Nikon or Canon fancy camera.

I’d decided I kind of want to live in London.

I’d decided I was no longer grossed out by eating either cucumbers or salmon. (But not together.)

I’d decided not to kidnap a British child – I really want one with that accent.

And I’d decided I could totally live in a city with public transportation like London’s and no car if possible. Cheaper and easier. And I can read on the way to and from work.

Our hosts had decided we were their favorite guests so far. Naturally. How can you look at these two ladies and not realize they’re a couple of good ones?

They’d also decided they didn’t want us to go home – at least that’s what Matthew said standing in his kitchen right after we’d lugged all our stuff down into the foyer.

We felt the same way. We could have stayed in for another month, which I’m sure our hosts would have loved.. ha.

But after our goodbyes and loading our stuff into the car that would take us to Heathrow (yay for not having to lug heavy suitcases up and down stairs while trying to make the train on time. Also, woo, fancy!) it was really over.


We had a long day ahead of plane riding, airport sitting and please God don’t let them show Jane Eyre again on the plane.

The first plane – that took us all the way from England to Hotlanta – had Ashley and I sitting across the aisle from each other. She was next to a normal lady (as far as I know, haven’t heard otherwise) and I, of course, was next to a lady I thought might get escorted off the plane before takeoff.

Yeah. She apparently didn’t have the proper documentation for her 1-year-old daughter and was yelling at the stewardesses and stewards (is that what you call the guy ones?) that it was ridiculous and if she had done something wrong how had they let her get this far?

Eventually all calmed down and she got to keep her seat and the seat in between us was occupied off and on by her 1-year-old, who was one of the cutest kids I have ever seen.

The same cannot be said for the children sitting behind me.

Now I love kids. I have a lot of patience with them, I think. But after the second hour of kicks to the back of my chair by the 3-year-old and the accompanying loud crying by his baby sister, I was kind of over it.

The baby next to me? An angel. I kept looking at her and thinking “God bless you for behaving.” Like, even when her mom got up to go to the bathroom and left her with me (I’m so trustworthy-looking) she was fine. Oh and we watched a little bit of Green Hornet together.

Thank God for headphones to drown out the baby behind me, because that’s what saved me. That and two blink-and-they-were-over naps. I watched three movies on the way home and once we started our descent into Atlanta, I thought we were in the clear – a couple hours of relaxing and reading in the Atlanta airport and then a quick flight (especially after the marathon we’d just been through) and home to sleep and sleep and sleep. And upload pictures.

Oh I wish that was true.

You see, the landing in the ATL was a bit rough. So much so, in fact, that the troublemaker lady next to me, got her tummy jostled and threw up. Yeah. In the aisle on the other side of her, luckily, but then, she elbowed me in the shoulder with chipmunk-like cheeks, looking for another barf bag.

Fun fact: Delta does not put puke bags in everyone’s seat pockets. Because I had to ask four people for one before I found one.

Yeah. All this time, her cute baby girl is crying because she has no idea what just happened to her mom, she just knows its not good. Oh and also it smells like VOMIT.

Another fun fact: When Rach and Swarles brought back Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans from Harry Potter World earlier this year, several of us tried the vomit-flavored bean. Very and disgustingly realistic.

So. Baby Girl is crying, Mom looks like she could puke again at any second. Breathing out of my mouth, I offer to hold the little one while Momma gets cleaned up – because I’m nice like that and the kid didn’t have any puke on her, otherwise…

All this time, though, WE’RE STILL LANDING, and I’m thinking two things – thank God and all that is holy that this happened at landing and not takeoff and also remember to breathe through your mouth.

Someone was kind enough to throw a Delta-provided blanket over the mess, which saved some from seeing it, but yeah, still smelled like puke. And then I saw it had gotten on the lady’s leg across the aisle from her and I almost lost it myself.

Needless to say, we were as quick to get off the plane as we could possibly be. But not before we saw a baby with an apparently weak stomach (this is the same annoying baby that was behind me on the plane the whole time) throw up. On top of the blanket on top of the other vomit.


Then we get on the plane to go home. The last leg of this hellishly long and puke-filled day. Quick and painless, right?

HA. Would have been, had we not been seated to the back and left of the most annoying family ever. Seriously. Grandparents that talked like babies to their twin granddaughters who were 2 years old and had the highest pitched voices I have ever heard outside of someone inhaling helium. Not that bad if they were quiet, but yeah, pretty sure they talked/squeaked/yelled/screeched the entire ride home.

Add that to the fact that you’re not allowed to turn your iPods on until you’re at the right altitude and Ashley and I had both decided we never wanted to have kids. Not really, of course, but nothing screams birth control like, well, screaming kids.

Maybe we were pissed already because we didn’t want to come home yet.

Maybe we were pissed because we had to taxi all the way to the gate from the landing breathing in the smell of puke.

Maybe we were confused on what time it was.

But, we were home safely, with all our luggage and bedtime in sight. Hallelujah.

And thus ends the story of Laura and Ashley Go To England.

That sounds like a children’s book – someone get on that.

The fif one

So at this point you’ve heard about almost everything. Except day fieeeeeeve and the trip home. Aren’t you excited?

After cramming a ridiculous amount of sightseeing, culture, shopping, walking, tubing and food into the first four days, on the day before we left, we took it easy. Kind of.

We dropped Alistair off at his day camp and headed for the O2, which, if you’ve never heard of it, is a ginormous arena with a bunch of restaurants and everything in the world inside of it. Almost.

It’s where we went to see the Titanic exhibit, which I was pretty excited about because I’d wanted to see it when it stopped in Louisville, but missed out. Plus, ya know, I did see the movie four times.

Why? One word: Leo.

The exhibit – a traveling one – tells stories of several of the passengers as well as puts on display everything they’ve brought up from the wreckage at the bottom of the ocean. It’s amazing how much some of that stuff is still intact. There was a shelf of plates where the shelf had disintegrated but the plates were still there, perfectly lined up where they landed.

When you start to go through the exhibit you’re given a boarding pass. It has the name of a passenger on it and some information about them and at the end you find out if you lived or not. Lovely.

I was a first-class lady (naturally) who was coming home from visiting family in Paris. And apparently, I had been warned by a fortune teller not long before I got on the boat to “stay away from water.” WOOPS.

Ashley was a second-class lady who was a model and a mistress. Scandalous!

The others we were with – Matthew’s friend Penny, her son Ethan (who I taught to say hamburger like an American) and Penny’s dad Wolfgang (honest-to-God, and he is Scottish) – were various passengers with similar stories. I think Ethan was a second-classer too.

Matthew, however, was a bigshot. He was Ismay, the owner of the White Star Line, the company who owned the ship. If you saw the movie, he’s the skeeze who jumps in a boat with a bunch of women and children like a chicken and one of the crew members sees him but lets him go.

About halfway through the exhibit is part of an iceberg, supposedly. Or, a big chunk of ice that they’ve cooled to the temperature it was that night.

It was so cold it burned, if that makes any sense. I kept my hand on it for approximately five seconds. Had I really been on the ship and ended up in the water, my weak-threshold-for-pain ass would have died quickly.

We get to the end and wouldn’t you know it, we all died. Except Matthew. Sad.

We consoled ourselves – well I did anyway – by trying to teach Ethan how to say words like we do, but not before he showed us his “American rap skills.” I don’t remember all of what he said, but it was something like, “And where my bitchez at?”

He’s 13. Go America.

Keeping with the theme of the day, we took our own boat ride after a quick lunch. We took the boat down the Thames – pronounced Temms, like PIMM’S. WHAT?? – to a tube stop closer to home.

From there it was time to figure out a way to re-pack all of our stuff, plus souvenirs, without going over the 50-pound weight limit allowed before you have to pay extra. That was fun.

That night, we found out, we were headed to a dinner party in Chelsea, with Roma and her family and Matthew, Alistair and Allyson of course. The dinner was at their friend Sally’s, who is the first person all week to give us the European kiss-on-each-cheek thing.

The food was delicious, and there was wine and champagne a-plenty. Also part of the dinner party? A discussion on how Ashley and I were the No. 1 guests who’ve stayed with Matthew and Allyson.

Yep. We’re awesome like that.

You see, Allyson had made a list of the things we needed to do as soon as we got there. We’d accomplished everything on it, and then some – for example, hang out with an old Scottish man.

I’ve told her to frame it. And hold everyone that visits after us to the high standard that we’ve set. It’ll be hard to match…much less to beat.

Dinner was delicious, of course, and that’s the night we had the Gu cake that I would possibly marry if it wouldn’t be weird. It was that good.

Oh and before we left, we made sure we took some pictures – well, Sally’s son Seb took some – and then we got some of our family.

This is Sally.

Seb and Emma (Roma’s daughter)

Straight-up gangstas

Roma’s son, Alex


And we couldn’t resist a last-minute run up the stairs to get a quick picture of Sally’s bedroom. Why? Because, according to her, at some point, Charles Dickens had had sex in the house where we’d just had dinner. In what’s now her bedroom. Yay history!

I didn’t want to go to bed that night because it meant it was over. And we in no way wanted it to be over, therefore we decided we’re going back. ASAP.

Oh you fancy, huh?

Normally I’m not a fan of Mondays. They are not my favorite. In fact, I most often refer to them as my nemesis (nemeses?).

But the Monday I spent in England? Best one I’ve had in as long as I can remember.

Of course, any day immediately increases in potential when it starts with one of these.

Ashley started out with one of those – I had the ‘Afrocat’ as we called it. But this looked too good to skip and we had a long day ahead, so I needed all the caffeine I could handle.

The delicious breakfast we had was at the Wolseley. Which we passed at least three times while trying to find it, and then asked someone at Starbucks who was an asshole, because they were four doors away from the place and just decided to have a little fun with the dumb, lost Americans.

I suggested a Starbucks protest.

Anyway, the Wolesley was next to The Ritz, and around the corner from several places I will never be able to afford.

Case in point:

After not even attempting to enter a single one of those stores – we just took pictures of all of them from the street. Then we headed to one of the only places this nerd wanted to visit in London.

Yep. That’s Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

SPOILER ALERT: It’s not actually on a platform, it’s outside King’s Cross Station. And unfortunately, you can’t actually run through it to catch the train to Hogwart’s.

But that doesn’t mean I didn’t try.

Next on the list? A jaunt through the park. But what would make the trip better? BIKES.

Yeah. That was a good idea, even though it didn’t seem like it at first. It took us forever to figure out how to pay for the damn things and then when we got them free, Ashley got on hers to find that the seat was up about 10 feet to high.

Geez, you guys. You know how they compare things to bike riding? Like, “It’s just like riding a bike.”

Yeah, they should stop saying that. Because I hadn’t ridden a bike in years. And it showed.

This picture is of me soon after I texted Rachel telling her what we were doing and how I hadn’t ridden a bike in about 40 years.

Oh, and Ashley fixed her seat.

Once we got going, though, things got a little easier. And the view was pretty great.

It was a lot like this, actually.

Only not really. We didn’t sing. Mostly laughed, especially when I not once, not twice, but three times, rode right over signs on the ground that said “No cycling.”

And then we had a stranger that could have easily stolen our cameras take a picture of us in the pretty park.

Matthew had suggested a place to go for dinner and we were almost there when we spotted something we thought was possibly more awesome. A sushi place where everything’s on a conveyor belt.

Yeah. You grab what you want as it comes by and then based on the color of the plate(s) when you’re done that’s how much you pay.

It was yum times 10. And kind of like a game.

After that, it was on to a kind of shady part of town for the Jack The Ripper tour.

Remember how I joked we’d do the Murder Tour of London? OH WE SO DID FOR REAL.

We so excited.

This is Adrian. Our tour guide. He knows everything there is to know about Jack The Ripper.

One of the victims got killed here, I think. I dunno. We went several places and learned a lot, actually. Like that JTR didn’t have 11 victims like many people think. He only had five.

We saw real blood on the street during the tour, too. Shady part of town, I tell ya. Or possibly put there for dramatic affect?

Nah, it was shady.

We finished the evening with a nice walk across London Bridge.


Oh, and then there was some PIMM’S drinking. Duh.

At this point? One day left. Sad. But dammit if we hadn’t gotten pretty much everything we wanted to do, done. We are efficient.

And on the third day…

…they went to see the queen. Well, her house anyway.

Sunday morning we, along with probably a million other people, headed for Buckingham Palace, to watch the changing of the guard. We somehow managed to get pretty close to the fence, which really is still pretty dang far from the action.

But at least we weren’t like these people. I’m not sure why they came because I’m pretty sure all they could see was fence and the person in front of them.

There was lots of marching back and forth to the gate, which was kind of weird, because it was just two at a time and they would march to random spots along the gate. Oh and there was a dog.

Their marching style is interesting. When they halt, they kind of kick their leg out to the side and bring it back around before stomping. I don’t know how to explain it.

One got really close so we at least got a few shots of the guard without too much of the gate in the way.

Then it was off to lunch with Allyson, Matthew and Alistair, but not before we had our Sunday morning dose of religion, made possible by this monument/exhibit/art thing we passed in the park by the palace.

Lunch was at this Chinese restaurant in I-Have-No-Idea-Where-We-Were Notting Hill. No Julia Roberts or Hugh Grant sightings though.

Matthew was in charge of ordering and rightfully so. I’m pretty sure I fell in love with every dish he ordered. There was dim sum, this doughy-shrimp thing, noodles…I may have even had tofu, I don’t know.

After that, it was time to head to Abbey Road. Yep. THAT Abbey Road.

It’s still a working road, but since pedestrians have the right of way there, cars have to stop while silly tourists cross the street doing their best John, Paul, George or Ringo walk. Also while the person in charge of taking the picture risks death and stands – or squats – in the middle of the road. In traffic. Pandemonium I tell ya.

But of course, we jumped right in and did a couple trips across the road and back.

It’s funny to watch though, because you know it pisses some of those drivers off. There’s a webcam set up where you can watch live every day and see some of the craziness for yourself. You’ll see what we saw – Beatles fans trying to act oblivious to cars to get a picture of themselves that’s only slightly as cool as that album cover.

It was awesome.

Then, yours truly found out we were near Baker Street and wouldn’t ya know it, that’s kind of famous too. Sherlock Holmes, anyone? 221B, baby.

I have to admit I’m pretty partial to the Robert Downey Jr. version.

But yeah, Sherlock Holmes was a character in a series of books first.

We visited the gift shop where I almost bought a pipe to not smoke out of, but decided against it because I had to save my money for practical things like pens shaped like Big Ben and William Shakespeare.

There was a museum with tours we didn’t take part in but made sure we got our picture with the hat and pipe and a quite exuberant policeman.

The tube station we took home left from Baker Street and along the walls were different colored silhouettes of Holmes. I think I want to decorate my bathroom with them one day.

Now no English experience would be complete without a visit to the pub. Luckily, there were several in walking distance of where we were staying. So, after I whooped some booty at Progressive Rummy against Matthew, their neighbor Roma and Ashley, we headed up to the pub whose name I couldn’t tell you because I don’t remember it.

All of us plus Roma’s family started out the night on the patio, playing cards, but once we heard there was a trivia game about to start, we quickly moved inside.

Ashley sang my praises on random, ridiculous knowledge, making me worried if I’d be able to perform under the pressure. And that’s only if they weren’t local questions. If the questions were about London, well, I’d serve them better staying out on the patio.

This pub, I should mention, is where Ashley and I began our love affair with PIMM’S. Roma was drinking one and we decided to try them after our beers and never looked back. It was fate, really.

Picture a chorus of angels singing.

Also fate, having a couple questions in the trivia game that Ash and I were perfectly suited for. In a music round she was able to identify Warren G’s “Regulators” by the first few notes of the song and I unscrambled a word that I could have gotten a lot quicker if I’d realized at the beginning that where we put a “z” in England they usually put an “s.”

Oh and they asked what U.S. state Boston was the capital of. When we told Roma’s husband Andrew the answer, he said “Thank God you’re here.”

We do what we can.

We didn’t win, but we had a pretty good showing.

And at least the food and the PIMM’S were yummy.

‘My bags are packed and I’m ready to go…’

Leavin’ on a jet plane here in a couple days.

I’m packed but I hate every piece of clothing I own and am convinced I’ll forget something. But really, who cares, ’cause I’ll be on vacation, suckaaaaas.

And not just any vacation. THE vacation. LONDON.

I downloaded “London Bridge” by Fergie last week for no other reason then it has the word London in it. ‘Cause it’s DEFINITELY not about the city.

I’d tell you what it is about but…first of all you probably already know and second of all…my parents read this thing.

I really don’t know what all we’re going to do over there and I kind of like it that way.



For the most part. I mean, we know kind of what we wanna do – we’ll do a double-decker bus tour and some walking tours.

Fun fact: They offer a “Jack the Ripper Walking Tour” where you get to learn all about a murderer they never found. And couple that with a visit to the Tower of London where they used to torture people? MURDER TOUR OF LONDON. On it.

Not really. But I will see some Harry Potter stuff, dammit.

We will go to a pub. And drink at it. Depending on how many drinks I have, I may try to look for a British boyfriend…

So yeah. I’m so excited, you guys. Like, 18 exclamation point excited. But I don’t believe in excessive exclamation points in my writing so I’ll just leave you with the thought of them.

I’ll definitely share some of every single pic I take on here when I get home, so check back and prepare to be amazed at my bomb-ass photography skillz.

And, maybe I’ll show you a picture of the new British boyfriend.

The countdown is on

Two weeks from today I will be on my way to another country. I will be somewhere over the rainbow Atlantic Ocean, hopefully sleeping and probably drooling because it will be 3 a.m. in London and we gotta get that jet lag shit under control before it even begins.

That’s all, really. Just wanted to let you know.

Oh, and I will be like this kid the night before. Fo. Sho.

One year closer to 100.

Today’s my birthday. 27, which means I’m now THAT MUCH CLOSER to 30, which then means I’m even closer to 50. That reminds me, I need to take a break real quick for my osteoporosis meds and to put my AARP card in my wallet.

OK. So 27. Haven’t heard much about it – that’s good, I suppose, there’s nothing too out of the ordinary I can expect for this year (of course I said that last year then my appendix revolted). There’s no specific things you only get to do once you turn 27, none that I know of anyway.

I can’t really complain about Year 26. It treated me well and I’m hoping 27 takes a clue from its friend and does the same.

To ensure its continued awesomeness – so far, so good, people, and it’s been less than 24 hours – there are 7 things I want to accomplish before 28 rolls around. And these have nothing to do with that other list I’m supposed to be working on.

Why 7, you ask? Because it’s my lucky number. Seriously. Don’t believe me? Well, that’s a pretty silly thing not to believe and besides, have I ever lied to you? Also because in my old age my attention span is entirely too short to come up with many more.

In no particular order, this year I want to:

1. Give up sodas completely. I’m trying this right now and somewhat succeeding. Do you know how gross Cherry Coke tastes after you haven’t had it in a month? Then there’s the throat burning and the sexy burping that I tend to only do around my roommate because if I did it in front of a gentleman I was actually trying to impress, he’d probably run in fear. It’s not the caffeine – God knows I still need that to make it through the day, at least until America takes a clue from the Spaniards and institutes an afternoon siesta. Nah, it’s the fact that it’s just kinda gross when you think about it, especially if you’ve watched it be poured over your ailing car battery on the side of the road and it TAKES OFF THE GROSS STUFF. How does it not eat through your stomach?

2. Go to Waverly Hills. I ain’t afraid of no ghosts. And I’m pretty sure there’s one currently roaming around my apartment – but more about that another day. I’ve always wanted to go to Waverly and you have to book those tours ASAP because they fill up about 10 minutes after they’re opened. This year, I’m going. I just need someone who will hold my hand every once in a while.

3. Learn how to cook at least five new things. Currently, the only thing I can really cook is this dish a former roommate used to make called Poppyseed Chicken. I can only make it because it’s damn near impossible to screw up. Of course, so are quesadillas, but I managed to burn those into oblivion last time I tried that. I’m about as undomesticated as they come in that respect and it’s actually pretty sad. I’m envious of people who can just throw stuff together without directions or make things from scratch while I follow a recipe to the T and still manage to forget something.

4. Do something crafty. I’m kind of cheating with this one because I already have a plan in mind, I just have to make it happen. I have a big, empty wall behind my bed and it needs a little something. So rather than keep it that way until I move out or save up for some big art piece or something, I’m gonna make something. It will involve not a lot of money – hopefully – as well as my amazing photographic talent.

5. Conquer a fear. I’m going to London this summer. One thing the bff and I know we’re going to do for sure is take a ride on the London Eye – the GINORMOUS ferris wheel that overlooks the city. It’s huge. And glassed in. And the thought of it kind of terrifies me, because it’s so damn high! But I need to realize that when I’m in something enclosed that’s been proven safe waaaaaay too many feet off the ground, I need to check myself. There’s a 99-percent chance whatever it is won’t kill me. I think. That’s the only fear I can think of to try and get over. Because there’s no way in hell the clown thing’s going away. And submarines? HELL NO.

6. Mail a secret to Postsecret. Went to a Postsecret event recently and I know of at least one friend who’s actually sent one to the site. One of the things they allowed people to do at the event was to come up to a microphone and share their secret. I am in NO WAY that brave, but once I can figure out a way to design the postcard, it’s going in the mail. It was really cool to see those people share though. Very freeing.

7. Go camping with my friends. My family used to do the camping thing all the time when I was a kid. That’s right, I was an outdoor-sleepin’, fish-catchin’, s’more-cookin’ lil lady. And still would be, if anyone ever wanted to camp with me. I mean, I’m sure people do – I’m a delight – but it just hasn’t come up yet. I think a CKR camping trip would be hilarious, because as it was shown by our attempts at canoeing a couple years ago, we’re not exactly the most outdoor-savvy of people. But we know how to light a fire and there’d be plenty of beer and food. Going with the game night crew would be equally exciting and a lot easier to get organized, as we all live in the same city. And a couple of the boys in the group were in boy scouts, so there’s that.