I’ve heard this theory before, been told it by various Moms or psychologist friends or just wise people that have come & gone in my life. You read it in those self-help books (or at least people that read self-help books do) that visualization & positive affirmations & even just being discrete about what it is you want results in you actually getting it.

I’ve tried this before – someone once asked me to make a list of what I wanted to find in a boyfriend. Though I found it initially amusing, I figured that it couldn’t hurt. At the time, I thought I was being pretty particular, down to the qualities he should have (open-minded, great sense of humor, appreciate my writing, to name just a few) and, surprisingly to me, it was just a few weeks later when I seemingly got what I wanted. It was only months later, looking back after the daily two-hour phone calls and half-assed birthday gifts and eventual dropping-off-the-face-of-the-earth cowardice that I re-read my list, and realized that never once did I mention “lives in Atlanta.” It was time to revise the list.

Again, I concentrated on specifics. Many times I’ve said that I know more of what I’m NOT looking for than what I am, so I made sure to include both. I do NOT want a perfectionist. I do NOT want someone who is threatened by my successes. I do NOT want a gym-obsessed, narcissistic, tight-wad over-analyzing bore. Oh, and I DO want someone who lives in Atlanta. So I threw the proverbial caution to the wind and made myself a revised list. And again, I was surprised when I seemingly found it, only after months and some disappointment later I realized I, in fact, was NOT discrete enough; I should have said I wanted someone who lives in Atlanta currently, and someone who doesn’t have any plans of leaving. (Or at least leaving without me.)

I was both disenchanted and amazed by the immediacy, the particularity, of the response from these “wish lists” that truly began as an exercise in amusement. Who knew that actually voicing your desires could actually result in their culmination? Still, though I’ve always been open to the metaphysical and “not-so-black-and-white” side of the world, it seems too easy. So all it takes is to actually ASK for what you want, and perhaps you’ll get it?

Looks like this worked for HelenJane, someone who deserves it more than anyone. Maybe it’s time for another few revisions…you think it’s too late to add “Kerry wins in Ohio” to the list?

Well, it’s official. I am not “too cool” for school, but in fact, too old. Yes, Aubrey might need to hang up her skates after a last spin around the rink, um, I mean, Franklin Street. Reasons why include…

…after the game, we went to La Residance, once a beautiful villa housing wedding receptions (including my friend Kelly’s), now a hip hop club. I wasn’t feeling especially hip NOR hop, but I lied and said I was writing a story for a local mag, got us in for free, paid my $3 cover, said ‘hi’ to my friends, proceeded then to say ‘bye’ to my friends, caught a cab and went home. ‘Why?’ you ask. Um, because I was tired. And my feet hurt. And I needed to take out my dentures. (Only kidding on the last one, but it’s probably next if I continue down my journey into old age.)

…we went out to Franklin Street to celebrate Halloween. Granted, this would be the first time in 6 years that I had celebrated in this manner, but seriously, how different could it be? Silly, silly Aubrey…how times have changed. The crowd was bigger, not only because some of the freshman looked like they were imbibing a bit too much on keg stands, but because apparently “Thug Life” was the theme of the evening. Now, I’m not talking about simple racial diversity; give me that any day. I’m talking more of the “I bet he’s packing” (heat, if you’re not down w/the ghetto vernacular of late) variety. At first I thought it was “free beers if you dress like Tu-pac” night, but then I realized most people weren’t even in costume. I held tight to my friend Mike’s hand, got accosted by random guys wearing only a thong (pictures will support this), walked from Spanky’s to Woody’s and back, and breathed a sigh of relief for not being stabbed/shot/beaten in the process. But oh, my costume was delightful.

…I didn’t have a hangover. I mean, binge drinking is still allowable when you’re in a college town, isn’t it? Apparently, my more ‘mature’ side stepped in as the sheer number of beers consumed (on an empty stomach on Saturday, no less) was nowhere near the “I’m wasted and I’m gonna pay for this tomorrow” category; more of the “why did I have that last beer? It’s SO past my bedtime” variety.

I mean, please. You’d think I was OLD or something…like 28.

I know, I know…I haven’t been posting lately. It’s been crazy in Aubrey-land (not to be confused with “The Land of Aubrey”, a place I should frequent more often), with Halloween approaching, Homecoming just a few days away, not to mention a house that desperately needs dusted & vacuumed and many out of town guests. Be patient with this newly-coiffed girl, and I promise I’ll have much more to tell after tonight’s craziness, tomorrow’s drinks & party, and this weekend’s Homecoming festivities. (Y’all KNOW that insanity ensues when all us girls reconvene in Chapel Hill!) In the meantime, I’ve just got one question for you all:

Does anyone besides me find those “Little Debbie” snack cakes commercials (you know, the ones with the kids singing “My girl” in perfect, on-key unison) the most annoying, fingernails-on-blackboard grating, omnipresently irritating advertisement EVER?

It started off as a joke over two years ago. Many of my friends, after announcing their engagements, started preparing for their weddings. But not just in the traditional sense, making arrangements for the location, the invitations and the like. In a personal sense as well, beginning their “Bride Diet” and even, in some cases, growing out their hair if it was currently too short to provide them with all the “up-do options” they were considering. And so, not being of the “elite engaged” few, I joked with them that I would follow their plans as well. Thus, two and a half years ago, I started “growing out my hair for my wedding”, figuring that at some point within that time, I may just meet Mr. Right and how smart I would be to not have to go through the dieting and hair growing-out process in a rush – I’d already be prepared.

Fast forward to present day. My hair has long-ago accomplished the goal, growing to its longest lengths ever. Apparently, my hair was ready to get married, only I wasn’t. A cruel twist of fate, eh?

It was time for a change.

The past few months have brought about many changes that I’ve often spoken of here…good friends moving away, new relationships beginning, new relationships ending, new work opportunities – the list goes on. And in light of those changes, I decided it might be as good a time as any to add another major change into the mix. However, I wanted it to be more about me, so I did a bit of investigation on an organization named “Locks of Love.” For those of you unfamiliar with it, this fantastic non-profit organization provides hairpieces to children who are suffering with long-term hair loss due to cancer or other illness. They require a donation of 10″ of hair to use in making these wigs, and many people (often times children) grow their hair out to donate to this worthy cause. I decided that my “wedding hair” should go to good use.

You know, change is good. I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off my back – literally.

Over two years ago, I found myself at a crossroads of sorts. Continue down the current path, or head towards something new & bold. Faced with my typical indecision, I did nothing which, of course, we all know is a choice in itself. So I suppose I CHOSE to do nothing. And it continued.

After a while, I got used to it. Little by little, day by day…it was so slight that I didn’t even notice it until looking back months later. And now, two and 1/2 years later, it’s reached the breaking point.

I’m still indecisive, but I think it’s time for a change. Something new. Something bolder. Taking action is empowering, they say, so I’m acting. Tomorrow, 9am.

Things are changing around here – so check back. You’ll get the full scoop then.

I call it a “Bold Move.”

Others have named it a “Grand Gesture.”

Whatever its moniker, I suspect most girls have this concept in their head about the seemingly life-changing event that leads to the happy ending. It’s the Lloyd Dobler of romanticism, the latter days “In Your Eyes”, Boombox-Over-the-Head pledge of unabashed adoration. In short, it’s what we’re waiting for.

Though Lloyd Dobler has set the bar, can anyone rise to meet it? Or has pop culture yet again caused us girls to have unrealistic expectations, leading to sure disillusionment?

I may be going out on a limb, but I don’t think the concept is that faulty. Granted, years have passed since women actively had dance cards, were wooed by flowers and candy, or had “gentleman callers.” Whether you approve of it or not, today’s woman has been known to call a man she is interested in, has asked someone on a date (and paid!), and has probably even initiated intimacy. No longer the passive wallflowers of days gone by, today’s woman is confident in herself and empowered. But, in the process of enlightenment, have we made romance antiquated?

I, for one, certainly hope not. And while we can’t honestly expect Peter Gabriel crooning out of a tape deck while our suitor stands in the rain, it shouldn’t be too much to ask, to quote the song, to “try a little tenderness.” Guys – I promise, you can handle it.

True, I’m a romantic, and at times have even admitted to wearing my heart on my sleeve. And while I’ve done all of the events listed above, I still can’t help myself but long for the day when a love letter arrives in my mailbox, a gift of flowers are delivered “just because” or, when faced with a turning point in a relationship, I’m the recipient of a bold move.

Because sometimes, all it takes is a few words to make a grand gesture.

Remember those days? When bedtimes were arbitrary, when hangovers were moderate, when there was no such thing as having to “rally”? Remember when UDI (Unidentified Drinking Injuries) were always met with a laugh, not sympathy? The days when going out before 10pm was considered a social faux pas?

Aah yes. College days and the subsequent aftermath. Where have ye gone?

Instead, we head out directly after work because we know if we sit on our couch, we’ll lose all motivation to do anything but just that. Instead of winking, our facial action of late has become yawning, a clear indication to everyone around that we do, in fact, now have a bedtime, and we’re surpassing it. What has happened to the girls & guys of yesteryear, raving and raging into the wee hours of the morn, catching only a few winks – even on a proverbial “school night”? Could it be true? Have we hit that age?

Have we become old?

Apparently.

It’s that time again – the Debates are on tonight, and there’s nothing more fun than getting inebriated courtesy of our two candidates. I’ve found a few versions of these on the web, but think that the one below (created by taking the best of the ones I saw online) far surpasses the others. Thus, I present you with:

The Official Presidential Debate Drinking Game

Starring:
George W. Bush: He’s standing up in this picture

Take a sip of your drink if:

• Bush snickers inappropriately
• Bush says “terror”
• Bush talks about the coalition of the willing
• Bush’s eyebrows move as if independent of his face.
• Bush says “nuc-u-lar”
• Bush refers to a “pre 9/11 mind-set”
• Bush says “evildoer”
• Bush uses “Saddam” and “al Qaeda” in the same sentence
• Bush talks about “turning the corner”
• Bush brings up the “Global Test” that Kerry mentioned in the last debate
• Bush says “Wrong War, Wrong Time”
• Bush mentions the word “safer”
• Bush makes up a word
• Bush mentions Crawford,TX

John Kerry: Proud owner of “Sure” deodorant

Take one sip of your drink if:

• Kerry points his finger in clearly rehearsed indignation
• Kerry talks about help from our allies
• Kerry says “W stands for Wrong”
• Kerry begins a sentence with “The truth is…”
• Kerry brings up his Purple Hearts
• Kerry brings up Bush’s “Mission Accomplished” moment
• Kerry mentions Bush wants to reinstate the draft
• Kerry rolls his eyes
• Kerry refers to the UN
• You see Kerry’s face visibly sag.

Take two sips of your drink if:

• Either candidate is warned that his time is running low
• Either candidate talks past their time limit
• Either candidate says, “Jim, I’m glad you asked that question”
• Either candidate uses the term “flip flopped”
• Either candidate mentions Bush’s National Guard service
• Either candidate talks about “letting the terrorists win”
• Either candidate mentions “Axis of Evil”, “North Korea”, “Saddam Hussein”, “Freedom”, or “The American People”
• Either candidate mentions blogs or their URL
• Either candidate looks at the wrong camera
• Either candidate refers to an “ordinary American”

Finish Your Glass If:

• Anyone in the audience gets dragged out of the auditorium
• Anyone in the audience gets off an unscripted question
• Bush mispronounces any word or name
• Anyone says “Osama bin Hidin'”
• Anyone uses a sports metaphor
• Anyone attempts to speak Spanish to pander to Latinos

Do a Shot If:

• Bush mentions the deficit
• Bush accuses Kerry of being “French on terrorism”
• Kerry accuses Bush of being a pansy for avoiding Vietnam
• Bush admits he made a mistake (“miscalculation” counts)
• Ralph Nader shows up insisting on airtime

Finish the Bottle If:

• Anyone challenges anyone to a duel
• The moderator rips off his mask to reveal his true identity is Karl Rove
• Kerry sweats off his fake tan or uses the word “lock-box”
• Bush calls John Edwards “the Breck girl” or mentions “weapons of mass destruction-related program activities”

“It’s easier to leave than to be left behind.”

It keeps replaying in my head, over and over, the astute quote from the new REM song, “Leaving New York.” The words reverberate in my head, and it’s not just the catchy nature of the tune; it’s the harsh acceptance of their reality.

I don’t know what to do.

I’m torn between being the person I want to be and being the person I am. I’m torn between the advice I give others and the very same advice I ignore when it comes to myself and my actions. I’m living in a world where I’m unsure of myself, wishing I was able to will my life into what I want it to be, wishing I was able to finally be honest with myself and with those I love, telling them how much more I deserve and how their actions really affect me. Instead, I remain quiet and wonder what it will take, be it an abundance of alcohol or an epiphany of frustration, to finally tell the truth. Instead, I want to run away. I want to leave.

It’s quiet now, and what it brings is everything…
Comes calling back a brilliant night, I’m still awake
I looked ahead I’m sure I saw you there
You don’t need me to tell you now, that nothing can compare
You might have laughed if I told you
You might have hidden the frown
You might have succeeded in changing me
I might have been turned around
It’s easier to leave than to be left behind
Leaving was never my proud

The Junior League of Atlanta offers classes for people to “Find Your Niche.” Options include book clubs, Bunko clubs, and apparently the newest fad amongst stay-at-home Moms who have too much time on their hands, scrapbooking. The premise is that you will make better friends, be better Junior League members, if you find yourself enjoying time with like-minded people. While the premise is somewhat cheezy, I can relate to searching for a niche.

I have been writing on this website for three years and four months, to the day. I have written 301 (well, 302 if you count this) articles on this site alone, with countless others on sites like Citysearch or sarahhatter.com (during a guest posting stint) and for two+ years on SheSheMe. That adds up to a LOT OF WRITING, about a LOT of different topics.

In fact, as I was just preparing some of my clips to send out for possible freelance work, I noticed that there are too many to fit in the snazz-matazz folder that I had printed to look all professional-like. Between the restaurant reviews (the best job in the world, one I miss each and every day as I have to PAY FOR MY MEAL like common folk) and the Wednesday Wisdoms and the little articles o’ fun that I have here, it hit me.

I need a niche.

I’ve been meaning to write a book now for, say, 19 years? (Well, if you count “The Teddy Bear Mysteries” that I started in a blank book purchased by my loving parents at my favorite event of the year, the Scholastic Book Fair.) Seriously, though, I’ve been wanting to write a book since college. I’m faced with a quandary of genre…do I write about what I know, about being a twenty-something single gal faced with the harsh reality of dating winners, losers, and gay anorexics (i.e., most of what I have on this site, and what a great title that would be!) or do I write what I know I have in me, a more serious, poignant novel that I’m not quite ready to experience?

I firmly believe that you have to write what you know, and to that end, I’m leaning towards the former. I’ve never had a child. I’ve never had a husband. I’ve never had a lot of those ‘real’ experiences that writers like Anna Quindlen and Alice Sebold and other favorites of mine talk about in such detail, a trait earned by years of living and experiencing and learning. I feel like I would be a fraud if I tried to discuss those things without any first-hand experiences.

Then there’s the option of somewhere in between – Anna Maxted is a good example of this, as she writes lighthearted books that captivate the reader but always have something not-so-flighty about them, a lyrical way to weave the serious with the comic 20-something lit that has finally hit its niche here in the US. (I could extole the virtues of many of the British authors who long ago realized this genre needed something other than John Grisham, supermarket romance novels, or Joan Collins, but I’ll leave that to another post.) Anyway, that “Holly Go Lightly” meets “Felicity” type of book might work for me. At least it’s a thought.

And yet, there’s something that I hadn’t considered until today, another whole genre that I could write about because I DO know about it. Non-fiction, in the Cynthia Rowley & Ilene Rosenzweig “Swell”-esque writing, is right up my proverbial alley. I have TONS of articles already written about “Wediquette” and the like, cheeky little articles that are fun AND functional.

VOILA! I think I’ve found my niche.

Now I only need to find an agent*…

* If you know of any, please, I beg of you, send ’em my way. A niche without an agent is like, well, an Aubrey without a publishing contract.