An often quoted but more often wrong blanket generalization is that both guys and girls only want one thing — just the one thing is different. For girls, they want the ring on the finger (commitment) and for guys? Well, you know what I’m getting at.

Commitment is wonderful (I hear). Knowing that you’ve got that special someone there for you, through thick and thin, through too many Jaeger shots and too many burritos, through job abhorrance to the excitement of a new house…well, that’s amazing. The trust, the care, the sense of constant companionship that is inherent (or at least should be) in a committed relationship is at the same time subconsciously soothing and startlingly sincere. It’s a gift.

Yet there comes a time when commitment isn’t at the top of our female forefronts and something else takes precedence. No, we’ve not yet crossed the bridge to omni-porn-fantasyland that comes with being a guy, but we do, at times, long for something else. To this I say “Screw Commitment, give me Co-Smit-ment.”

Yes, Co-Smit-ment, the state of being in which two people are hopelessly and undeniably smitten with each other such that their name pops up in every sentence. As in “Actually, Professor, I disagree with your theory of relativity, and speaking of relative, my snooky Jo-Jo’s most eccentric relative is his Uncle Pete.”) Co-Smit-ment involves the stomach butterflies, the down-low tingles upon thinking of your last encounter and the obsessive inclusion of your hope-to-be sig-others name in unrelated conversation. It involves dreams where they pop up in strange places (such as the house on the new series of the Real World), Co-Smit-ment-Co-Phone-Calls (when the phone rings and you were just about to call them), and a whole lot of other seemingly wus-making behaviour that you all know about but refuse to admit.

This is the feeling of your first crush — be it the unattainable class hunk who dated a new girl at every middle school dance or the first boy you kissed, it’s that feeling that you can do anything, that all is possible, and that love notes passed between classes are more precious than anything. It’s the late-night phone calls that go on forever, the cards in the mail (just because), the public admittance of your cheezy, sappy, and most embarrassing quasi-girl/boy friend behaviours because, well, it just happens. It’s the late 80’s mix tapes that took you an entire evening to get JUST RIGHT, the late 90’s mix CD’s that burned while you watched the season finale of Friends, and the way one of those old songs can still evoke a distant tingle of days gone by.

The best part of Co-Smit-ment is that it’s the promise of the future, of lasting romance that can still make you blush even into your old age, the look in your grandparents’ eyes when they reminisce about the past, holding their partner’s time-aged hand in their own. It’s the fact that butterflies are always possible, and may actually be right around the corner. It’s seeing yourself in another’s eyes and for once, being happy with what you see. It’s magic.

So, to all of you who are lucky enough to be in Co-Smit-ment, congratulations. I will get there one day, I promise. Until then, I’ll settle for nothing less.

Happy Wednesday,


I do…today’s MUST do?

[BIG FAT DISCLAIMER…This doesn’t represent my currently happily married friends, family, and the like. Your weddings rocked. You did it for the right reasons. I’m just wondering about everyone else…]

In the world of fashion, as in life, trends come and go. Last season’s Burberry is this year’s overstated plaid. Yes, even Seven jeans will lose their appeal as the next overpriced denim-designer comes into his own. Yet the latest trend that I’m seeing doesn’t involve cotton, cashmere, or even leather. It centers around one little bauble that all the gals are dying to have…the engagement ring.

In our parents’ generation, couples tied the knot quite early — women at the ripe old age of 25 should have just given up and invested in some knitting needles and a rocking chair, as old maids they were destined to become. As times changed, however, the impending nuptials got pushed back a bit, and society lightened the stigma attached to an unmarried woman by quite a few years. The 80’s and 90’s beckoned in the new powerwomen, unmarried, unrelenting, and unwavering in their belief that they could get ahead — and even start a family — sans hubby. Murphy Brown, Ally McBeal and the like, we were motivated by role models who gently nudged us to wait a little longer before tying the knot. The inundation of divorce statistics only strengthened this belief, as some reports had over 60% of marriages ending in divorce. Suddenly, single was en vogue.

These days, however, I see a new pattern arising, with the new haute couture item of the moment not the Balenciaga bag or the Marc Jacobs coat, but a solitaire-y item of jewelry — namely, the engagement ring. Hotter than a Prada on the side streets of NYC, us twirties are vying for our ‘rock’ like never before. As we see our friends take the plunge to the “other” side and the adage of imitation and flattery, we’re putting a lot of feathers in a lot of caps by rushing to the alter ourselves. Apparently, “I Do” is the new MUST do.

Guilty myself of ogling the gal in the next cubicle’s shiny bauble o’ brightness, I am still somewhat surprised by the number of girls I find getting engaged. Gone, it seems, are the days of heeding at least my Mom’s advice to wait until we’re older, since couples who get married after age 30 have a lesser chance of divorce than those under that magical age. Trust in love, I do, but hesitant I am nonetheless. In a perfect world, Prince Charming will come into our lives when we’re ready, when he’s ready, willing to do his part in the 2.5 kids and SUV plan we’ve been envisioning for the last 10-ish years. Yet sadly, friends not much older than I are starting to divorce, and forever after is developing a sour ring to it.

I’m sure that society has a role in this new Feminine Mystique — unlike the book with the same name, the resurgance of women looking to marry young as a way of satisfaction seems to be on the upswing. Fulfillment is being reassociated with our personal lives and our families, not just our jobs. We’re overwhelmed by images of lavish weddings in nearly every publication — even your local newspaper carries notices about John and Jane Doe happily tying the knot, riding into the sunset with the well-wishes of their family and friends to follow. Yet I’m afraid too often, we’re so obsessed with the IDEA of marriage that the very concept itself — the FOREVER unity of two people — gets lost in the bustle of bows and the trains of satin. We’re so concerned with one-upping our closest of friends with tales of 12-piece orchestras, $75 a head meals that don’t begin to leave hunger at bay and open bars overflowing with fountains of only the finest champagne that we forget why we’re really here.

In our attempts to emulate the celebrity wedding of the day, we may be overlooking the fact that marriage is more than a wedding. It’s more than a perfect, emerald cut 1.5 ct. ring set in platinum with cut and clarity to boot. It’s more than the promise of a house and promise of the forever after. It’s more than a reception, full to the gills of people you know and many you don’t, all there to dance and delight in your happiness while they feast on your Colin Cowie-ized Caviar. When you say “For better or for worse,” you need to be prepared for the worse, and for the worst. There are fights. There are compromises. There are challenges that you can’t even begin to touch upon as a singleton or even in a committed relationship. Suddenly, the annoying habit that his Mom has of calling every day is now the annoying habit of your MOTHER-IN-LAW. When you’re taking the ring and perhaps even taking the name, don’t forget that you’re taking the family and all that comes with it.

This is not to put anyone off on marriage by any means…I, too, anxiously await the day when in glorious bliss, pomp and circumstance, satin and sanctimony, my own Prince Charming and I will take that leap into the land of coupledom. I want it all just like you do, but don’t think I’m ready nor, to quote U2, have I found what I’m looking for. Right now, when it comes down to it, I want the ring, the house, the man, and the wedding, and until I’m ready for all that marriage is and may be, I’ve got my house. Have a great ring too. The man? Hell, honey, I’ve got a couple. And the wedding? I can throw one hell of a party, and while there won’t be caviar, I’ll double up on the crudites and throw on Darren’s Dance Grooves. A better un-reception has never been…

Happy post-Labor day, nearly-mid-week Tuesdayness,



There’s something to be said for happenstance. Best laid plans often go awry, sending our pre-set expectations into the great void of chance and adventure and leaving us often somewhere we didn’t want to be. Yet sometimes, it’s those occasions that can change your life.

True, I’ve touched upon this subject before, questioning our role in our future and wondering who is the true determiner of our destiny. Is the road less traveled the one we were intended to be on anyway? Is fate folly, and do we really have any control over our own futures?

At this venture, I’d say “sometimes.” After many times heeding my Mom’s advice about going to a party that I didn’t want to, to “go anyway, [as] you always have a good time when you least expect it,” only to be disappointed and frustrated at wherever I was that I didn’t want to be at anyway, I was cynical. But now? I think she may have been on to something.

A planner at heart, I can resolutely say that my weekends are booked through October, and any glitch, change, or severe alteration in my plans sends my Type-A tail in a residual tailspin. Discrepancies from my plan brings me stress and aggrivation, leaving me with a scoul on my face and some time to fill.

Take this weekend, for instance. Plans were set, dates were planned, details were decided. Then an unexpected — and unwelcome — change sent me back to the drawing board. Irritated? Of course. Frustrated? You don’t know the half of it. Perfect? Amazingly, unknowingly, yes. Magical. All that I wanted and more. Without going into too much detail, it has made me think that my Mom knew what she was talking about. My weekend ended up working out better than I could ever plan myself, with surprises around every corner, teaching me that perhaps I should plan less and just live more.

Thanks, Mom, for your good advice. From now on, I’ll live in the moment instead of trying to portray the moment as I’d envsioned it. I’ll roll wih the punches, take life how it is dealt, and welcome the unexpected. It sure worked out this time…

Hope you had a great weekend as well,


Random Thoughts

Am trying to write something quick for the site, since I’ve finally got my house pictures up here, and of course, Sebastian has chosen this second to perch himself precariousy on my lap and upper arms, making typing a difficult chore. That said, at least it gave me something to write about, since my mind is full of one of a thousand different things. From the Chic Market in Raleigh next week to my upcoming beach trip(s), to the fact that I think my boss is permanently MIA leaving me with the most difficult people in the world to quasi-manage (who laugh at me when I give them direction and tell me I don’t understand what the nature of the project is), to the fact that my bank account holds somewhere near $450 for the rest of the month (Ramen noodles, anyone?) to my bad dreams I’ve been having lately to the sense of frustration about not being a ‘real’ writer (thus in a position that pays me to write anything than grievance documentation emails), it’s been a crazy few weeks. You’ll forgive me if I ramble, but these are a few things I’ve had on my mind:

1. Pet Psychic, on Animal Planet. Have you seen this show? It’s a hoot, plain and simple. The woman, whose English accent I’m convinced is fake, talks to animals both alive and ones who are in the ‘doghouse and litterbox in the sky’. A modern day Dr. Doolittle, only without Eddie Murphy and that funny guinea pig.

2. Touch up paint. Turns out that the paint the former owners left me is too white to match with the current white. Sadly, found this out after doing a few touch-ups in the evening. Sadder still that my entire upstairs and hallway leading up there is white. Anyone want to help me paint?

3. Football Games. Yes, my fav. season is starting again so be ready for my weekly updates on Drew (and Danny and anyone else that I may or may not have kissed at one point in my life or may or may not have been my prom date) success(es.) I just know they’ll be many to come.

4. Cooking. I actually sort of like this now. I made my friend Jessica’s yummy Yogurt Curry chicken the other day, and I must say, I did good. Nigella Bites I’m not, but Aubrey Cooks has a ring to it.

5. Letter-writing. For those of you who have come to expect a letter from me on a semi-regular basis, I promise I’ll start that again. Promise. As soon as my house is painted, bills are paid, cats are fed, house is cleaned, work is tolerated (and jumping out the window is avoided), boys are kissed, beach trips are had, Mom’s are taught that NO, I am NOT watching Regis and Kelly, I am at work, coworkers are reprimanded, Chic Markets are big successes, canvas is gessoed, and, most importantly, toenails are painted, I’ll get right on that.

I know you’ll be waiting by the mailbox.

Until then, have a great weekend and smooches all around (especially to Nick…sorry for missing your bday, baby. Card is on its way!)


Aubrey Makes a List

I love lists.

I love putting things on them, seeing where I stand, and even adding items that I know I’m going to do just to experience the sheer, Type-A pleasure of checking them off as ‘done’.

The advent of the Palm Pilot and ‘To-Do Lists’ has taken away from this joy…clicking a box somehow just isn’t the same as putting pen on paper and CHECK! It’s done. Thus my life — and desk — is composed of a bevy of these lists…from the daily to-do’s to the ongoing “Things I Will Do in my 25th Year” checklist, it’s a way to keep me on track. Keep me straight. Keep me from going insane when my day is pathetically and mind-numbingly tasked with stapling and filing.

Thus, for this essay, Aubrey makes a list:

Possible reasons why my pants are magically too big
1. God has finally decided to turn me into a southerner, big boobs, skinny legs and all.
2. Genetic mistake has finally been corrected as it is statistically impossible to have a Dad who is 6’1″ and 145 lbs and have legs anything else than toothpicks.
3. By a cruel twist of fate, not working out has made my muscles atrophy so much that size 4’s are again within reach (if this is the case, consider my gym membership cancelled effective immediately.)

Songs I would play at my wedding
1. In Your Eyes (Peter Gabriel) I’m still a sucker for Lloyd Dobler.
2. Into the Mystic (Van Morrison) I like to think I have a gypsy soul when, in fact, I’m just odd.
3. Anything and everything by Neil Diamond and Babs Streisand. Gotta get back to my roots, yo.

Things that make me declare that an inebriation proclamation was in order
1. Slow dancing to Love Bites on the roof of Hooters in Cleveland with the bartender, just 6 hours before the imminent trip to the police station (i.e., arrest) 2. Fat Tuesday (Bran, you know what I’m talkin’ ’bout)
3. Coronet Club, featuring Moi!

Regrets that possibly had no consequence on the future of me and my life but are still regrets for one reason or another
1. Not dating Ethan Foster in 3rd grade
2. Not getting my picture taken for my Senior Yearbook in college and listening when B. Kigs said that all appointments were filled. (You’re goin’ down, sucka, when you get yo’ ass back on this playing field!)
3. Not playing soccer at any stage in my life, despite my Mom claiming that I didn’t want to. (Heresy, I tell you!)

Inventions that would one-day make me a million
1. A phone with a Breathalyzer on it, causing it to turn off permanently if past the BAL (booty-call alcohol limit)
2. A pill that would prevent NDR (Nervous Drinking Response: The phenomenon that happens when suddenly running into an ex, a crush, a nemesis and/or any and all persons that make you get quickly, irrefutably, tragically drunk. Think college, He’s Not Here, the return of a mac that we all know and most, except for me, think is a dork and/or call by the name of Lardass.)
3. A faucet converter that would quickly, easily and cheaply turn plain tap water into Diet Coke and Corona Light. (Just not combined.)

Strange dreams that make me think I do need therapy after all
1. My mom giving birth to an alien child, complete with the mind of a grown man, the body of a 7 year old, but strangely only 4 years old. He confirmed it…he was an alien baby.
2. A wild baboon chasing me around my house in Ohio, getting locked in the basement, and trying to eat my cats who somehow turned into a piece of pizza. (Thankfully untrue in real life)
3. Being back in Pi Phi rush and finding out that the love of my life was getting married. (I think I may need to get over him one of these days…)

Top three things I’m thinking right this second
1. If he is on the phone, whispering about me and something I supposably did, I’ll show that caddy what happens when they mess with nice girls from Ohio.
2. I wish I had gelato to get rid of the taste of cheap & greasy chinese that is a perma-flavor in my mouth. (Serves me right for a $5 lunch.)
3. When, oh when, will I be a full-time writer who can do things like get up past 6am and work from my bed?

Reasons that living alone is far preferable to living with others (future live-in boyfriends notwithstanding)
1. You can cook naked.
2. You can walk around the house naked
3. You can talk on the phone, in the middle of the day, in the kitchen, booty-ass-buck nekked. (THE FREEDOM!)

Top Three States where I have dated, am dating, wish I was dating boys/guys/men:
1. North Cakkalakky
2. Ohio
3. California (Yes, that’s you, Heath Ledger. Come and get me…)

Number One state devoid of any and all male-type human of the straight, nice, and good-looking nature who I would like to date and who would like to date me back and who would not, by any means, ask my friends if they would date him if they were single:
1. Georgia Places to NOT pick up your significant other 1. Hole in the Wall (Atlanta, GA)
2. Any and all Amaco station (coastal towns in the US of A)
3. Jail

Love, Redoux

Love, and like, and lust…they’re funny things.

We hear the adages…you’ll find it when you’re not looking for it. There’s another fish in the sea. It will happen when you least expect it to.

Stories from our happily committed–or happily married–friends seem to play into this train of thought. They met by happenstance. A random, twist of fate led her to him or him to her and bam! The rest was history. Timing and location are everything, I believe, but if so, then is there just one person out there for everyone?

Subscribing to the needle in a haystack odds, and banking our romantic future on it, seems like Russian roulette. Trust in God, trust in destiny, trust in fate.

We grow up inundated with these messages, in our movies, our novels, even our sappy Kleenex commercials. You, they say, will one day find the one for you and be happy. You’ll be swept off your feet, you’ll be wined and dined, and though you’ll have a fight or two, you’ll sink into happy bliss as the credits play and the sun sets over the horizon. Knight in shining armor and happily ever after. What I want to know, though, is when are we not looking?

Granted, we find ourselves wrapped up in one thing or another at various times in our lives, our jobs, our friends, our houses, but I pose that for most of us, in the back of our heads, our subconscious is nudging us to think “could he be the one”? Illogical, I know, but as you’re standing in the grocery store line checking out not only your groceries but the dark-haired hunk ahead of you, a fleeting thought causes you to wonder how funny it would be if you met your future sig-other at Kroeger.

This is not to say we’re fixated on it. Quite the contrary. I, personally, am not ready to commit to one person I know but now and again, I have to wonder. One of these days I will be ready, and what happens then? Do I invest in personalized tees that announce my desire to settle down? A business card to pass out at bars stating my thoughts of my 2.5 kids and overpriced SUV’s in the driveway? If I’m not looking now and I’m not finding it, when I AM looking, will I find it?

They say that you’ll know. Somehow, inexplicably, you will have an electric charge with that person and magically, being with them is the most important thing. Chemistry or luck or a few too many cocktails, but eventually, we supposably all find our match.

Should we keep the “maybes” around while we mature? A virtual little black book of people that COULD fit the bill when we decide we’re ready? Do guys do this? Should girls?

To quote my pal Lloyd Dobler from Say Anything, “I don’t know. But I know that I don’t know.” What I do know, however, is that it takes two people to make–and keep–a relationship, and until then, sweetheart, you’re on your own. Take 2 boxes of Kleenex and DON’T call him in the morning.


I’m in love.

I doubted it would happen, at least not like this. I always had a picture in my mind of me, ecstatic, walking around in that haze that, from television, we know as “true love.” When you get that glazed look in your eye, that silly grin on your face, and people stop you and wonder just what it is that has happened that makes you so serene. So content. So, dare I say it? Happy.

And yet here I am, doing the same thing myself.

I can’t seem to stop myself from talking about the object of my affection, surely to my friends’ and coworkers’ annoyance. My mind is occupied with new, fun ideas that all revolve around this new adoration, and already I’ve made sacrifices I didn’t think I’d ever make and spent money galore without a second thought. All in the name of love.

I feel like a new person at times…my stress over the various issues in my life seem somewhat petty. These days, everything is taking a back seat to mi amore.

And to believe it’s been less than two weeks. They say you fall fast, and heck, I believe it. I sleep better at night, a silly grin on my face, and think that finally, after all this time, I may just settle down. I think this is The One. I’m happy, at peace, complete.

I can’t wait for you all to share in my joy, and want to introduce you to this new object of affection.

Just come on over and see it…after all, I’m in love with my new house…

Wishing you a wonderful week and an open invitation to visit,


PS: Pictures to come…have to finish cleaning up and then you’ll be inundated with more photos than you ever wanted to see, I promise…

Tryin’ this again…

This is the third-ish
iteration of my site, and I cautiously say that I think it’s getting better with time. I’ve changed the look (a few times), I’ve changed the navigation, and now, I’m changing the way it works. Here’s the deal.

I’m a writer. I write. I write good things, I write not-so-good things, and now and again I get to hear what you think about it. The suggestions, the compliments, the criticisms…they’re much appreciated and much needed. There’s a balance that goes on for us writers, weighing our words against our audience, writing for ourselves and yet writing for others. It can be a struggle at times, especially when maintaining the truth and honesty that is imperative to convey within our writing with the anticipation of the reaction from our known audience. For instance, I knew that the piece I wrote on “I Do being the next Must-do” was going to ruffle a few feathers. (Thus the disclaimer.) Yet it is what I feel and it would be sacrificing my own thoughts to not write with honesty. So I try, hopefully somewhat successfully, to manage this balance in my writings.

But it’s not all about me. You, the audience, have your own views and your own takes on what I say. And I want, I need, to hear these. So I’m opening this up for you, for you to state your ideas and refute or rebut what I write, if you feel like it. I want your comments, I want your ideas, and I want you to say
that you think I’m out of my mind because, hey, it happens.

Here’s how it works. You read what I write. You like? You dislike? You question? You critique? Yes. Yes, yes, and another yes. So you write yourself — you let me know how the article is taken, what it invokes (which, I hope, is something) and you post it here.

So without further ado, let’s begin.

Summer Nights

This past weekend, I was talking with a friend at dusk, that magical time when the stars seem to gently appear into the evening sky, small dots of light getting brighter as the rest of the sky darkens. Made me think about summers past and how grateful I am for the memories that I made in my youth.

I remember those summer nights…lying on my back in my driveway, staring at the sky with friends. How the evening would still be muggy and the driveway underneath us would be resonating with a residual heat, a lasting memory of the warmth of the day. We would spend these sundown hours walking, talking –about things that seemed so important. Our innocence and our youth apparent in our conversations, with our worries consisting of who kissed who and our classes for the next school year.We inherently knew that we were no longer children, but not yet ready for the adulthood that beckoned on the forefront.

We would lie there, the smell of the freshly cut grass diced with evening dew, the sound of sprinklers in the background, witnessing the “little” kids shrieking with glee upon the capture of a lightning bug.

These were Fourth of July picnics and pool party nights, these were exciting times in that they were just another evening. We reveled in our time off from school, spending it riding our bikes, laughing with each other, and contemplating the conundrums of the universe which included the then-tragedies of breakups and makeups, the center of our 7th grade world. We were safe, we were happy, we had all we could want and need.

I long to recapture this innocence, this overwhelming feeling of delight in the small things, the easy comfortability we had with our friends, and the anticipation of times to come. I think about these times, when a shooting star could make our evening, and know that at least for a few short hours, all was right in the world.

Wishing you all many magical summer nights to come,


Give it to me NOW!

You know you did it. I did it too.

Your next door neighbor? Yep. He did it.

Your parents did it, your aunts and uncles did it, hell, even your grandparents at one point did it.

Me? I still do it. Often, with vim, vigor, and passion. Gusto, you might say.

I did it, I do it, and I don’t plan on stopping any time soon. My own personal guilty pleasure, but it gets me where I want, where I need, to go.

I do it a lot, actually. In private, in public, wherever and whenever the mood strikes me. Ashamed? Never.

It’s a way of life for some people, those lucky souls that don’t need to do it to get what they want.
I, on the other hand, prefer to lay it all out there on the line.
Never one for subtlety, I find it better to put your cards, and your needs, on the table, and then just go for it.

So here I go…I’m going to do it.

I’m going to write my birthday wish list. (What did you THINK I was talking about?)

Rounding the corner in just over a week to the quarter-of-a-century mark, I find myself not needing very much. And I feel very grateful for that. I’ve got wonderful friends, an amazing family, a job (note the lack of the adjective there), a roof over my head and food (or something processed-like-it) in my refrigerator. Yes, I still long for this and that…a week’s vacation or a day at the Spa, a laptop or a necklace, but do I need them?

Naah. I can live without a new beach hat (despite how cute it is!), can go another day without the new, gardenia-infused Kate Spade perfume, and while I would love some new furniture for my new house, I can definitely get by with what I have.

Daisies? Divine.
Tulips? Even better.
Much loved, but, in all honesty, not all needed.

My Mom always told me that I needed to learn my “druthers”. Whether I would rather [druther!] have a new lego set or a beach ball, a blow-pop or a pack of gum.

Years later, I think I finally get it.

I would love to have the material things, the knickknacks that I so easily tend to accumulate or the pair of shoes that will MAKE the outfit, but in the long run, I think I would rather have the little surprises. They mean more and take up much less space. (Very important for one who is moving for the fifth time in two years!)

So my wish list goes like this:

1. I wish for a day full of sunshine at the beach, nary a care in the world except the proper application of sunscreen and the insurance that I will have a full cooler of beverages to my right.
2. I wish for one of those perfect fall football days at UNC, where you run into people you haven’t seen in years while chanting the Tar Heel fight song or over a Blue Cup. (Or, even better, both at one time!)
3. I wish for one brutally cold day where you swear, once and for all, you are packing it all up and moving to the Caribbean.
4. I wish for one afternoon Spring rainstorm where laying in bed, either alone or with someone you love, is really all you want to do.
5. I wish for a day of laughter, an afternoon of smiles, a night of passion. (Sorry, had to throw that in! You know you do too!)
6. I wish for a candlelit dinner where you are so happy that you can’t get that goofy grin off of your face.
7. I wish for unexpected little treats, like a check in the mail or when they undercharge you for your McD’s french fries.
8. I wish for safety and security, good health and true happiness for those whom I love. I know it sounds trite, but when these things are threatened or questioned, you realize that they are, above all else, all that matters.
9. I wish for a favorite song to come on the radio when I’m feeling sad, instantly putting a smile on my face.
10. I wish for the future, the realization of my dreams, getting what I want and knowing that NOT getting what I want was better in the long run.
11. I wish for the impossible…the discovery of an on-tune singing voice or a supermodel skinny butt
12. I wish for the improbible…the discovery of ME as the next famous writer/singer/model/actress/celebrity in the “non-I-Married-a-Millionaire” sort of way.
13. I wish for the preposterous…psychic powers to tell when someone’s not telling me the truth or the foreknowledge of the winning lottery numbers, the ability to go back in time and tell people those great comeback lines that I always come up with later that evening when it’s too late, the power to somehow ‘become’ Gwynneth Paltrow, at least for a day.
14. I wish for a day when I am just, plain and simple, happy with what I have, with who I am, and with what I’ve become.
15. I wish for a year, a decade, a lifetime of love and laughter.

The simple things, I tell you, it’s the simple things that count.

But hey, if you want to surprise me with a Saab Convertible, who am I to complain?!?!