I fear a fever.

BIEBER fever that is.

This is


and we decided that we wanted to attend the Today show's Summer Concert Series this last Friday. The guest:

Bieber.

We figured we should aim to wake up around 3:30 am if we wanted to get a semi-good spot. But we were so wrong. Parents had been in line since eight the previous morning. What a joke!



We managed to reach the front line of the back barricade (something I think we were both proud of)....but what intense fans! The eight to fifteen year-olds surrounding us were the rowdiest crowd I've ever been around, enough to take me (a closet fan) into survival-of-the-fittest mode. I'm ashamed of the things I said to these children.


"Hey you know what, life isn't fair, kid. Get over it!"

"Ya, ya! You think staying up all night in this line is painful?! Try going through college finals week, you punk."

"Girlfriend, JB isn't going to think your fanatic screaming is attractive. Why don't you make it pleasant for someone who has more of a chance."


(Okay....so I didn't really say that last one. But I was thinking it.)

I'm a bit ashamed. I could have crushed these delicate hearts' dreams....and I of all people should recall my own tween days of Aaron Carter obsession.



I suppose I should warn not to let my smile fool you?

The haps.

So. Tired.

I've been parading around the city like it's going out of style.
(As if this place were to EVER go out of style.....the fashion and glamour here is ridiculous.)





Double-decker bus tour: Check.




Eat a hot-dog at Coney Island (yes, the famous Nathan's hot-dog that hosts the 4th of July eating contest!): Oh ya.




See Lady Liberty: You guessed it.




Walk around till my feet could fall off: I don't care--I'm in New York (freaking) City.




Visit Staten Island: So fun.




Experience the nightlife: Been there, done that.




Central Park: What a beauty.
(Really, the serenity you can find there on a sunny afternoon is unreal in a city so busy. If I were a writer, a painter, a poet, or any other artistic prodigy, I would use it as an inspiration.)





Times Square: Too much to even fathom. It will take 5467 trips to truly experience it all.



The art: I'm in LOVE.

There is SO much to see and experience.

I'm trying not to overlook all the little details and hidden charm....and reminding myself of how fortunate and blessed I am to have the life and opportunities that I do. A homeless woman on the subway really hit that home with me. (She was pretending to talk on the phone to some friend. I wanted to give her my shoes and my dad's dental office number.)

"Let us rise up and be thankful, for if we didn't learn a lot today, at least we learned a little, and if we didn't learn a little, at least we didn't get sick, and if we got sick, at least we didn't die; so, let us all be thankful." - Buddha 

And good night.

THIS girl..

is in the BIG apple for the summer!


I've only been here thirty six hours and I can already testify that the phrase "the city that never sleeps" is no freaking joke.

I can't even begin to describe all the sights, smells, and sounds I've been introduced to. Just an hour ago I was rushed out of my shower and down the forever levels of stairs, into the hot dog/greek stand scented air of 14th Street for a massive fire drill, supposedly aimed to help with the chaos occurring underground ten feet to the west; the subway track couldn't rid itself of the human body it ran over upon entering the station.

Mother, I'm definitely not in Kansas anymore.

This guy made my first day much better, however.
Remember THIS guy?

Eric is a special person in my life that has spent one too many years being away as a hot shot soccer player upstate. Couldn't have picked anyone better to take my first stroll down Times Square or take my first ride on the city's elaborate metro system with.
Well.....James Marsden or George Clooney would have worked too..

But yes, I'm spreading my wings and trying on some new cardigan sweaters.
Who knows, maybe my first day at work tomorrow will be the right fit?

But maybe not.
We'll just have to wait and see!


P.S. So far I've refused to take pictures with my pride of coming off as a non-native city girl....and a little fear of pickpockets. I think I need therapy.
P.P.S. I need a better camera.

The Yellow Cardigan.

Preface. This is an epiphany that has sprouted/been realized/developed after being away from home and on my own in the real, independent college world this past year. (Note: All the opinions included therein are that of myself as an individual and do not necessarily represent the views of blogger.com, my girl scout troop (if I had one..), or the Walker family at large.)

Chapter One. My life and experience in high school was a breeze and a dream. In all honesty, it was in many ways too good to be true. I got nearly everything I could have ever wanted, when I wanted, and how I wanted. Imagine the perfect boyfriend, the extracurricular activities of choice, a generous home/family life, good girlfriends, impressive grades...you get the point. My life was grand.

Chapter Two. I entered the scene at my university thinking all would fall into place as it did before. I'd soon be discovered and again be one of the very best. I'd get the best grades, receive the best scholarships, make it on the Dean's list, yada yada ya. It didn't take long for some rejection to occur, possibly the very first substantial case of rejection I've ever encountered in my nineteen years of life. I tried to shake it off, but it kept coming. I wasn't the smartest, I wasn't the coolest, I wasn't.....you get the point. Enter the under-confident, submissive, self-conscious inflicting depression that I had up to this point, never seen reflected in the mirror. Further, I no longer knew what I wanted or aspired to do. I had no idea what I wanted my plans to be. How life had changed. The future seemed scary; I'd never felt so lost.

Chapter Three. I watched Confessions of a Shopaholic. I know what my mother is saying, "Where are you going with this? As it is you definitely did your fair share of damage on your Discover card..." But this isn't the point. I know Rebecca Bloomwood doesn't seem like the best role-model (I mean come on, she believes her destiny is to shop), but if you look behind her compulsive spending habits, you find a little more depth. I respect her. She found a way of morphing her menial talents and interests into a career (I say menial because mine are definitely menial) by finding muse in a green scarf, the whole time never abandoning her original style, even when trying to make her wrongs right. Catching my drift yet?

Chapter Four. I was shopping on anthropologie.com, in the sweater section to be exact. I came across this little number:




I know, it's adorable. I just wish it was a pretty floral color, perhaps a pale yellow. It's spring after all, and I've been cooped up much too long in drab, snow clothes. Yes, a pastel yellow of this sweater would be somewhat of a nirvana to me.....only they don't offer a pastel yellow. For the expense price of $128.00, I only have the option of the blackest of black, or this grainy white. Enter my epiphany.

Chapter Five. All the people and majors and jobs already out there on the market are like this grainy white sweater. They've been done before and taken. The dreamy yellow cardigan I envision, that could be me. A person, career, and future completely different than the rest. An original like Rebecca Bloomwood, "The girl in the Green Scarf." No more wallowing over the golden days of high school, which in all actuality is the borrowed time spent on Rebecca Bloomwood's credit card. This is the new me, in pursuit of my yellow cardigan.

Why not aspire to be something I haven't seen before?

Why would I want to become what someone already is?

From now on I'm going to see things a little different.

I'm going to dream a little different.

In sum, I'm going to be a little different.

I'm going to be my own big-shot.

P.S. My epilogue includes all the posts to follow, documenting the development and pursuit of the "yellow cardigan". I'm excited for my journey. And I hope you are too.

Some people make the world special just by being in it.

Death leaves a heartache no one can heal.

Love leaves a memory no one can steal.

Thinking of you this weekend, Air.

Xoxo.

Watcha got there, kid?

Receiving mail is so great, especially if it's a package from Mumzie & Daddio.

(And I'm not just saying this so I will receive more at an increased frequency in the future....though I wouldn't complain to that either....i'm just saying.)

Side note: do I use too many ellipses? I've become increasingly aware of how annoying it may be to some people. So for what it's worth, know that I'm working on it, and that I'm sorry for any irritation it may have caused.

(And I may or may not had to just refrain from adding some more, unintentionally of course. It's a habit, what more can I say?)

As always, the Easter Bunny spoiled me like Edward pampers Vivian in Pretty Woman. And lucky for me, the post man didn't refuse service to the poor, lowly college student that I am.....you know, because Rodeo Drive refuses it to her? Not so funny and clever? Okay.  It must have been a tough week; no wit to be found in here at the moment. But moving on.

What's funny is that my mom NEVER allowed me to have a sweet lunch pail like this when I could have really used one, as a major popularity-inducing device in elementary school. Instead, I had to sit at the left outskirt table in the cafeteria with the "almost-popular-but-not-quite-who-instead-have-to-focus-on-their-grades-to-make-up-for-the-fact" girls. But don't think I'm complaining! Sporting the random, plain company promotional lunch bag instead and being a scholar to make up for it, set into motion a life-long pursuit of nerdiness in all my completed years of public schooling, and ultimately got me to where I am now. (Which is where I always wanted to be.) So I guess what I'm trying to say is that Mom (oops, I mean Easter Bunny).....I was rather bitter and embarrassed of my lunch accessory back then, and (or would proper grammar be but?) I thank you a hundred times for your effort in making up for it now. Even if my chances of currently being cool these days are slim to none. Nevertheless, I'll let you know if the lunch box sparks some overdue miracles.

Oh, and new parents, be aware of the significant decision you are making when purchasing your child's lunch pail. I mean it.

P.S. If I wasn't a huge Twilight fan before, I am now.

P.P.S. The forty bucks was another nice, restituting gesture. Seriously.

P.P.P.S. I kind of forgot about the ellipses....so I'm going to have to ask for you to give me another break. I just quit biting my nails! Sheesh, give me a break. I'm taking one bad habit at a time.

P.P.P.P.S. Mom.......

...Really?

That's a lot of P.S.

peace.

Three is the lucky number.

It was Sunday night (yesterday). I have on my raggedy sweats and my hair is pulled back way tight with some obscure bumps and knots woven in on the surface.

I'll spare you some insignificant details but let's just say I definitely am not looking my best when a few of my guy friends burst into my door for visiting hours.

And as if my looks aren't enough to embarrass me, I'm also sprawled out at my desk, consumed in a copy of Chicken Soup: for the College Soul.

No one admits that they actually read that. (At least no one cool.) Crap.

Third embarrassment: I'm also crying at the story I'm reading about Chucky Mullins from Ole Miss, a football star turned paraplegic. And I mean totally bawling, totally weeping, for all my friends to see.

Just great.

I might as well have wet the bed.

Well.....ya.