I am a dog person.

If you know me at all, this title is incredibly redundant. I talk about my own precious corgis, Maddie & Claire Bear, constantly, I am completely obsessed with them, I was completely obsessed with my black lab Indie, and I am pretty much completely obsessed with any dogs I meet. I laugh when at Marymoor owners apologize for their dogs jumping up on me or licking my face - if I didn't like that, why would I come to the dog park? In Europe, I pet every single dog we saw, whether it be stray or on a leash - it didn't matter. As far as I'm concerned, no matter how much love a dog is receiving (or not receiving) there is always room for more.


So naturally, as I flipped through an issue of People & stumbled across a book called You Had Me At Woof: How Dogs Taught Me the Secrets of Happiness by Julie Klam I knew that I had to read it. I often dog-ear the book reviews in People, with the intention of reading them, but this is the first time I have actually acted on it. I searched for the book at 3 different bookstores before I finally found it. And I finished it in less than a week.

It was like the author, Julie Klam, took the words from my mouth. There were several passages I highlighted because they were just so of my own thoughts - it was like I could have written this book. The chapters dealt with topics such as feeling good about your age, how to keep your life in balance, how to deal with the loss of a friend and simply, how to find happiness. I cried, I laughed, as I imagine all dog loving people would do - all of it was so close to my heart. Perhaps my favorite thing about it is that it speaks to the healing power of dogs, both emotionally and physically, and how these animals that are so much simpler than us can teach us lessons that we cannot teach ourselves. 

I think my favorite passage from the entire novel is as follows: 

I've always thought that dogs were spiritually superior to humans, which is why I think they have such abbreviated lives. They do their business here on earth and then move on. 

Truer words have never been spoken. I feel really sad for people who can't see the inherent power in a dog - the ability to calm us down, the ability to love unconditionally, and the ability to heal our souls and our bodies. They really are so amazing. One study showed that people in a hospital who were visited by therapy dogs regularly needed 50% less medication than their counterparts. A non-profit called Puppies Behind Bars uses inmates to train rescue dogs to help people with PTSD, many of whom are medication-free because of the dog's presence in their lives. Every time I think about the responsibility it takes to have a dog, I think about facts like these - if they are constantly saving us, then the responsibility is really a non-issue.

My own little angels have really saved me over the last year. I have been unemployed, often very frustrated and upset that my life isn't in "full swing" yet. But having them around me constantly has lifted my spirits and I think kept me out of the depths of starting to really feel sorry for myself. Since my mom got a job in July, my sister moved to Seattle for college, and my dad is gone during the week, I am their sole caretaker most of time. I feel like they are my children - I like to put sweaters on Maddie (mostly because she really loves them, but also because they are just so adorable), I like to give Bear daily "scritches" and know that she loves getting scratched under the armpits best, I like to get hairs out of their eyes to make them feel better, I get personally offended when people don't think they are as cute as I do and mostly I just love that in keeping them safe and happy, they are keeping me sane. I sometimes refer to them as "dog-shaped Meghan magnets", because they always have to be near me. And I love that.

I often get made fun of by my friends and family members for being so in love with my dogs, but I really don't care. In my mind, there are countless numbers of dogs out there not getting the love they deserve, to love my own any less would be a crime against canines everywhere. I really, truly do believe that dogs are as close to the physical embodiment of love that exists here on earth. If people could love more like dogs, forgive more like dogs, the world would be an unrecognizable place.

If you love dogs like I do, a. let's hang out (doggie park date anyone?) and b. PLEASE read this book. You can borrow it from me. You will likely feel the same way about it that I do - that the author took the words out of your mouth and placed them in this novel. It's wonderful.

♥mb. 

How a cupcake can change your life.

This is my favorite way to describe a food item that is simply out-of-this world marvelous. I use it very sparingly - the term "life-changing" is only given to the utmost of delicacies. The first thing I tasted worthy of this praise was the cinnamon swirl french toast at 5 Spot on Queen Anne. Oh man. Once it hits your lips...that stuff is heavenly. Thick slices of cinnamon swirl bread battered in vanilla custard and served covered in homemade caramel - I sound like a menu but if your mouth isn't watering right now, you don't have tastebuds. A number of quotes I have come up with to describe it: "if there isn't 5 Spot french toast in heaven, I'm not going" and "I bet even forks are happy when you order this" and of course "this french toast changed my life". Which is how I describe it to anyone who is thinking about trying it. Sadly, my life took a turn for the gluten intolerant, but I still recommend this highly to gluten eaters everywhere. And lucky for me, there are things like Babycakes cupcakes to fill that gluten-free sweets void in my life.


When I first discovered (officially) all of my food issues, a friend of mine was gracious enough to bring me over a goodie bag of gluten-free treats (including beer, she is eligible for sainthood in my book) and a canvas bag full of cookbooks. One of these was the cookbook from a (mostly) gluten-free, vegan bakery in New York City called Babycakes. 

At this particular moment in time, I was every kind of out-of-sorts a human being can be. I was upset that there were things in gluten-free cookbooks I couldn't eat because of the dairy, and vegan baked goods I couldn't eat because of the soy. As I began flipping through the pages of the Babycakes cookbook, I literally almost cried with joy. Being a girl who frequented Cupcake Royale  at least once a week during college, I thought I was never going to eat a cupcake again. These glossy pages were filled with recipes on how to construct delicious, virtually allergen-free cupcakes, cookies, brownies, banana bread, etc. etc. etc. I lived on baked goods from this book for weeks until I adjusted to the notion that there was [normal] food out there I could enjoy. In a way, this book saved me, at least my sanity. So naturally, when I heard they had opened a store in LA, I simply HAD to go.

Basically my entire extended family lives in Orange County, about a half hour drive from LA, but it still took 4 trips of going down there before I finally had the opportunity to get to this bakery. My dad & I landed in LAX and the first stop after getting the rental car was Babycakes. I was literally jumping up and down with excitement after we parked the car and I spotted it. As ridiculous as it might sound, this was kind of a dream come true. (You can cook out of something's cookbook for ages & still not replicate the amazingness of the actual thing!) We walked in and I was greeted by a minimalist interior design scheme and pastry cases full of baked goods that I could have. 

The first question I asked the alternative-looking guy behind the counter (I absolutely adore the people that work at places like this, same goes for Flying Apron in Seattle) was if I was restricted by gluten, dairy and soy, what COULDN'T I have? (You have no idea how much joy was brought to me by the fact that the questions was "what CAN'T I have?" rather than "what CAN I have?" to which the answer is usually "nada") He told me that everything except the cupcakes made with spelt was fair game. This means there were different kinds of breads, cookies and cupcakes to choose from. In essence, this place is heaven for those of us of the sensitive tummy variety: AMAZING.

I settled on a pumpkin spice donut (literally don't remember the last time I ate a donut), 2 chocolate chip cookies (that were out of this world!) and 2 cupcakes, one a brownie cupcake and the other a red velvet cupcake. Also, can't forget the coffee, especially since they had rice milk, which is a rarity in mainstream coffee shops - I've gotten very used to drinking my coffee with a touch of sweetness and black. I saved the cupcakes for later, and after dinner and a glass of wine, decided to enjoy the brownie cupcake first.

I have never fallen in love so fast before. I took one bite and was absolutely blown away. This was by far the most fantastic, delicious, life-changing gluten-free baked good I have ever laid taste buds on. The frosting was creamy, the cake was dense and chocolatey flecked with mini chocolate chips, and there is no way anyone could ever know it was made without the traditional cupcake ingredients. I really fully understood the line in Eat, Pray, Love where the woman is in Napoli "having a love affair with [her] pizza" - I was undeniably having a love affair with this cupcake. As with all good things, it came to an end, my hotel bed messy with crumbs, and I went to sleep extremely satisfied.

It might sound silly that something so seemingly insignificant can completely change your mood or your attitude on any given day, but honestly I think that is a pretty remarkable thing. If we open ourselves up to letting little things be the catalyst of greater change, there is no limit to our happiness. Even something so little as a cupcake can make you feel included, loved, grateful. If a cupcake can do all this, imagine what other sources of inspiration lay out there in the world for us to discover?

Let yourself have a cupcake every once in a while. You might be surprised by its effect on you :)

♥mb.

I miss my puppy.

Today, in my opinion, is a very important day. It is exactly a month before my birthday, November 23rd. But that isn't why it is special. It's special because a very wonderful member of my family was born on this day 12 years ago. On this day in 1998, a little black lab puppy entered the world who someday would be my best friend, a shoulder to cry on, a constant source of unconditional love & acceptance in my life, and most importantly, my puppy.


I was in 6th grade when my parents brought her home. Erin & I were walking home from school on a random afternoon, I guess it must have been late January. All I remember is that it was sunny, as most significant days in my life have been. We both walked in the door, and upon stepping foot into our childhood home, a little bundle of black joy came walloping up to us. You cannot imagine the immense joy of being surprised with a puppy - no comparison. I'd be surprised if I'm happier on my wedding day. The dog that we had from the time I was born, McGee, had passed away shortly before we left Vermont for Boise, and since we had never lived without a dog before, there was a definite void in all of our lives. My parents had been talking about getting a puppy for a while, but nothing had been for certain, except of course, for her name. My family (and consequently myself) have a habit of deciding the breed, gender and name of a dog months (or even years) before we actually acquire the new pet. 


Indie was no exception. She had been planned for a while - she would be a black lab and her name would be India Ink, the blackest substance in the world, but for short, she would be Indie. (Alternative explanations that my dad sometimes substituted to strangers: "Like in Indiana Jones, 'We named the dog Indie'!" or "For Indy 500, like the race".) Her official name on her AKC registry was Roberts Miss India Ink. (We wanted to incorporate the name "miss" in her full name, since her breeder had referred to her as "Miss Priss" before we took her home.) She was ours on paper, and would quickly find a way into our hearts.


Her little puppy tummy fat was so big, she could barely make it up the stairs. On multiple occasions, in an attempt to get onto our backyard porch, she jumped, hit her little flab on the wood and bounced back. It was hysterical. One of my favorite pictures of her - and I think the only picture of her as a puppy - is of her sitting on this very porch, tummy pooch and all. I will always cherish that photo. I wish I had it to include in this, but this was before the age of digital photographs, and it resides in a box somewhere at my house. 


When she was really small, I remember running around our living room, her following me closely, then sitting down abruptly, which would always result in her jumping - not very gracefully - into my lap. I thought it was the cutest thing - and it WAS the cutest thing. I also remember my mom driving us to school in our old van, and Indie jumping up & pawing the window when we were walking away, and all of my friends cooing over her. She was mine.


Then when she got a bit older, I embraced my newfound love for running and took her on loops around the neighborhood to stay in shape for soccer. She was my running buddy all through middle school and high school, and on weekends home from college. I loved running with her - she never seemed to get tired, and I got tired really fast. She was so happy when we were running. As soon as I laced up my tennis shoes she knew what was coming, and would start wagging her big otter tale and wiggle. She was such a wiggler. She didn't just wag her tale, she wiggled her whole backside. It was so endearing. 


When I was 13, my beloved cat Magic (and to this day the only cat I will really, truly love) passed away and the presence of her happiness and unconditional love helped me through that so much. There really is no replacement for the love of an animal after you've lost a beloved pet. I will never only own one dog for this reason. I remember in 8th grade, a friend of mine had done something unfair to me, and I was so upset. The only person I felt comfortable talking to was her - she jumped up on my bed as she always did, I laid my head on her, and just cried. She was such a good listener.


She ended up sleeping on my bed almost every night, which most people would probably think was pretty uncomfortable considering she was about 85 pounds and no small animal. She usually took up about half my bed - or more - but I loved it. She would come in every night & jump up, or curl up on the floor next to me. She was always there - and I knew that she would always protect me. She was so protective in fact that sometimes if we were roughhousing with friends or getting piggy back rides from guys, she would nip at our heels and try to save us. I knew that she would never let anything happen to me. 


I am to this day convinced she thought she was a human. If she ever could comprehend her reflection, I don't think she would have believed it. She always wanted to be with us, and always wanted to eat our food. She was so tall she could just jump up and grab things off the counter. We came home countless times to scraps of plastic from entire loaves of bread. I remember once I told my friend to come over and eat with us because we had half a pizza left over from dinner, and by the time he walked in the door, she had consumed it all. Of course this drove us crazy while she was around, but after she was gone, it almost seemed like a void to not have to push things to the back of the counter so she couldn't get them. I missed having to worry about it because I missed her so deeply.


About a year and a half before she passed away, she tore her achilles heal & had to get surgery. She got a teal cast (completely by chance, but it was my favorite color. I bought her a blinged out teal collar, that I still have, and was made fun of mercilessly for it, but I loved it and she was mine, so who cared?) She had to stay in this kennel at all times, so she didn't aggravate the injury. It broke my heart - a dog that loved being so active and surrounded by her family, stuck in an 8x4 kennel for 6 weeks. One night I set out a blanket and a pillow and slept next to her on the living room floor because I didn't want her to be alone. I also crawled in with her on a couple occasions. I loved her so much.


Then, a couple weeks after I graduated college, my parents told me that she had an advanced form of bone cancer, and that her prognosis was unknown. I threw my arms around her and just cried. We didn't know how much time she had left, but I knew that it was by design that I ended up moving home. I had a feeling that she was not long for this world before my parents had given me the news, and I wanted to spend every moment I could with her while she was still here. We took her to my grandpas house, her favorite, where she had gotten lost for 2 days as a puppy (which really meant she had freeloaded off a neighbor for a night) and where she had been stepped on by a cow (and was thus afraid of them). I had a feeling it would be the last time she would be there.

I will never forget the first time Indie met Maddie. This little 4 pound corgi puppy didn't even think twice before walking underneath what must have been a behemoth monster to her - and Indie looked so offended. They ended up being quite close, even though I'm sure that Maddie annoyed the crap out of Indie. I think they really loved each other. This picture was taken on a roadtrip down to California in August of 2009. We ended up having to bring the dogs with us, although I don't remember why at the moment, but it ended up being one of the best decisions we've ever made. 

This is one of the last pictures I ever took of her. I adore it. But she was so sick. We knew that she would let us know when it was time, and she did. It was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do, but I knew she was in pain, and I knew she would be going to a better place despite how much I would miss her. We put her down when were in California. That was about a year and a half ago. And I still miss her so intensely, but I know I will see her again. I have this wonderful view of heaven someday when it's my time to go - I will arrive there and be greeted by the wet kisses and soft purs of my favorite pets. And let me tell you, that thought comforts me every time I really start to miss her.

I will always miss Indie, my puppy and I will always love her. Happy Birthday Indie, I hope you are enjoying the biggest beef bone ever up there.

♥mb.

Why matching is overrated.

Nothing drives me more crazy than perfectly matching outfits. (Ok, a lot of things make me crazier, but for the purpose of my point, let's pretend this is the pet peeve to end all pet peeves.) The fact that I love wearing grungy sweatpants while carrying my Louis Vuitton bag is a prime example of this. In college, sometimes I would intentionally mismatch my clothes (we are talking orange Ugg boots - yes, don't ask - green basketball shorts and bright pink Juicy jackets) just because I thought it was fun. Now, I think my mismatching has become a little more refined, but I still think the concept is true: matching is sooooo 2005.


If you have ever lived with me or hang out with me regularly when its cool outside, you know that I have a bit of a uniform as soon as the temperature dips below 60 degrees. It's almost as if I rejoice as I see the mercury dropping, I dust off my Uggs and stare longingly at my cardigans, all hanging in the same section of my closet. "YES!" I mentally proclaim, "It is almost time to put the summer clothes away and go back to the comfort zone!"


Now, don't get me wrong, every season has it's fabulous wardrobe - at least when you live in the Pacific Northwest, the only place on Earth (I am convinced) where you actually NEED to own a vest. In winter, its down coats, rain boots, ear muffs and a good umbrella. In summer, its denim cutoffs, swim coverups, Rainbows and razorback tanks. In spring, its Tory Burch flats, leggings and tshirts. But fall...fall is my favorite.


Fall is when my go-to ensemble is in its prime. It's when my "thrown together" look of a tshirt covered by a cardigan topped off with a member of my scarf collection (a. no it didnt start as a collection and b. i only refer to it as such because if a future people should discover my room and dub it an ancient ruin, they could make a museum exhibit out of my scarves alone). It really is the perfect outfit, when finished off with a pair of jeans and flats or leggings and boots. 


I despise perfectly matching color schemes, at least on myself. It may be your cup of tea, but it sure as hell ain't mine. You will never catch me wearing a jacket that matches my boots (unless the jacket is black and the boots are, yup, you guessed it, black). I will never wear earrings that match my bracelets, and you will NEVER see me using a handbag the same color as my shoes. In my opinion, this limits my creativity when it comes to dressing myself.


Now I will be the first person to tell you that I dress more for comfort than for fashion (hence why every pair of boots I own is very broken in and my heels, eh, not so much) but I try to make it what I like to call "casual chic". I would like to think that I have perfected the "I look like I don't care what I am wearing but I actually put a lot of thought into this" or "I know that all these colors worn together create the impression that I got dressed in the dark" but I wouldn't have it any other way. (I also believe that if your makeup looks good, you can wear whatever you want & people won't really give a rats A, but we can discuss that topic another time.)


I like to wear my favorite orange shirt with a deep purple paisley scarf. I like to wear floral prints and pair it with whatever scarf is a color that doesn't appear in the pattern. I'm not saying this is entirely fashion forward of me, I am just simply making the point that colors that usually don't go together can make you look like you threw yourself together but can still leave you looking very put together.


I approach interior design with a similar attitude - I want green offsetting deep purple in my (future) bedroom and a navy couch with yellow, white and turquoise pillows, none of the same style. I like things that are not necessarily in the same boxed set but that create a cohesive aesthetic none-the-less. (Often rendering a look even more appealing than if you had followed the packages directions.)


I think this concept of things that don't match but still look great has implications for the way we live as well. We are often too quick to want the house with the white picket fence in the suburbs with a golden retriever, but what if the thing that will actually make us the happiest is a 5-story walk-up in Brooklyn with floor-to-ceiling windows, exquisite vintage furnishings and a teacup American eskimo named Spike? You will never know unless you give mismatching a try.


Things that appear thrown together may actually be the perfect thing. 


♥mb.

Stuff is Just Stuff.

Living in a "material world" it is often difficult to remember this fact. We all lust after things we want, we make Christmas lists every November, we check our account balances to see if we can afford whatever the flavor of the week is. And don't get me wrong - I see nothing wrong with a little materialism. But I also think that its important to note that your things don't define you or make you better than anyone else. Your possessions are there to enhance your life, not to create a blueprint for how you live it.

I used to be the kind of person that absolutely FEARED losing things. No matter how big or small, if I placed an ounce of importance on something, losing it made me lose my mind. (Something about that Type A personality I think, hate having things out of order.) I would feel a physical void in my life until I replaced it. Like that void was sitting there, laughing at me, and making fun of me for being so irresponsible to misplace whatever it was that I lost. This fear was so real that if I couldn't find my car within 5 minutes of walking out of the mall, I would start to irrationally believe that it was stolen while I was thumbing through the racks at Nordy's. I have hit the PANIC!!! button on multiple occasions, partially because it seemed like a logical response to the way I was feeling inside. 

Now, I still absolutely hate losing things, but I think my response to it happening has become a lot more rational and accepting, and I can pinpoint this change to sometime in January of this year. I was traveling between New York and Washington DC by train, and trying to juggle my handbag, my oversized shoulder tote and a suitcase too big for a 10 day trip, even making it to the restroom from the train track had been a minor miracle. (I never have been one to skimp on the packing.) I washed my hands, flustered, wanting nothing more than to get to my friends apartment (another 30 minutes away via subway, half of my closet in tow) and collapse onto a couch with a beer.

As I often do when I wash my hands (and I am distracted) I take off my jewelry that gets in the way during the process. I cannot tell you how many rings I have lost doing exactly that. On this particular winter afternoon, the forgotten object was a bracelet a couple of my closest friends during my Rome study abroad had brought me back from Paris. They bought 3 bracelets near the Sacre Coeur, one for each of us, and even though it was simple and inexpensive, I adored it. Light lilac, small silver flowers covered its entirety, always got twisted up on itself...rarely a day went by when it didn't don my right wrist.

Needless to say, when I realized what I had done, I was devastated. I felt as if I had not only lost a cheap Parisian bracelet, but also a token of friendship that I had cherished so much. I almost felt as if I had let down the friends who had gotten it for me due to my absentmindedness. Then lightbulb: "Meghan", I thought, "It's just a thing. Its replaceable. Dispensable. Your life will go on". 

Now it might not seem like it, but this was a monumental realization for me. Realizing that a material thing was indeed just a thing, and not some representation of a higher emotional state, was life-changing. I have a habit of assigning too much significance to insignificant items, and hence have a hard time getting rid of almost anything, let alone losing anything. But in that moment I realized that losing things, no matter how big, small or emotionally attached to them I am, doesn't really matter in the long run.

Stuff is just stuff after all. If you were to lose your suitcase en route to Southern Cal or get your car stolen outside of the mall or simply misplace a token of love and friendship from a confidant, nothing about you changes. Except for maybe a momentary mourning for the loss of the object in question, you will wake up tomorrow morning healthy, vibrant and alive despite its absence.

I think this is especially important around the holidays. We get so caught up, as a country and as individuals, on the material side of Christmas and even of Thanksgiving, piling the gifts under the tree and covering the table with an amount of food sufficient to feed 10 underprivileged families. Its important to separate yourself from the physical things and really feel lucky to be surrounded by so many blessings.

Soak it in. You have people that love you, people that would do anything for you and people who can't imagine life without you. And reveling in that is so much more satisfactory than reveling in all your stuff.

♥mb.

The meanest of the mean jokes.

So I have this theory that some things in life are just mean jokes. Like alcohol for example. It's fun, and after you've had a few, what's a few more? but the day after an alcohol binge (which thankfully have become MUCH less frequent since getting out of college) is terrible. I have concluded on a few different occasions that a bad hangover must be what dying feels like. And thus, it is one of life's mean jokes. Get the idea?


I think that the meanest of the mean jokes is the fact that things happen when you least expect them to. Relationships, job opportunities, even bad things like natural disasters or car accidents. It's like you can spend forever pining over a guy or stressing about a job offer, and the second you stop worrying about it and enjoy where you are at, that is when things come together. The moment you get comfortable is the very moment that things change. I will never understand it....


On one hand, its a good thing. It's almost life's way of forcing you to take a step back, breathe, and appreciate where you happen to be at that particular part of your journey. Which is great, and I like that about it. However, it is not so great when that thing you happen to be obsessing over and wanting is on your mind 24/7 and all you want is for whatever issue it happens to be to resolve itself. But what's a girl to do?


I'm sure though, that this mean joke is actually a great lesson in disguise. A lesson to live life one day at a time, appreciate the things you have and have faith that things will fall into place as they are supposed to. Which they always, ALWAYS do.


But that doesn't mean it isn't frustrating... ;)


♥mb.

Frustrated.

You're whole life leading up to college graduation (or high school graduation if you don't take the college route) is planned. There is a formula, neat & tidy, everything planned to a T. Something that made this closet (or not so closet, you decide) Type A extremely happy. Everything was laid out for me - go to high school, get a good GPA, go to a good college, get a good GPA, major in marketing, graduate. The formula ends there. Everything after is a big mystery that can't be written down in a planner like a calculus exam. Not knowing what my life is going to look like in a year, in 2 months, in a week, is driving me absolutely crazy.


I am the kind of person who likes to be organized - I mean, I color code my planner. I arrange my perfumes on my dresser so they are aesthetically pleasing. If my purse doesn't contain my favorite chapstick, my wallet, my camera, my keys, hand sanitizer, my phone and a snack at any given moment when I'm out of the house, I feel totally out of sorts. You can imagine how having no idea what my future holds is treating me. Like a hailstorm treats a daisy. 


Every day I just get more & more frustrated that the formula I created for myself after the formula life & society created for me ended is proving to be faulty. Where is the perfect job? Where is the cute apartment with mismatching artwork that still somehow seems to goes together? Where is my puppy? Where is my stack of grad school pamphlets? Where is my coffee table strewn with coffee table books? Why do I feel so helpless? It's like life is a spider web, and I am the little butterfly stuck in it, watching all the other butterflies fly around me unharmed & unaffected by the ominous, sticky net.


Now I realize you don't get your dream job right out of college. Or if you do, that you are some kind of freak of nature. I just wish there was one job that would be perfect for me, right now, at this time in my life. I don't understand how I am supposed to get a job that needs 2-4 years of experience if no one will give me the experience.


Hence, frustrated.


♥mb.

Things I can't live without: Volume I

So, I don't know about you, but I am completely obsessed with magazines. There is nothing I like doing better than flipping through the latest People or Self while I'm eating my cereal in the morning. Being a marketing major, I think I am just one of those people who gets a lot of joy out of seeing pictures, text and various other visual elements neatly arranged on a page. I don't care what they say about magazines and newspapers being a "dying" medium - not for this girl. I would take a coated paper gossip, fitness and beauty monger over the newest iPad or Kindle device any day. There is just something about flipping paper pages that cannot and will not ever be replicated digitally.


One of my favorite parts about magazine articles involving celebrities is when they ask them about their "desert island" items or the things about them that most people don't know. Like, "yes, I may be the most gorgeous thin person in Hollywood now, but you should have seen me when I was 15, can you say too many Oreos?" or "I would absolutely DIE without benetint cheek stain!". I eat that stuff up. It's not even that I necessarily care about what the latest it gal or guy is using to make sure their skin stays sunkissed in winter or what type of Scotch they drink apres-ski at their vacation home in Aspen. I am just very, intensely and genuinely interested in the little things that make people who they are. I love to think that each person on this earth has those defining characteristics, that each one of us has something we can't live without, whether it be big, small or seemingly insignificant. I see significance to it all. And I love it.


In light of my love for these "human interest" stories, I decided to create my own "column" (if my blog was a newspaper this would be a column!!). Semi for my own entertainment, semi to talk about the things I am obsessed with, and semi so that everyone who reads this can get to know me, quirks and all, a little bit better. Thus, "Things I can't live without" is born. I am also considering writing an additional blog column called "Things I want to punch in the face" or some equally mature name. Let's not get ahead of ourselves just yet...


ANNND after that unnecessarily long introduction, I give you Volume I.


Coconuts

I'm sure that the first thing that came to mind was fruity tropical drinks with umbrella straws. And I'm sure the fact that I chose a picture of an open coconut relaxing on a sandy beach led you to that thought. But I rely on this strange nut-fruit (what technically is it??) for much more than pina coladas and getting caught in the rain. 

After discovering my sensitivities to dairy and soy, a sentence that would send any latte and cereal loving individual like myself into a frenzy, I could literally hug a coconut. I just wish it could hear me thank it for existing. I really don't think a day goes by where I don't ingest coconut in some way, shape or form. In the morning, its coconut milk on cereal and in my daily cup of joe. For lunch and dinner, its coconut milk used in curries or rice or this vegan soup that I am absolutely head-over-heels in love with. When I have just returned from an intense hot yoga sesh or have had a little too much fun the night before, coconut water is the perfect electrolyte replacer. And for dessert, its coconut milk ice cream, macaroons, treats made with coconut oil and a variety of other coconutty delights. It really, truly, and honestly has saved my life. At least saved my semblance to a normal diet. 

I actually depend on coconuts so much that one time, I got genuinely concerned that the world was going to run out of coconuts. I realized that if I eat them so much, and there are other people on the planet that eat coconut products as much as me, is it feasible that they could cease to exist? (Don't ask. That is my overactive mind for you.) I remember I texted one of my best friends with my seemingly ridiculous question, and he responded by asking me if I was sober. Yes, I in fact was. I just freaked myself out for no reason that the world was going to suddenly run out of coconuts and I would be left without many of my daily staples.

And that friends is my ode to the coconut. If you ever want to explore some interesting and delicious culinary options, look to this lovely fruit. You won't regret it :D

♥mb.

Chick Lit. And no, not the gum.

Well, today I did something I told myself I wasn't going to do. Aside from spending $25 on a really cute sweater I couldn't afford (but I love) I also made an impulse buy - ok so maybe I had thought it out a little - at Target. I bought Lauren Conrad's first book, LA Candy. 

Yes, I will admit it. Shamefully, no, embarrassingly, a little. When I first heard she had written a book, I thought it was pretty comical. I mean, don't get me wrong, I was a Hills addict, and I thought "LC" was great, but I wasn't sure how seriously I could take her as anything other than a Southern California socialite. But, as a once avid reader of such intellectual texts as the Gossip Girl series, it was only a matter of time before I shelled out $10 to support Miss Conrads blossoming career as an author.

In my defense - as if I feel the need to defend my purchase - it did come recommended to me by an old friend, who to her credit, also recommended some more serious books. This just happened to be the one that I remembered, and the one that appealed to me the most, for a couple of reasons.

A. We've been over this. I love The Hills, I may or may not have spent a few weekend nights in watching it (as well as Laguna Beach: Season 1, what's up high school?) on Netflix Instant. I can't lie - I am definitely intrigued by her "fictional" series. Who wants to bet me a bazillion dollars that these tales of intrigue & drama set in none other than Los Angeles are "loosely" based on her own experiences?

B. It is mindless, and at this current stage in my life, I welcome mindless distractions. I have never watched more television in my entire life, I have never cared more about distancing myself from serious things. Let me tell you, if you haven't already experienced it for yourself, life after college is a bit of a b-word if you haven't got things figured out. You can often find me emotionally fragile worrying about the future - where will I work? where will I live? how can I move out when I love my dogs so much? how can I afford those lululemon pants I want when I am dead broke? Ok, so some of those aren't as serious, but lets suffice it to say that I am under a lot of pressure (from myself) and it is not unusual for me to be more than a little stressed out about finding a job. HENCE...chick lit is a lifesaver. What could be better than reading about the problems of fake people - usually beautiful & exquisitely dressed - to stop thinking about your own, at least for a moment? 

As far as I'm concerned, the only thing that tops a juicy, made for girls novel is chocolate or a good sweat sesh. But this one is calorie-free and unlike the treadmill, I can enjoy it from the comfort of my own bed.

Perhaps I will post a review when I am finished. Just for fun :)

♥mb.