Viva Mexico!!

Any negative connotations you may hold about Mexico should be immediately forgotten. I can only suggest that everybody take the short trip to our neighbor country to experience the beauty of this country. I can guarantee you will fall in love with it’s colorful streets, endless countryside’s and welcoming people. I had assumed that I would be scoffed at, being a “gringo” traveling with my very “gringo” family. Instead we were embraced by every Mexican we came across.

The streets of Queretaro (a quaint historic city we stayed in) were filled with life. Families make up the majority of the population. Cute Mexican babies run around smiling with their parents walking behind. Street vendors sell colorful toys on wheels and little child sized donuts. Everywhere you turn there is color. The buildings, even in the poorer areas, are painted festive yellows pinks and oranges. The vendors sell silver earrings , sparkling mineral pendants, traditional wooden dolls in hand embroidered rainbow dresses and elegant Mexican scarves. Pinks purples and blues peep through every store window.

I went to Mexico to celebrate my oldest cousin, Seth, marrying a beautiful Mexican woman Lorena. Let me tell you, Mexican’s know how to party. The music started the minute the last plate was cleared after the ceremony. We were under a big tend on a cactus filled ranch a few minutes outside of town. Mexican men and woman rushed to the dance floor and put any club dancing to shame. They had grace and elegance swirled with sex appeal and lust. The dancing never ended.

On Sunday, the day after the wedding our little town was transformed into a festival. This was not a special occasion- they do that every Sunday! The streets are blocked off and families from all over gathered for music shopping food and more dancing. There were bands in every street corner wearing festive sombreros. People brought stacks of meat and tortillas as tall as me. The smell was intoxicating.

Despite all the hardships of this country their people are full of love and life. They are family oriented caring individuals. They work hard and play hard. If you ask me, Mexico have the right idea about how life should be. I cannot wait to be back.

Falling for Fall

Last week I went to sleep and when I awoke it was fall. School was starting, the crispy NH air smelled of ripening apples and plaid was everywhere. The moment summer ends and school begins has always been a dreadful event. This year was a bit different. After a long and rather uneventful (though enjoyable) summer I was slightly excited for life to return to this sleepy town. Not to mention fall fashion. There is nothing more indulgent and fabulous than shopping for fall fashion. I detest summer clothing. Shorts are my worst nightmare. I am just not, and will never be, one of those girls who was blessed with a set of legs made for shorts. Long cargo shorts make me look frumpy. Short shorts make me feel fat. If I do find an acceptable pair, I tend to feel naked when I wear them in public. Then there is the issue of my unfortunate cutting scar that makes my leg look like a treasure map with an unattractive "X" scar. So when the weather begins to cool off I immediately jump with joy while pulling on my favorite denim. So many options- so many styles! This season I am dying over military trends and dark neutral colors like navy, purple, hunter green and browns of every shade.
I'm so over skinny jeans by the way. I remember going to Forever 21 with my mom in seventh grade foaming at the mouth over my first pair of skinny jeans. They were impossible to find at that point. Now it's impossible to find anything else. I'm trying to train my butt to be more comfortable in looser jeans. The painted on look should go ASAP. It's all about the slouchy sexy look. And boots! That was my nickname in high school because I only wore boots come October. I ADORE boots. When do they not look better than a pair of flats?? Never!

In other fall news my yard is being invaded by coyotes. Growing up in NY my biggest worry was getting stung by a bee. Now all of a sudden I'm waking up in the middle of the night to a pack of coyotes howling in delight over their kill. The first night I heard them I was literally rocking back and forth on the living room floor with Bug in one arm and Beast in the other while Ryan guarded the back door with a BB gun. I'm clearly mentally unprepared for the NH wildlife. Upon further research I've learned that we also have mountain lions, bears, and rattle snakes. I'm never letting the dogs outside again. If anyone knows of a doggy port-a-potty please let me know!

"It's like walking a butterfly."- Ryan on walking Beast. Haha love it!

Real Men Watch Chick Flix.

I'm sitting on my slouchy brown living room couch next to Ryan. Bug and Beast are passed out next to us. We're watching an HBO special on the NY Jets. My girlie mind is fascinated in seeing behind the curtains on these superstar players. I want to meticulously observe them searching for every shred of gossip to discuss afterwards. (We usually spend an hour before bed looking things up online and watching YouTube). Tonight I want to look up Mark Sanchez who I think looks exactly like Brody Jenner. And I'll probably gush about how much I love coach Rex Ryan (who was eating a gigantic bag of pretzel M & Ms during a meeting. Have you tried them? You should.)

Before the show started Ryan said, with twinkles in his eyes, "Do you mind it we watch it?! We can watch a girlie show first". That right there is (one of the reasons) why I love him. Ryan indulges me in endless chick-flix and ubber trashy girl TV. He listens to all of my rants on celebrities ("OMG Justin Bieber is driving a Lambo. Isn't he like nine?!!") and lets me play Cosmo Radio in the car whenever I please. When our guy friends scoff at my TV taste he defends me saying if you don't take any of it seriously it can be hysterical.

My Tivo schedule is a smorgasbord of humiliating reality TV shows, Bravo contests, HGTV design shows and sports games. Shouldn't everything in a relationship be a compromise? I'm not trying to change the fact that Ryan plays Halo and watches football. He's not trying to change my obsession with gossip magazines and Real Housewives. It takes mutual respect to be able to compromise. He understands that I can only bear about an hour of Halo, and I understand that he'll watch my Housewives but can't put up with Rachel Zoe. We respect each other's boundaries.

Sometimes it pays off to let our guys do their thing. I got to write this blog! And equally as rewarding- I got to watch the entire Jets team test out the Shake Weight. Seeing Mark Sanchez hold a jiggling bar in front of his mouth-Classic.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ud_sjkvwmwg&feature=related

Bitchy Vegetarian

Technically I'm not a vegetarian. I'm a pescetarian (meaning I eat fish). I take a lot of flack for this. "Fish are animals. Therefore you eat animals, right?" It used to make me very uncomfortable, guilty even. But I'm happy to report that I've decided to officially accepted my status as pescetarian. Call me whatever you want!

I found myself on the defense more often than not when I alerted someone new of my eating habits. People love to put me in a corner- accuse me of being a poor vegetarian, or prod into my reasoning, trying to prove me wrong. "No matter what you do animals are still dying so what’s the point!?" That one really pisses me off. I'm a vegetarian (ok, pescetarian) because I don't want to eat animals. I'm well aware that one person not eating meat will not keep more animals alive. I realize I'm probably not making a huge dent in the pockets of butchers and slaughterhouses. But that's not the point.

Everything in life seems to be a contest. Like we're all trying to outdo each other. And if we can't be number one then we put others down to justify that. In the race to be green carrying re usable bags around isn't good enough. You must drive a hybrid and install solar panels as well. In the race to be the ideal family in my hometown driving a Benz isn't good enough. You must have a vacation house and apartment in the city as well. It's tiring trying to be the best!

Early on in my veggie days (which started when I was twelve) I was a strict vegetarian. No gelatin, no fish, no cheeses containing rennet (an additive in some cheeses to coagulate milk- it comes from animal stomachs). I wanted to be the best. Eventually, after three Halloweens without my absolute favorite Candy Corn (which contains gelatin) I broke down. I ate an entire bag of the candy corn and candy pumpkin mix. I missed my gummy sugar fixes more than any meat!

After my Candy Corn breakdown I felt like a failure. I didn't fit inside those perfect lines. I wasn't the best. I stopped telling people I was a vegetarian because I was so ashamed, even though I still wasn't eating any actual meat.

I say screw those perfect lines! I'm not a vegetarian for everybody else. I'm a vegetarian for the animals. What those money hungry industrial farms do to animals is despicable. The inhumane torture they put innocent chickens, cows, sheeps and pigs through should be outlawed. I find our government, and sometimes our world to be full of Species-ism. Animals deserve our full respect. I show them my respect by not eating or wearing them. If others show their respect by eating less of them, or by not using products tested on them, or by simply supporting them then that's great too.

If everyone skipped meat for just one day the U.S would save 70 million gallons of gas, 1.5 billion pounds of crops,and 100 billion gallons of water. If you're trying- you're succeeding.

(Stats from: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kathy-freston/the-breathtaking-effects_b_181716.html)

Stylish Bitch

Rompers need to go. They scream "third grade picnic outfit". Ninety percent of the time they're ill fitted. To pull off such a design, like with most fads, you need to be 6'100 and resemble the limb of a small tree. That leaves about 1 percent of americans equipped to wear rompers. Quite honestly I get uncomfortable looking at them- worrying that at any moment the wearer is going to sit down and receive massive camel toe. It's not a pretty picture but I know the one and only time I tried on a too small seemingly adorable romper that was my exact experience. So please Stylish Bitches- think twice before rocking that Romper!

Brenda Song from Disney making me gag in her romper-gone-wrong moment:

http://gofugyourself.celebuzz.com/cgi-bin/mt/mt-search.cgi?blog_id=1&tag=polterwang&limit=10&IncludeBlogs=1

Found this little critter next to the deck one summer morning. He was kind of...slow, but equally adorable!

One tat-too many

I'm a highly addictive individual. I go through periods of addiction, with a few constants like my good pal coffee. (speaking of which- I'm going to go make a cup, be right back)

In middle school it was hair dye. In sixth grade my young, fun aunt snuck me into our upstairs bathroom and helped me dye a streak of my hair purple. Being that I have nearly black hair, the purple didn't show up but I don't think I ever realized that. From there I had nearly a dozen failed attempts at going blond (the end results ranged from copper to bluish green). I tried highlights, low lights, chestnut, red, jet black and so on.

Quickly my hair grew weak from all the chemicals. It was crying for me to leave it alone. At that time nothing in my life seamed stable, I longed for something permanent. I went through a harsh period of "cutting", leaving unfortunate scars all over my body. (A large "WHY" still shows on my upper thigh- a constant reminder to be kind to myself and respect my body. ) From there I took what seemed like the next step in my mind- I got my first tattoo. I was sixteen and in the middle stages of my eating disorder. I wanted to be free from the nonstop pain I was feeling. I wanted to be myself again, so I got a dove ( my last name- Coulombe- is french for Dove) with the word FREE under it on my wrist. Simple, elegant and still my favorite. From the minute I got attention for having one of the only tattoos in my grade I was hooked. I began writing lists of all the tattoos I wanted during class. At night I scoured the Internet for ideas.

Only a few months later I go my next tattoo- A "life tree" and moon on my upper back with the word BREATH underneath. Again, simple and elegant. Soon after I got a paw print on my leg with a "B" for all of my dogs (Boomer, Bandit, Buster, Beast, Bug). My parents were growing worried of my need for ink, and set down the rules. No more tattoos or I'd be in trouble. Trouble was not exactly in my vocabulary. I had never been grounded, never gotten my allowance taken away, never had my car privileges threatened. So I got another one, for all the wrong reasons. I found the entry in my diary a few years later from the day I got it.

"Today fucking sucks. I'm the most awkward person in the caf. When is the fucking bell going to ring? I don't know what I'm going to do when I get out, I'm in the worst mood. Maybe go to Borders? Ryan's hanging out with Jon. I should just get that tattoo. The rose. yeah. Good. And maybe get my nails done next door."

I didn't get this tattoo for any significant value it held. I got it because I couldn't stand to sit with myself for even one afternoon. I did just what I said I would and left school to get a rose on my foot. For weeks I hid it from my parents, probably more ashamed than worried about punishment. When it was finally noticed my parents were furious. They said they would sell my car if I ever got another tattoo before turning 21. I didn't listen. On another bad day I added another rose, connected to the vines from the previous, in the middle of my shin.

Without a doubt that tattoo is one of my largest regrets from those dark times. It is a constant reminder of how much I hated myself, and how little respect I had for my body. I remember changing my mind about the rose while I was sitting on the tattoo table, but being too scared to tell the guy. I remember how disappointed Ryan was. How sad my parents were. It wasn't what I expected. Angry, sure, but not sad. Now I realize that they could see what I couldn't. They could see that these tattoos were a permanent sign of how hurt I was. I didn't care about the future, I couldn't even handle the present.

Last month I ordered a tattoo cover up, which to my surprise worked pretty well. I had to throw it out because it only made me sad. Seeing my leg so clean and free from the tints of a dark past was so beautiful, but unlike the tattoo itself I knew it wasn't permanent. I hope that teens can try to take their future into consideration more. My new rule of thumb is to wait a year. If you think you want a tattoo wait a year- if you still want it, than maybe it's worth considering. At the time "It's permanent" was nothing more than an expression. I still have a hard time imagining myself growing old with this awful rose. I'm hopeful for better removal technologies. Whether I remove it someday or not, the lesson I've learned is definitely permanent.

Happy(er)Cow Update!

http://tv.yahoo.com/daytime

The Magnificent Pita Pizza!

Mmm..Pita Pizza

Being from NY, pizza is an important part of my life. Every time I go back to NY I make it my number one priority to have a pizza night. To curb my cravings while I'm living in NH I created a substitute- Pita Pizza. It's cheap, fast and easy. It's also healthy, and requires no blotting. ( My boyfriend always yells at me when I blot my pizza for oil, but did you know just a few dabs can remove 1/4 the fat off your slice!? So worth it) My favorite combination is shown in the picture above. Here's what to do:

*Preheat your oven to roughly 400 degrees, or turn on the broiler. (my kitchen in NH has no digital thermometer, so the temp. is never exact)

Ingredients (per person):

• 1 Pita bread
• 3-4 T pasta sauce of choice (I like Butoni's Tomato Basil)
• 1/4 cup Italian blend cheese (light is fine.)
• 1/4 of an avocado
• fake peperoni (or real if you eat meat!)

Steps:

• spoon on sauce
• cover in cheese
• dice avocado and spread on pita
• layer on the peperoni
• pop it in the oven/broiler for about 1o minutes

Since I'm on a grocery budget I often make this dish to use up the scraps in my fridge. I've tried all kinds of variations. It works well with any cheese if you don't have any Italian cheeses on hand. I've done it with American, Gouda, Swiss...it always turns out well. Play with this dish, nothing needs to be measured. Today I made one with tuna and BBQ sauce!

Let me know how it turns out- happy eating!

Dunkin Doggie

Who doesn't love a ball of dough that is sunk into an ocean of boiling, spitting oil until it forms a golden hue only to than be delicately laden in some sort of sugary concoction and placed on display until it reaches your watering mouth! Oh Donuts!! I love them all. French Crullers never fail me with their dainty texture. On the other hand I also like the heavy, guilt ridden Boston Creme donuts that are an absolute favorite of my boyfriend Ryan. I had never dared indulge in such a donut before him. Now we share them on a regular occasion because they are just so beautiful. You get the best of everything; quintessential donut dough with a dense velvety creme filling and a blanket of chocolate falling over the top. These donuts mean business. I also enjoy the more "regular donuts" such as the simplistic chocolate glazed (seemingly a favorite among kids-used to be my go to when I was little) or even the plain ("old fashion") donut if it is accompanied by milk or coffee.

Just about every week Ryan (bf) and I hit up the local drive thu Dunkin' Donuts for our fix. In NY we don't have such an anomaly. We have to leave our cars and enter a building to get our donuts. But here in NH where people drive long distances to work during negative degree winters just about every business has a drive through. Until coming to NH I had never thought of Dunkin' Donuts to be particularly dog friendly. But every time we have the dogs in the car the person behind the drive through door asks "Do your puppies want some donuts!?" Well, if I lied and said "no thanks" I think Bug and Beast would probably disown me. Now it's a custom to roll the windows down, let them put on their hungry faces and wait respectively for their donut holes. Every time we round the corner and place our orders the pups perk up. Bug is raised from his sleep by the smell of donut holes floating in oil and Beast hops over to the window, both with hungry eyes and big smiles!

Moodiction: [Muh-dik-shuhn] -noun

I have an addiction to cows. They are such rustic, beautiful, under rated milk producing creatures. Cow’s are gods gift to man. They give us milk to make cakes with, and to make luscious milkshakes with, and to spoon up cereal with. The possibilities with milk are endless. But aside from the benefits of what comes out of their utters- have you ever looked at a cow?! They’re enormous beasts. And yet so funny looking with their bony butts and huge sloppy noses and cud chewing jaws. They’re tails swat flies like it’s their sole mission in life (which I suppose it is). They’re mouths are constantly chewing. They’re udders hang heavy from their dirty underbellies. Ugh I just want to kiss them. But above all else I adore their spots. Cow spots are messy and fun and imperfect. They’re more like blotches than they are spots. I painted my ceiling with cow spots many years ago and every time I look up I feel happy. Cows make me extremely happy. They seem rather content them selves. Just chilling in the fields swatting flies chewing cud and perusing with their fellow cows.

My love for cows developed from an early age. I’ve watched home movies of myself naming each cow at our local family farm Muscoot. I named them and gave the camera a brief description of what I presumed was their personality and life story. “over there is cupcake. She’s younger than the rest but doesn’t mind because she could beat any other cow at a grass eating contest. Her favorite cereal is lucky charms and she enjoys reading mysteries. Cupcake sleeps only under the stars and never in the barn with the rest .” I may have been stretching it with the lucky charms but I feel a connection to cows. They’re sweet eyes are always smiling at me. As if to say “thanks for the love!”.

Next time you drive by a field of cows give them a big hello from their biggest fan!

First Product Review!

I find product reviews very helpful, and when I find a good product I love to gush about it, so it only makes sense to post a few reviews myself. So much false advertising comes out every second it blows my mind. Products that promise natural highlights end up turning my hair bright copper. Mascaras that assure me my lashes will grow ten times their length- (which would technically leave me looking like an avant garde runway freak) make my lashes clumpy and stiff. It's frustrating. One of the worse culprits in the beauty world tends to be tanners. They promise sun kissed skin but without fail, always, always leave my skin blotchy and orange no madder how meticulously I spread or spray or rub.

But at last! Jergens Natural Glow daily moisturising lotion! It's a daily lotion that gradually puts color on your body. And shockingly enough it works! I've used it for a little over two weeks now with perfect results. After about four or five days my boyfriend commented on my tan. Now I'm not a sun-o-phobe and do spend time in the sun, but I also don't have the patience to sit and tan so I fall somewhere in between. So I suppose some of the color is natural but I've never been one to tan easily and this product definitely raises the color and gives you a glow like it advertises. Since it's gradual there isn't any streaking or blobs or fake orange color. It does have a slight "self tanner" smell but it's tolerable. After using it for two weeks ( I use it every other day) I feel more confident, less ghostly and somewhat Hollywood- it's fabulosity in a bottle. Could be all in my head, but what difference does that make!

Vroom Vroom

When you turn 16 in my hometown, you get a car. There are exceptions to this of course, as with everything in life, but I was not one of them. Right around my birthday the car talk surfaced and the hunt began. It was a very short hunt. I fell madly in love with a red 1992 Volvo from Deluca Auto in Pleasantville. Deluca's was a car repair that had a lot full of unwanted, barley working hunks of metal. Most kids in my grade were settling into fresh BMWs and "lightly used" Acuras. But I was in love. Her $2,500 price tag didn't bother me in the least. She wasn't sparkling, and she didn't purr when I entered the highway but she was perfect. I called her the dinosaur because she was extremely boxy. Her tape player (yes, tape) didn't work so I drove around delightfully singing along with the crackling radio. I glued pom poms to her dashboard and quickly dressed her seats in plush cow print seat covers. Wooden butterflies dangled from her review mirror.

What an exciting time that is. It quickly dawned on me that I didn't need my parents to drive me to the mall. If I wanted to go, I could go. That was a feeling that is hard to explain in words. I was loose from the grips of my parents forever. I was unstoppable and this giant clunky Dino-box was my fellow traveler and passport.

Unfortunately, my big red companion (I should have named her Clifford the big red Volvo!) only spent a year by my side before she was laid to rest. On one of our spontaneous adventures to uncharted territories (A trip to A.C. Moore in an unfamiliar town 20 minutes up the highway) I failed to keep her safe. I was texting my mom for directions (that's my story and I'm sticking to it!) when I rear ended another fellow Volvo. Their car had minimal damage and they drove off but my poor friend's bumper was damaged beyond repair, and they declared her dead, or totaled.

At the time my heart was broken and I didn't think I could ever feel the same kind of love for another car. I was right, but time heals all and eventually I moved on. After a string of thousand dollar Deluca Auto cars I settled on a Toyota Matrix. My parents were sick of the cheap cars only lasting months at a time. The second one I got, another Volvo, caught fire while me and my boyfriend were only a mile away from the house. We pulled over once I noticed the hood was on fire and quickly gathered my purse, groceries and most importantly Bug! Minutes after the entire car was engulfed in bright red flames, and I kid you not, it burned to the ground leaving a pile of dust on the side of our local road. After that I got a purple Buick that ended up not having air bags (whoops).

The Matrix did it's job well. It was the perfect car for short notice camping trips and for toting the muddy mutts all over town. I was able to fit my entire dorm room in it when college rolled around. The folding back seats allowed for ample junk room. Perfect for side walk sales and trips to Ikea. The carpeted seats were easy to clean and never once smelled like the dog butts that so often occupied them. It seemed like the ideal car. But after going through so many cars in so little time I had become accustomed to the change. After about three years I began to feel the itch. The itch of wanting, longing and needed a change. After my first winter in NH I had found my excuse.

"Dad, I just don't feel safe in the Matrix up here in the winter. Since it doesn't have four wheel drive it just slips and slides all over the damn place."

Safety is a parents top priority so I knew this couldn't fail, and I was right. What I didn't know, however, is that my begging and pleading for a safer vehicle would result in my cruising around Rindge NH in a swanky little Mercedes Benz.

I had my eyes on another Volvo. A black C30. It's seats folded down just like the matrix, and despite being about 1/8th the size I was sure some how, some way, I would be able to fit dogs, friends, and luggage with ease. Or I would just tell my friends to walk from now on. Luckily, my boyfriend is a tad more practical than me. When my parents put a used Benz in the mix I was stuck. Cute little zippy Volvo- or hot used Benz? In a rare twist I actually wanted the Volvo more. Then Ryan intervened with his practical thinking.

"You'll regret it if you choose the Volvo. It will only be cute for so long before you realize you could have had a Benz!" He assured me.

He was right. I bit my lip and made the trip home to test drive the silver C280 Benz. It was love at first drive. Driving her home felt like winning the lottery. Every time I get in my car (now named Heidi- after the German supermodel) I feel like I'm winning the lottery over and over again. She is classy and dignified and sexy as all hell. It's hard not to have confidence driving her around. Even Bug feels cool hanging his head out of a Benz, slobber and all!

Reading's Like a Box of Chocolates

A good book is like a box of chocolates, a good wine, a best

friend, a video game (if you're into that) and a cute puppy. You don't want to put it down, you are thoroughly enchanted by it. This is a rare occurrence in my world, but a delightful one. I've only read a handful of books in my life that rose to such a status.

*Old Spotty Cow. The first book I read more than once. It was an old, frail, smelly book that I found in the attic and fell in love with. It is literally about an old spotted cow and his days on the farm. What could be better!!? ( I adore cows, we'll come back to that in a further blog)

* Rape a Love Story by Joyce Carol Oats. I picked this out at a local book store on one of my hunts for a summer book. I was far too young to read it, probably 12, but was engulfed from page one. It is written as though the reader is the main character in the story. I don't think I could read it again, being awfully depressing, but it made it onto my list none the less.

* P.S. I Love You by Celia Ahern. I grabbed this at JFK airport right before boarding a flight to Spain. At this moment I would like you to completely delete any opinions you have formed about this story due to that awful Hilary Swank movie. The book was surprisingly well written (I've found her other books to be let downs) and a real tear jerker. I mean come on! A man writes his wife letters on his death bed to help her rebuild her life after he dies!! Does it get any better!?

*Marley and Me by John Grogan. Technically I didn't read it. I listened to it on tape while I was having bouts of insomnia on a trip to France. Beautifully written (or spoken in this case) it was a really touching book. I am also thoroughly obsessed with Dogs so that didn't hurt. But really, for anyone who has had a deep relationship with their dogs it's a must read. And yet again the movie ruined it!! Bleh what a lame movie. It's about the cute dog, not about you Jen Aniston!!

* Davinci Code by Dan Brown. I know, I know-typical. But there's a reason that book has been on the best seller list for the past thousand centuries. It is engulfing to say the least. I don't even like thriller books but I couldn't put it down. I even read Angels and Demons (also amazing) just so I wouldn't have to say goodbye to Robert Langdon. Again the movie totally blew. I pictured Robert Langdon as one of those sexy rugged older men (early forties) with a a hint of softness in his wondrous eyes. I may have had a slight literature crush on him. but TOM HANKS!? Eiw. No thanks.

*A Spot of Bother by Mark Haddon. This book can't be described in less than a forty-five minute conversation. It's brilliant. Sheer brilliance. I was forced against my will to read and report on a book for a writing class. I waited until the last minute (obviously) and was panicked when I found out it was not on sparknotes.com. Forced to actually read it I fell madly in love with it, to the point that I was hesitant to ever read another book because I didn't think I could ever love one as much.

Today I went to Toadstool Bookstore in Peterborough and bought three new books (one by Dan Brown- Oh how I do miss you Robert Langdon) Bookstores make me giddy, even though I've bought many more books than I've actually read. But luckily my pale skin is in need of some color and those lawn chairs are looking pretty nice, so hopefully soon I'll be adding on to this list.

Let me know you're favorite books!!

Foreign Mind

Do you ever speak in a foreign accent when you're alone? I hope someone out there (besides me) does! Ever since I was seven years old I have been obsessed with British accents. It's not that I find them particularly attractive, I much prefer a sexy french accent (who could resist!) or even a deep Irish accent. My fascination with the British accent is actually the fault of Lindsay Lohan. As an impressionable young girl I watched Parent Trap over and over and over and over again. I played hundreds of imaginary games with myself and friends and always insisted on being the British twin. I dreamed of my mother looking like the sweet Natasha Richardson and designing wedding dresses for blushing British brides. It was my favorite movie, and since my parents were not divorced and it was unlikely that I had a long lost twin (I came to this conclusion only after lots of research) I figured the closest I would get to being Annie James was to adopt her voice.

After my parents realized I was serious about becoming British, they bought me a few books on British words and translations. I no longer wore my boots on rainy days, I wore my galoshes. My new personal favorite term was "arse". As in "Get you're arse out of the way!" Every night I slowly practiced my pronunciation out loud. I read books to my cockatiel Fred in my new accent. I impressed my parents with such extreme dedication and amused family and friends. I even promised myself that when I entered middle school at Robert E Bell, I would use my new accent and become a British person. (I hadn't thought of the fact that I would be going to middle school with the same kids that heard me speak in an American accent for the past eight years, so that plan backfired.)

Now, over ten years later, the accent has lost it's perfection but it still tends to pop up when I'm alone. I wonder if I practiced so often and so hard that I had actually tricked a small part of my brain into thinking I was in fact British. When I walk my dogs in the woods I find myself narrating our walks in a British accent, like Victoria Stilwell the Animal Planet dog trainer. When I cook I find myself putting on a fake show with my accent. Sometimes I even think in a British accent. It makes me wonder what else I'm capable of tricking my mind to do!

House Hunting

"We really like old homes" My mom cheerfully told our new real estate agent.

By the end of my first semester I had convinced my school that for completely false medical reasons (extreme O.C.D) that I needed to live off campus. I wrote a very heartfelt essay about how hard it is to live with other people, and how I'd like to keep my raging OCD under control by living in my own space off campus. At my school nobody lives off campus. They want to keep everyone contained in the little circle that makes up my campus so that no one realizes how isolated we actually are. So that no one will realize that there is nothing beyond the Walmart. I didn't feel bad about lying because I didn't feel I should need a reason anyways. Its college, I was supposed to be free. But instead I felt stuck. Most of all though, I needed my dogs. One semester without my dogs was killing me. Instead of twilight posters adorning my 6 x 6 room, I had pictured of my dogs. Hundreds of them. They were even posted on the outside of my door, which looking back probably explains why very few people ever bothered knocking on it to say hello. So as soon as I got an e mail from the clueless but empathetic housing management I called up Tiger Reality to set up a search for my home away from home. My parents came up to foot the bill. However my Mom, not being one to stay quiet, decided to give my real estate agent a nice long list of her preferences.

"We like old homes. Old colonials. Or old farm houses! We love historic homes, that would be a big bonus." I could see her ruining our search before it had even begun.

"She likes old homes." I cut in. "She likes old, ugly homes and I like new ones! New, clean homes. An A frame would be a bonus."

Of course after figuring out a realistic price range for a second house we had very few old or new homes on the actual list. We had tiny, ugly, not new but not old cat piss stained homes that were practically begging to be knocked down. Hideosity after Hideosity. One house belonged to an old woman whose husband just died. It was a sad story, but the fact that creepy medical needles and ash trays were strewn around the house made me feel like cancer was creeping into my body just by standing in it. And yes, it too smelled like cat piss. Feeling defeated but not wanting to make another trip up my mom called a rental agency. They had one place in our price range and could show us in ten minutes, but didn't have the key. We signed the lease that night, on the hood of our car without having been inside the house. It seemed fitting though, since I had accepted my acceptance to Franklin Pierce University without ever having visited the campus. (laziness?)

It was the property that won us over. Our home in NY is nice, a cute old colonial (shocker!) but it's the yard that wins everyones heart. Best yard in town. This was no different. The house is a cute cabin like abode but the yard is a magical forrest. Plants grow furiously wherever the sunlight falls. There are three nearly endless fields that fill with dandelions in the spring, and sleep with a blanket of snow all winter. There is a little garden just for me outside the kitchen window and a thicket of blueberry bushes just beyond that. I'm about to sign the papers to lease it for another year, and can officially say it has become my home.

However there is the issue of a crazy land lady, but I'll save that for another blog.....