Wherein I prove that I'm really a 15 year old girl on the inside...

You know how they say that some people's growth is  permanently stunted around a particular age or event? I'm fairly certain that mine is 15. At least where boy bands are concerned. You see, I grew up during the N*Sync and Backstreet Boys craze of the late 90's/early 2000. I was never big 'boy band' kind of girl. I danced so I was well acquainted with their tunes, but I never owned a CD. I never taped one of their songs off the radio (someone please tell me they remember doing this... nope? I'm the only one? Then you're all lying in order to appear younger). I firmly believe this is why my boy band phase has hit (and hit hard) in my late twenties. And it is late twenties. I don't care what any of you say. Are you closer to 30 than 23? Do most of your friends have small people running around their homes? Do most of your friends OWN homes? Then you're in your late twenties. Welcome.

Anyway, what is playing on repeat on  my iPod, computer, CD player in the car and iPad for the last two months?

And it's not just because they're British...though that helps.

In two weeks alone I listened to one of the songs (coughWhatMakesYouBeautifulcough) over 50 times. My hipster side is judging so hard right now that I almost can't hear anything else...except for Liam, Harry, Zayn, Niall and Louis sweetly singing about 10 other songs in my head at all times. Saddest part? I've listened to it enough times that I could go through any given song and tell you who is singing at what time. I know all of the words to all of their songs and happily sing along. I even YouTubed them. And they're hilarious. I kinda want to be best friends with them...Louis in particular. Anyone who decides that a fake, stuffed bird is named Kevin and that he talks should be my friend. 

I'm now going to join a support group while I'm wildly judged on the interwebs for this. No one will ever wonder why I'm single again. I just gave definitive proof. 

I'll see you after detox.

This Could Get Ugly...

Confession: 

I'm wildly jealous of girls who pull off cool like it ain't no thing. You know the kind of girls I mean. The ones that can do the whole messy hair, no make up, "Oh this top? I got it at a vintage store in New York/London. I'd almost forgotten I had it. I just threw it on. Honest, I didn't even think about it." These are the same kind of people who have a knack for finding the perfect stuff at vintage stores that no matter how hard I look I can't find and also seem to be able to make the most delightful looking meals and confections that are both tasty and good for you. They wear all sorts of crazy patterns all mashed together in one outfit, but instead of looking messy and uncoordinated, they look whimsical and stylish, where as when I try anything outside stripes or polka dots I look like a pioneer woman gone wrong (or worse, a polygamist wife.) These are the girls who can wear bows in their casually pulled back hair and not look like they're 5, which I envy because I look like I'm 12 even with my hair done and make-up; on add a bow and we're talking toddler.

Anyway...that was today's confession. 

Don't judge. 

Judging Eyes from Judgy McJudgerson....

So today I was waiting at the Trax station for the train to come after work. (Yes, I do have a car. And yes, I did just say that I took that train. I don't believe in paying the exorbitant fees for a campus parking pass. But that is another story for another day). Anyway, I saw this girl while I was sitting at the station, minding my own business, jamming out to Third Eye Blind on my iPod. How very 90s of me, I know.  The girl comes up and sits down on the concrete on the other side of the Plexiglas next to me. She's definitely wearing "the boots with the fur" (high heeled, no less), hair a little too long and slightly off from the style that it seemed like she was trying very very hard to imitate. I also noticed that she was very intently reading the latest novel-turned-tear-jerker-movie Dear John. I laughed because that it didn't surprise me. She looked exactly like the kind of girl who would be reading such a book. As soon as I thought it, I felt a little bad. What makes me think that I'm so special? Just because at the time I had a copy of Tacitus in my backpack?And then I began to wonder when someone sees me reading at the Trax station and look down to notice that it's some fancy shmancy book for one of my classes, are they surprised? Something to ponder...