Monday, March 31, 2014

25 Ways You Show Me True Love

This weekend, Boyfriend turned 25. I came home for his birthday, our first full weekend together since New Years (long distance is the worst) with every intention of having the best couple days imaginable. 

Then, as I am wont to do, I got incredibly sick the details don't matter: what does matter is at one point I was crying my eyes out in discomfort and when Boyfriend asked if there was anything he could do To help, I realized nope. Nothing. Because he'd already done every last thing I needed, thought of everything I want when I'm sick or sad. That is some serious love right there. So instead of the usual "Happy Birthday You're Awesome!" Post I thought I'd share what else he does that makes me think "Yup. True Love, man." I decided to list one thing, in no particular order, for each year of Boyfriend's life thus far. 

I'm not joking when I say I got to 35 and realized it was a bit much. So. Without further ado . . 


1.) Always asking for a straw when we're brought our drinks, because you know I don't like to appear prissy but also I can't drink from a cup with ice without risking hives (and that's weird to explain)

2.) Text messages that say "I love you," and nothing else simply because those three words crossed your mind, while I'm two states away. 

3.) The second serving of ice cream cake. 

4.) Thirty seconds before I announce I'm restless/bored asking if I had errands I wanted to go run or a new book I'd had my eye on or pointing out how nice a day it might be to go for a walk. Always knowing the fidgeting is coming. 

5.) Luna, Kind, or Lara bars always on hand and tucked in to my bag when I leave. 

6.) Holding my hand without having to look over, because you know that commercial/interview/segment/line/comment/joke/moment is probably making me cry. 

7.) Turkey burgers, pesto, and unsweetened iced teas where papa johns, cheese sauce, and Sierra Mist used to be. 

8.) Always loving what I've done to my hair. I mean genuinely grinning because you think it looks nice, and knowing exactly what's different, whether I changed how I wear my part or up and dyed it red. 

9.) Not seeing the newest superhero movie without me. {Most of the time}

10.) Seeing the latest Pixar/dance movie/cartoon with me. Occasionally before we make it to the aforementioned superhero movie. 

11.) Suggesting a girls night or that I call my best friend or skype the sibling who is far away or go watch a game with some of the guys from college because you understand when I need what other people in my life give me. And that as an extrovert, I do best with LOTS of people and experiences. 

12.) Understanding this career I've chosen is actually several careers in one. And they all require endless amounts of my time, focus, energy and devotion. Never resenting that. 

13.) Taking care of me - more than taking care of me. Pampering, spoiling, indulging. Even when at first it makes me feel guilty or uncomfortable: reminding me I am worth as much as you can give. That I deserve to feel special, and that isn't a trick. That I am allowed to have the things I want . . . And sometimes I don't have to fight for them until I'm too exhausted to see straight. 

14.) Not being suspect of my guy friends: understanding I was raised in an environment dominated by males, by sports, by pseudo brothers and eating contests, dirty jeans and fart jokes. That I was at the side of the mat (jujitsu and wrestling) when I was still in pigtails and my first round of "the talk" was around a campfire with a high school dude who didn't realize I wasn't asleep and suddenly had to explain himself. So despite teaching ballet (or perhaps because of it) I still gravitate to those sort of messy, loud, competitive environments and those guys with their beards, appetites and candor but I could never, ever love them the way that I love you. 

15.) Learning about triggers, trauma, and boundaries. Being willing to rework how you communicate and your definitions of supportive behavior. 

16.) Always putting the seat down, holding the door open, waiting until I'm seated, offering me the first bite, ordering second, and walking on the side of the street closer to the road.

17.) Making sure I know how beautiful you find me when I'm in yoga pants and a Celtics t-shirt with no make up to be found and my hair at its most Hermione as well as when I'm wearing a cute, trendy outfit, and when I'm in formal wear for a show. 

18.) An armful of my favorite bangles, one for every special event, holiday, opening night, and anniversary because you know how I love tangible memories. 

19.) Loaning me your headphones/charger/plug/flash drive. Because I've lost mine. Again. 

20.) Never even once in five years comparing me to any other woman in your life: not your mother, sisters, exes, friends' girlfriends or women on TV. Not even to tell me the ways I'm superior/things you prefer because you see me as myself - whole and unique and in competition/comparison with no one. 

21.) When the cramps are so bad I am crying {sobbing} {it's gross} in bed bringing me a bowl of peanut butter and chocolate chips the size of my face. 

22.) Giving up Walmart. Buying local. 

23.) Not participating in girlfriend/wife/partner bashing. I don't mean never complaining about me. I'm a handful and we're both human. I mean not engaging in those conversations that happen where everyone involved seems intent on making their claim that their parameter is the worst-most-annoying-most-frustrating-so-impossible and tearing them to shreds in the spirit of camraderie. Agreeing that behavior is toxic and no good for the relationship, even if the other party never finds out. That it diminishes the strength of legitimate complaints and issues that we may need to vent to friends about. 

24.) A netflix account saturated with wedding shows, old BBC gems, Classic Disney and half-watched stand up specials. 

25.) Being able and willing to say "I love you very much," even in the midst of a fight. 

And of course one to grow on . . . 

26.) Having the ability to make me laugh when I'm bawling, grin when I'm fuming, and bring me some piece of calm when the waves of anxiety are tossing me around like a rubber duck in a typhoon. 

Thank you, my love.

Thursday, January 2, 2014

Looking Back (Part I). . .

I know that I'm a few days late: we're in to the first week of January 2014.  Most people have posted their retrospectives on the year that closed before New Years Eve, or during the lull that is New Years Day.  But 2013 was. . big.  Huge.  An awful lot happened in it, a lot to think about, process, feel, absorb, reflect on.  Every year it seems to me that I sit down and think "Wow.  Highest of highs, lowest of lows, what a crazy year!" and 2013 was no different.  This time, however, I think something is  different.  I am different - for the first time I can really remember, I find myself thinking "Yes.  I am a different person than I was on this day exactly one year ago.  Change. Growth. Exploration."  And as I look back on the year-that-was-and-now-has-passed, I can see distinctly the mile markers of myself: the adventures and their peaks and valleys. . .

January 2013

  • I started the year by flying to Chicago (where I'd never been before) to see my Big Sis (not a member of my biological family, but of the sort of foster-family we assembled years ago: a bunch of super young adults sort of adopting each other as we went along

    • We then roadtripped from Chicago to St. Paul Minnesota for the wedding of a dear, dear friend and his beautiful soulmate
    • Had a reunion with the rest of our little family
    • I met the lady-love in my Big Brother's (see above description of Big Sis: I promise a blog post on just them is coming soon) life and became fast friends

{Serendipitous Parking at Mall of America}

{Reunion time!}

{There was a photo booth at the wedding}
  • Applied to grad school and received word my uncle had passed away on the same night
  • Started my last semester in undergrad while battling what I thought was the flu


  • Represented my school at KCACTF as a Stage Manager and Actress
  • Won a scholarship for the Apprentice Program at Commonwealth Shakespeare Company on what was one of the most wonderful nights of my life
  • Found out what was wrong with me was Pneumonia
  • Performed in my first leading role in a Shakespeare production as Queen Gertrude in Hamlet


  • Took another road trip, this time from ME to VT with one of the sweet, silly boys in this picture to visit the other sweet, silly boy and our friends at a university there 
            {^roadtrip buddy             ^buddy we roadtripped to}          

  • Turned 23, a birthday my roommates Lily and Chet made perfect, from singing to spaghetti.


  • Performed in my last show on campus (dance) & closed my last theatre production on campus.
  • Had my world rocked by the Boston Marathon Bombing.  Felt the fear & panic of having many friends present at the marathon and not knowing when they'd come home.  Wept with my community and found solace in the way the people of Boston pulled together, and the outpouring of love from many cities around the world.
  • Had my blog post about the marathon bombing and it's echoes in my life picked up by a branch of the Washington Post
  • Gathered with family from around the country on my mother's property to say goodbye to the beloved uncle who had passed away in January

{Sleep Well,
Rest well,
Until We
Meet Again}


  • Took part in two sacred rights of passage at my college: the Senior Brunch for dance majors at our ballet teacher's home and Senior Night for the theatre seniors at one of our faculty member's homes.  One involves muffins, mimosas, sitting out in the sun, and looking towards the future.  The other involves bonfires, ceremonial burning of set pieces, music, and dancing barefoot in the grass.  Both were perfect. 

    {"Ladies of the Ballet," Class of 2013}

    {"We're with you - whatever happens." Theatre 2013}
  • Last Ballet class, and everything that means, at the end of which Jill gave my class her parting advise: "Whatever you do, wherever you go - just dance.  Just dance."

  • Graduated College.  Summa Cum Laude, Phi Theta Kappa, Kappa Key, Honors Scholar, and with a perfect 8 semester record on Dean's List (that last one was for my Mumma, my teacher from 1st grade through HS).  Sang at graduation: watched one of my dearest soul sisters give the commencement speech to our class: earned both degrees after a regime that nearly killed me. Cried in the arms of Boyfriend and Big Brother afterwards.


{Support network}

{Panic eyes}

And then. . . oh, goodness.  Then the real adventure started.

Monday, December 16, 2013

Distinctly December.

While Autumn still reigns officially until this Saturday, the transition to Winter has most surely come to New England.  This is my first winter in the city: all the winters I was growing up were spent in deep, rural, woodsy New England.  The sort of place where you brought firewood in from the shed before a big storm, where the cardinals flocked in pine boughs and you could follow deer tracks in the snow.  My college winters were spent in a small college town, and the month of December always meant the trip back further North to the rural homestead: I'd split my time between there and Boyfriend's family home, on the rocky, grey, rugged, homey New England Coast.  While some part of me misses that month long reprieve that was winter break during undergrad (despite always working winter breaks, I still had days off, snow days, time to bake and read and christmas shop, and sleep sleep sleeeeeeepp) I am adjusting well enough, I think, to my first December on my own.  Below are some of the things that to me are in some way distinctly winter, distinctly Christmas, or otherwise distinctly December.


{Image from here}
There are dozens of variations on this recipe: I tweak my own basic one depending on my symptoms.  The basic idea, though, is to make a tea out of ginger, cayenne pepper (just a few dashes!  no more than two or three for me and I have a very high tolerance for spice. when making it for roommates, I add maybe a dash!), cinnamon, raw honey, and lemon.  Pro tips: add the raw honey second to last, after the water has come down from a boil and add the lemon by just sticking it in your cup and pouring the no-longer boiling water on it.  That way you don't boil out any enzymes, yay!

Homemade Chicken Soup

{Image from martinturzak/}

Earlier in the fall I bought two free-range, humanely slaughtered rotisserie chickens.  One I turned in to a bunch of soup, the other I ate from for a few days and then turned the carcass in to a kick-ass mass of stock.  I've been busting both out of the freezer generously as the weather has hovered below zero for days at a time.

The Nutcracker

{Image is the property of Boston Ballet}
It isn't the holidays for me without a trip to the Nutcracker, a tradition that was started when I was a little girl - and then a big girl, all the way through high school senior - when I danced in the Nutcracker.  Now if I'm not part of a production, I simply have to go see one.  Being a staff member with BB allows me discount tickets to see one of the best versions out there!  Taking Mum and Sissy to see it was a highlight of my post-grad life so far, and the kick off to my Christmas.
Books!  While it's frustrating to not have a million and one arts-based projects on my plate for three or four weeks, it is undeniably nice to have time to "refresh the creative well," by re-engaging in my other passions and hobbies.  Nurturing my brain, curiosity, and language skills.  Plus, nothing screams "December," to me quite like snuggling up under my softest brown blanket (a gift from Boyfriend) with my fuzzy socks mug of tea, and a just-for-fun book to read beneath the Christmas lights.


{Image from}

Because obviously snow = winter.  First snow on the same night as Nutcracker = proper December.

Honorable Distinctly December Mentions:
*Chocolate chip cookies 
*Pandora Christmas Station
*Fuzzy socks
*This nifty cold I've got that's making me so tired I'm in bed by ten but can't for the desperate life of me actually fall asleep.  Cue more immune-boosting tea.  
*Christmas budgeting, Christmas shopping's more practical cousin.

Saturday, October 12, 2013


Today is one of the most important days of the entire year.  Right up there with New Year's Eve, Christmas, Election Day, even.  At least for me, and for many other people.

Today is my mother's birthday.

Of course, she's not just my mum.  I share her with my two younger siblings, as well as a string of older foster brothers, and a plethora of "local teenagers," many of whom now have children of their own and are scattered far and wide.  When the whole world was a mass of chaos, darkness, and fear, Mum managed to make a haven and a second home for dozens of young people for twenty odd years.

My entire life, I heard "If you want to get out, you have to get educated."  "You're in charge of your life as soon as you set foot out that door: if you want to stay in charge of it, make sure you're educated."  I spent some of the only happy moments of my childhood (aside from when I was dancing) in various corners of the library and hiding away in my room, my nose buried in a book in part because of that admonition.  When I left home, I pursued my higher education with zeal and passion, my mother's admonitions in my ears.

She did more than admonish or advice, though.  When the time came and she had the chance, she put herself back in school, fighting to earn the keys to her own kingdom one exam, one essay at a time.

While working.

And homeschooling my brother.

And continuing, without fail, to make both home and haven where ever she is, for whoever is near by.

My mother is a warrior who wields a wooden spoon.  A general who waves books instead of firing bullets.  She is clever, kind, and tough.  On this day, the wonderful day she was born, I hope that everyone in her life is able to give just a little bit of the love she so willingly shares back to her.

I love you, Mum.  May your day be as bright as your spirit, a day no one could forget.

Monday, September 30, 2013

Two Hobos & Two Monks From Australia Walk Into a Bar. . .

. . . Ok, so it wasn't a bar.  And they weren't all together.  But they all did play a role in my life this weekend. As my friend John pointed out to me the other day, "life is strange."  And it seems I have a knack for getting myself into strange situations.

Here, let me set the scene.  It's 5:10 on a Saturday in Boston, and I am somewhere between power-walking and jogging towards the bus terminal at South Station.  I've got a big ol' reusable shopping bag slung over one shoulder, filled with all sorts of clothing I can't actually wear this weekend because they're potential costume pieces for my show.  No, there is nothing practical in my giant bag.

No, I don't have a ticket yet.

Yes, this trip is impromptu.  

No, it wasn't well planned.  Gypsy life, ok guys?

As I approach the terminal, I move swiftly passed the assorted homeless, beggars, and other impoverished who often crowd that final stretch of street. I hurry towards my destination, trying to ignore the poverty around me that tugs at my heart, but I can't help but notice a man digging through the trash barrel by the side entrance of the terminal. My stomach sinks when I notice that he hasn't got a bag with returnables in it, which means his goal in riffling through the trash can only be one other thing. I move briskly past him but turn to look over my shoulder in time to see him pull a McDonald's bag from the trash.

As I climb the stairs to the purchasing area of the terminal, I can smell the McDonald's upstairs in the food court, the same location the man outside's scavenged dinner no doubt originated: the greasy smell strikes me as a sharp, pitiful contrast to the mental image of the man looking for a few cold bites of the disregarded fast food in the garbage.  I tell myself if I miss my bus (which is probable, it departs in less than ten minutes and I haven't purchased my ticket yet) I will go to the McDonald's and buy the man a value meal so he can at least have warm fast food.

Instead of making me feel better, the idea immediately makes me feel awful.  In what world is my surprise, impromptu day off full of comfort and convenience more important than another human being literally starving outside?  If it takes me missing my bus in order to do the right thing, than I don't deserve to ever catch another bus again.  I turn around, and head back down the stairs, open my wallet and pull out the few dollars I have left, and give them to the man with a request that he buy himseld something hot to eat.  I don't know if he'll spend it on food, or if it will got to booze or cigarettes or something else.  I do know that he was a grown man eating cold french fries out of a trash barrel, and I couldn't stomach walking away. And that the look of shock on his face, shock that another human being would reach out to him, will haunt me for the rest of my life.

Well, now naturally, I missed my bus. I purchased a ticket for a later trip, and then headed over to the McDonalds.  I know it seems foolish, but I kept imagining what it would be like for that man - dirty, and yes smelly, and bearded, and clearly homeless - to stand in line and wait for his food.  The looks, and the judgement, and the suspicion from security guards at bare minimum. . . so I grabbed a chicken sandwich and brought it to him.  I started to walk back towards where the trains come in to South Station, deciding to buy myself a slice of pizza at the big food court while I waited for my bus.  As I started on this leg of my journey, I noticed a man in grey.  A grey robe, to be specific, with a shaved head and a long beard and a pair of sandals on his feet.  Clearly, he was a Franciscan monk.  He looked a little lost, but I figured he'd be fine.  God knows there are enough Catholic Churches in Boston and he probably knew where he was going and I was really hungry . . . . and then he stopped and looked around, and the next thing I knew. . .

Me: "Excuse me.  Are you lost?"
Franciscan One: "Sort of . . ."
Me: "Sort of?  I take it, by your accent you're not from around here?"
Franciscan One: "No, me and my brother" - indicates back towards the terminal - "are here for four months visiting a brother in Roxbury.  I believe we're supposed to meet someone here, but I have no idea where exactly 'here' is other than being in the southern part of Boston."
Me: "Do you know how to contact the person you're meeting, brother?"
Second Franciscan approaches cheerfully, introduces himself as actually being a priest within the order, and says: "Yes we have a number but unfortunately, being. . ."
Me: ". . . Franciscans and having no personal property, you have absolutely no way of contacting them." *pulls out phone* *hopes they aren't very clever thieves* *judges self for thinking so poorly and suspiciously of two men of the cloth* *remembers Church scandals* *chides self again for painting with a broad brush* *and for being paranoid* *hands over phone*

As Franciscan One makes his phone call (well, I had to do the actual dialing) a homeless man approaches us, pulls off his knit cap, and crosses himself.  He waits patiently until the phone conversation is complete, crosses himself again, and asks each friar for his blessing in turn.  I immediately feel as though I could cry, watching this gentle yet fervent display of faith, but before any tears can reach my eyes (I'm a sucker ok?) the homeless man turns to me.  And he is not looking for a blessing.  He abruptly begins to shout, admonishing me for being a sinner, a slut, a jezebel, a daughter of the devil himself.  How dare I stand in front of holy men dressed the way I am - which for the record, is jeans, a t-shirt, and a pair of toms.  The thing that earns this man's ire (and is "why the world is becoming a hell-pit") is my shirt, a comfortable t-shirt I sometimes wear for rehearsals, which has the collar cut off: at this particular moment, you can see one of my shoulders, and across it, my bra strap. The man's outrage continues to build and I note that our strange group - keep in mind, we're a 20-something girl, two foreign monks in full robes, and a hollering homeless man - is drawing attention.  The Franciscans step between me and the man, and admonish him for yelling at me, and for passing judgement, and firmly inform him that is not "the Lord's will or work," and that as a matter of fact, I had just done an act of charity (which is when I get my phone back).

The Franciscans then walk me into the main hub of South Station, so I can finally grab my slice of pizza. Before they leave, I open my mouth to ask for their blessing, but before I can speak the first brother has raised his hand and made the Sign of the Cross over me, while the second brother smiles and says something I don't think I'll ever forget: "Blessings are more than gestures, little sister.  Blessings should be deeds.  You have as much power to bless as I."

I watch the brothers walk away, back to where their ride (in theory) is meeting them.  Then I turn and head to the pizza counter to purchase my lunch/dinner, which I will now have to do with my credit card since I'm out of cash.  While I look at the variety of pies, the cheerful, mustachioed, heavily-accented man behind the counter makes small talk with me, and when I say "Could I have a slice of this one?" he replies "Eeeeehhhhh, maybe. . . " so I try again "May I have a slice of that one, please?" "HHhmmm, better but eh, I'm very busy," and so forth.  Each slice I ask for he jokingly turns down all the while taking the pizza, pulling out my slice, and packaging it neatly up.  Finally I figure out the trick - "Per favore? Posso?" "Please? May I?" I ask, and he laughs so hard his mustache shakes and hands over my meal.  As I take the bag that should contain my slice of pizza and a drink, I note the extra weight.  "Scusa?" (excuse me?) I hold up the bag and tell him I think he made a mistake, that he gave me an extra slice.  The man smiles at me and says "No mistake: I hope the extra slice will bring me an extra blessing.  You must be a special girl, I figure: I saw the Franciscans give you care when they brought you in.  Maybe I think it's smart for me to give extra care too."  Immediately humbled - and thinking of the brother's words about blessings - I thank him and walk away, suddenly strangely grateful to have missed "my" bus.

It isn't until after that I look at my receipt and see he didn't charge me for either slice, only for the soda.

"Blessings should be deeds."

Saturday, September 21, 2013

She Said I Think I'll Go To Boston. . .

. . . I think I'll start a new life, I think I'll start it over, where no one knows my name.
-"Boston," by Augustana

So that's exactly what she did.  Hello there, friends.  I know, I know.  It's been awhile - months, on fact.  If you've ever read my blog before and are here now, faithfully checking in, I thank you.  Deeply and truly from the bottom of my heart for your loyalty to me and my little corner of the internet.  And if you're new, welcome!  I hope you'll stay around and share in the adventure.  I also think if you're a long time follower, it is time to be candid - and if you're new, it's always a good idea to start a relationship of any kind with real honesty, right?

So.  Where have I been?  What have I been doing for the past season, an entire summer, where I was silent?  And why didn't I blog?  Well, in case the lyrics weren't a give away, I was in Boston. Back in January I received an award at KCACTF (Region 1) for those who don't know, KCACTF is a  national College Theatre Festival, and the particular award I received was a scholarship that allowed me to train with Commonwealth Shakespeare Company, a renown company who I deeply admire.  To train, perform, and work with them for the summer was something I hoped for but didn't anticipate being able to actually do - and the second I realized I would be able to, I was elated.  The only downside was I knew I couldn't share too much of my experience here.

You see, blogs are public access things by their nature - and I have had to be very careful with what information I post publicly because of my "relationship," with my father, a topic I have hinted at on this blog before.  Simply put he was and is abusive, and it is always in my best interest (emotionally, mentally, and physically) for him not to know where I am located.  There was no way to talk about my apprenticeship, which was six or seven days a week, all day and all night, and even had me traveling around Boston, without talking about my exact location - our shows on the Common draw ten thousand people a night, so we're hardly small or unknown.  Which is exactly how he found me anyway.  And once he did, the court battle began, as I attempt to win legal protection from his harassment and stalking, something I knew I couldn't do if I made all of my information public.  I now have enough legal protection to feel comfortable sharing some of my information again. . . and to be honest, I missed this space.  I love to write and I love my blog and I am certainly resentful I had to be pulled away from it.  So expect me back!

Now about this summer - it was amazing.  There was some rough stuff for sure, but it was the most wonderful summer of my entire life. I trained intensively in my craft, performed for tens of thousands of people on the Boston Common, worked with actors from plays like London and Hollywood (we're talkin' an actor on NCIS LA here people!), got to tour Boston performing with the other Apprentices everywhere from a YMCA to George's Island, went to a ton of Sox games, couch surfed like a professional, saw Boston's first Pride Parade, participated in a major arts festival, had a crash course in all things outdoor theatre, grew immeasurably as an artist, learned to really stand on my own two feet, made friendships faster and more deeply than I imagined possible, worked with two dozen inspiring peers, and managed through the grace of God to parlay all of that in to job opportunities as an artist.  

More on those topics to follow! I hope you're all ready to read. 

Monday, May 27, 2013

Allow Me to {Re}Introduce Myself Part II

The long and the short of it is: part one gave you an idea of what I did in college, and why my blogging then was sporadic. I thought maybe a better {re}introduction would include more, well, facts about who I am. So below are 23 Facts {because I'm 23 and that seemed as good a number as any} about me. 

1.) Lela isn't my "real," name.  It's one of my dozen or so nicknames. I think it's pretty.
2.) I talk a l- o-t.  As in, a lot a lot. Maybe too much.  Occasionally too much. Ok, pretty much always too much.
3.) I have the most ridiculous case of wanderlust.  It's more than itchy feet: it's like itchy-personality. I think I just described myself as a wool sweater.  Whoops.
4.) <-- the number of years, as of this August, I've been with my Boyfriend. I guess you could say it's love. 
5.) I really, really, really like avocados, raspberries, chocolate and mangos.
6.) I cannot stomach black licorice, celery, or coffee. 
7.) If you talk to me about books or music enthusiastically, we will immediately become very good friends. 
8.) I have a thing for stars. 
9.) I am terrified of snakes. And elevators. I know, I know. 
10.) Despite being an avid tea drinker and overall tea enthusiast, I am not into green tea. I just don't like it. I realize that makes me an alien. 
11.) I'm totally that friend - the Feminist, the Advocate, the Social Justice Ranter. I do the cruelty free make up and waving around pamphlets and the only eating free range meat and the fair trade everything and generally cause a ruckus.  
12.) My lucky number is 2: especially when it is combined with but not added to 3. For instance, 6 is awesome. 5 is not. This makes 12 one of my rad-est numbers ever.
13.) I have four siblings. A younger biological sister and brother, and an older pseudo/unofficiallly adopted brother/sister duo. They are my 4 favorites. 
14.) I am pretty sure I was born with salt water in my veins instead of blood. 
15.) I not-so secretly haven't totally abandoned my dreams of being a wedding planner, baker, chef, or expert on Arthurian legends and fairy tales. 
16.) I cannot dive, whistle, or ride a bike. Such a weirdo.
17.) Currently this seems to be in vogue so I don't know how to say it without sounding like a hipster but . .  I'm a geek. As in read LOTR when I was 12 and wrote secret notes to my pen pal in elvish, had a dream about traveling with the Doctor, read the Star Wars books in late grade school, and recently got in an all out argument about the finer points of how the Wolverine movie ruined Gambit and his backstory. 
18.) I really love big families. 
19.) I'm an avid sports fan: the opening ceremonies for the Olympics make me cry every year. I consider Boston Sports my second religion: my first crush was boxer Oscar Dela Hoya.
20.) Maybe it has something to do with facts seventeen and nineteen, but its always been more natural for me to have a meaningful relationship with males than females. Most of my friends are guys. 
21.) I am allergic or immune to virtually every painkiller on the market. 
22.) I believe in adventure, kindness, and courage more than anything else. 
23.) I'm a practicing Catholic. 

I'd love to get to know any one who reads my blog better! So please comment below with facts about you, or maybe do one-fact-per-year-of-your-life on your own blog and leave a link below! And as always, feel free to comment/respond below.