Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Bit By the Bug

Last weekend, a very good friend of mine, Michelle, and I went down to Salt Lake City for some shopping. We arrived at The Gateway and started at one end and window shopped our way down and back. I had originally intended to get some new pants but it turns out that I really wasn't in the mood for shopping. But a lot of the stores in The Gateway aren't in Logan so we took the opportunity to check them out. At the end of the excursion, there was one store that we both agreed was our favorite. Anthropologie. I'd never been to the store before because I always assumed that it was sort of... not me. (By the way, I'm learning that many stores may not be 'me' but often times there is stuff that I find I like. Don't judge a store by its... storefront?) Michelle and I decided to check it out. What did we have to lose?

Wow!! That store was AMAZING! The funny thing is that we barely glanced at the clothing. We were both too enthralled by the cool nic-nacs (how is this word spelled?) and the furniture and the cool soap and jars and knobs and... all the other way stinking awesome stuff there. But... the store is pretty pricey. And we didn't really have a reason to buy knobs. Ha ha. Yet.

We left the store feeling more hip and awesome.

The next day Michelle texted me and confessed that she wanted to go back to Anthropologie (which is 100 miles away). I agreed. Next thing you know, we're texting about how we want to decorate this and that and how painting could be fun.

It was official. We'd been bitten by the bug. The interior design bug, that is. We wanted to make our living spaces as cool as we felt in Anthropologie.

Sidenote: Back in high school when I was starting to look at colleges I had to try and figure out what my major would be. I had it narrowed down to two options: Interior Design or History. I figured I wasn't competitive or creative enough for our intense Interior Design program here at USU so I went with History. I changed to English a year after that. Sidenote over.

Now Michelle and I are all set on decorating and spending our hard earned money on stuff to make us feel cool. Not that there's anything wrong with that. I'm actually quite excited for our newest creative endeavor. It gives me an excuse to go to Home Depot and check out their stuff. And let me tell you, Home Depot is AWESOME!! But not quite as awesome as Anthropologie. Because Anthropologie makes me feel hip when I go there.

Until Next Time,

The Hopeless Romantic

Sunday, March 27, 2011

Little Miss Exciting

Lately, I've become more aware of my single-ness. Perhaps it is the spring and with the promise of warm weather, everyone decides it's time to find someone special to share it with. Yeah, I notice when people suddenly show up to school, work, church, whatever holding the hand of someone they have come to really like/love. It probably doesn't help that I live in the marriage capital of the US. (Yeah, that's right. I live in Utah!) So yeah, there are lots of couples.

The point I'm trying to get around to making is this: I'm single for a reason. And not necessarily of my own accord. I always say that I like boys but the boys don't like me. That may not be strictly true but some days it sure does feel it. I guess I'm always trying to figure out what guys are attracted to. And what am I doing wrong to not attract them?

I wouldn't call myself adventurous by any stretch of the imagination. I like stability. On top of that, I tend to stick to my routines a little more than I should. My interests aren't exactly what I call 'broad'. Reading, writing, movie watching. I don't think I'm the prime candidate for catching a man. I'm not into hiking, although I'll do it and... enjoy it. I've never been skydiving nor do I plan to do it, ever. I don't do high risk stuff. I'm not a partier either. I don't do well in large crowds. In fact, I'm not really a socializer. It's just who I am and I can try and change but at the end of the day I crave my homebody-ness. I'm not made for adventure. My idea of an adventure is a planned day where I drive 90 miles with my friend and we window shop. Woo! That's exciting.

If you can't tell, I'm pretty much making fun of myself and my boring life. I'm not exciting and I'm not adventurous. So what do I have to offer a guy? As of tonight- nothing. I'll continue with my single, stable, routine driven life. One day, my number will be called but until then, I'm here. Writing. Reading. And movie watching.

Until Next Time,

The Hopeless Romantic

Friday, March 25, 2011

Hot for Teacher

Sometimes I find myself attracted to certain traits I normally don't find all that attractive. Not that I think they're ugly or anything, just not what I usually go for. I'm in a History class this semester. I've been enjoying it. It's all about anti-semitism in modern European history. It's quite fascinating... but that's not the point.

The point is... the professor. We shall call him... Professor L. Prof. L is youngish, probably in his late twenties or early thirties. He hails from east of the Mississippi and his accent is quite noticeable in Utah where everyone speaks with a western dialect (which is pretty flat). I wouldn't call him classically attractive. He has brown hair and blue eyes. He's small in stature but not petite or anything. He's just... rather ordinary actually. 

The first day of class, I though Prof. L was weird. I wasn't sure what I thought of him. As the class periods went by something changed. Suddenly, I noticed the thick rimmed glasses. The stubble. The professorish (in an attractive way- not unkempt) clothing. I found myself looking at him in a different way. As I said, he's not what you'd call classically attractive or handsome. He's more... intellectually attractive. You can tell that he's smart and that he knows a lot. Add in the stubble (which I, oddly enough, am a sucker for) and the glasses (See The Clark Kent Affect) and suddenly, I enjoy class just a little more.

Of course, Prof. L's attractiveness ebbs every now and then. When he shows up clean shaved without his glasses, suddenly he's not exactly as appealing. And recently his hair had gotten really long, on the verge of becoming the unkempt professor we often think about. And then he got it cut, which is what drove me to write about him. He calls it his Ben Stiller haircut. I think it looks really nice. And it makes him look even more intellectually attractive.

I think that if you stripped away the glasses and the clothes and the professorness, there would be nothing left but a nerdy, small statured guy who likes comic books (yes, he has professed to this) and is a history geek. So maybe the whole appeal of him isn't just his looks but the fact that his looks combined with the fact that he is intelligent and a professor, appeal to the eye of a single girl. What is it about professors anyway? (Not that there are many attractive ones at my university, at least not in my program.)

I was sitting on the bus on my way to campus when someone sat down next to me. I didn't look over mostly because I didn't want to seem like a weirdo. They said, "You're familiar." I finally glanced up and lo and behold! It was Prof. L. (No, my heart didn't skip a beat or anything- this is purely a classroom affect) I greeted him. And all the way to campus we discussed his class. He was polite. I was polite. I realized that if he wasn't my professor, I'd think he was weird.

There is such thing as a Hot for Teacher Affect. Perhaps I might have to explore that another time. Until then, I'm going to keep enjoying the attractiveness of my history professor, Prof. L, until the end of the semester. It adds to the classroom experience, in my opinion. Hurray for learning... and attractive professors.

So, Until Next Time,

The Hopeless Romantic

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Just a Little Old Fashioned

Lately, I've been considering my singleness. I'm not unhappy or anything. I'm quite content about my 'relationship' status actually. It's only very rarely that I sort of get a twinge in my chest that signals my aloneness. Especially when many people around me are married, getting married, dating, and having babies. It can start to get to you, you know.

So I sit here and wonder what I'm doing wrong. Why doesn't anybody want to marry me and have babies with me? (As I type this a horrible feeling fills my chest- I'm SO NOT READY for that yet.) I have a very good friend, we'll call her Jane D. No, no... J. Doe. J. Doe is pretty old fashioned when it comes to love and romance. Anyway, she really liked this guy but he was a little shy and although he was nice to her and talked to her, he never made a move. J. Doe was to the point that she was getting bolder and trying to get him to realize that she was interested when she moved. Her interactions with this guy were practically cut off... but there was a new guy. (This isn't meant to show that J. Doe was fickle or anything- because she's not.) She knew that she had to go a little faster with this new guy because the last time she liked a guy she (or he) took too long. Well things were starting to progress rather nicely (and a lot quicker than the last time) with the new guy and he seemed to have an interested in her when J. Doe moved again. Two guys and neither one had made a move.

I was talking to J. Doe about this and I finally stated that our thinking (yes, I include myself) was too old fashioned for these modern times. We expect the guy to do all the work. That's not going to happen. That's not realistic.

I'm not claiming to be an expert on guys because I'm not. But I have come to notice that they aren't exactly the bravest... no, the most confident when it comes to girls. Not unless the girl has shown an equal interest in him. Life is not a romance novel, despite the fact that often times I wish it was. Love is a battlefield (ha ha ha).

We're all relatively equal now. Us girls, can't go on expecting that guys are going to see us and suddenly call us up and ask us out. It rarely works like that. It's time to get over our old fashioned mindsets and start giving the guy a clue.

Unfortunately, I know that there are many times when you like someone who just isn't interested. Yeah, it stings but you'll get over it and live. Life is too short and too fast paced to spend your entire time afraid to crack some eggs. Life is messy.

(Whew) Okay, I just had to get that off my chest. It was a rather sudden epiphany that I received the other day and I just needed to share it. It's going to be tough but I'm going to try and get the who old fashioned 'the guy calls the shots and has to pursue me' mindset out of my head. It's time to modernize.

Oh and by the way, this doesn't mean the the guy doesn't have to do anything. He has to be doing his part too. It's an equal opportunity sort of thing. A careful balance must be met and old fashioned romance... is pretty much obsolete. But don't fret. There is still romance out there... it's just different than what we've seen in the novels and movies of our youth. You are strong! Heartache to heartache you stand. Love is a battlefield.

Until Next Time,

The Hopeless Romantic

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

A Young Harrison Ford, Swamp Paths, and Sweaty Palms

These last few nights, I've been having strange dreams. Now that's really not unusual because I always have strange dreams and I can usually remember a portion of them in the morning. But these latest dreams have starred... guys. I've dreamed about people I've never met before, many times in fact. And I've dreamed about guys too.

What's so different, I think, is that fact that these guys I'm dreaming about... I like them. I don't know who they are and I can never really see their face very clearly but I know that I LIKE them. For example, on Sunday night/Monday morning, I had a dream involving a young Harrison Ford/somebody else looking guy who kept hitting on me. I kept trying to keep at the task at hand (whatever that might have been in my dream) but he was wearing me down and I really wanted to give in. I'm not sure what giving in would have meant but the point is that I liked him. And I would have dropped everything and gone with him... if my alarm hadn't rang at that exact moment. And my young Harrison Ford/somebody else looking guy vanished into the recesses of my brain.

Last night, I had a weird dream. I was in some kind of weird planet or forest or something of the sort and I was with an older guy and two younger (meaning more around my own age) guys. I don't know who they were, just that I was with them and they were somehow protecting me. We were walking along a crooked path in a swampy area and in my dream mind, I was debating whether or not I should place my hand in the crook of one of the younger guys arm to help me keep my balance. I was nervous and self conscious because my palms were sweaty- from the swampy lands I assume. I was unsure of my footing on the path. Finally, I reached up and tucked my hand in the crook of his nicely muscular arm (Come on, of course the guy was buff!). I could feel the strength and the heat of his arm. (Yeah I know, it sounds like it's from a romance novel but it's what I felt in my dream. Stop judging me!) I think he might have glanced at me but I remember feeling safe. Protected. And maybe even accepted. He didn't say much to me but let me keep a hold of him. I don't remember much about the rest of the dream... I think it morphed into something else. I don't remember seeing his face or hearing him speak. I just remember liking the guy walking next to me. He was just there, accepting me.

Hmm... does anyone out there do dream analysis? I'm thinking I might need to get my head checked out. I might be nuts. ...but they were good dreams with good looking guys (I'm guessing because I couldn't see their faces clearly) and I liked them. And that's enough.

I shouldn't complain too much about dreaming about good looking guys right? If only I knew what it meant.

Until Next Time,

The Hopeless Romantic

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

The house that built me

I was nearly three years old when my family moved into the house I grew up in. It's an old house, built in the 1910s (I can't quite remember the exact year). That puts it at about 100 years old. As will all old houses, it's had issues. Leaky roof, lack of space, and a crappy kitchen. But it's home. It's my home. My parents still live there, although they are planning on one day, hopefully, going to build a house to their specifications.

I moved out just a couple of months after I turned 18. Moved away to school, I guess you could say. Even though school was only about 30 miles away, over a mountain. But it was the space I needed. It was strange, getting used to an apartment after living in a house for 18 years. I think now that I've gotten pretty used to living in apartments. It's weird when I'm at my parents' house because I'm always trying to be conscious of the next door neighbors... who have several feet of distance between the houses.

The house sits on the corner in an older neighborhood that is slowly becoming 'the hood' as my mom so jokingly puts it. One block from my old elementary school, my siblings and I walked to school so many mornings, backpacks bumping against our backs, our sneakers scuffing along the old sidewalk. There's a tree that grew these awesome blossoms. Lilacs I think, but I could be wrong. They were white. I liked to pick them on our way to school. Give them to my teacher. I used to roller blade around the bloke. Ride my bike down the street. The backyard used to have swings. Until we got too old. Now it's a bare lawn. Only good for the lawnmower.

My bedroom isn't my own anymore. In fact, a lot of my stuff is packed up in boxes in the attic. But it's still my bedroom, even if my messy little brother has overtaken it with all his crap! It's the room I played Barbies in. The room I read until 2 am before I finally fell asleep. It's the room I started writing in. It's the room that I became me. It's the house I became me.

No matter how comfortable I get in each new apartment or where ever I live, I'm never completely 100% at home. There's only one place that I can be totally myself. It's home. It's my parents' house. But I guess I could argue with myself and say that once I got out of the house, I became a new me. I don't really feel like arguing with myself so I'm going to say that home makes me comfortable enough to be who I am naturally and not who I've forced myself to evolve into. I'm not even sure if that makes any sense. I don't really care, quite honestly.

It's the house I grew up in. It's the house I became me. It's the house that built me. It's the house with traces of my presence all over it, from the name carved in random spots, the stickers stuck to the wooden doors, to the handprints painted on the office walls. It's home. And yet... it's not quite home anymore. Not for me at least. I know I'll always be welcome home by my parents but it's never going to be the same. Ever again. But that's what growing up is all about right?

Until Next Time,

The Hopeless Romantic

Saturday, March 19, 2011

You're just like Belle!

The other day, I was walking to the bus stop on campus. Not unusually, I was reading a book as I walked. I was almost to the bus stop when I coworker called out to me. I looked up to find a coworker and a former coworker standing together, chatting. I walked over to them. My coworker laughingly joked that I was the typical English major, walking with my nose in a book. My former coworker grinned and exclaimed "You're just like Belle!" I just shrugged and smiled. What could I say? I am just like Belle from the Disney movie, The Beauty and the Beast.

I started reading in elementary school, which is where most start right? Ha ha. But by the time I was in the fifth grade I was reading at a high school level. I did constantly have my nose in a book. I remember the first time I ventured to the school library on my own. Each class had one day a week that they went to the library. I walked into the library on my own where the best librarian ever worked, Mrs. Asay.  She was so nice and she was very supportive of my exploration.

I was probably 12 or 13 when I started venturing to the city library on my own. My mom had a rule that we could only go to the public library during the summer so we didn't get our school books mixed up with the library books. It was summer when I walked into the old library. I walked out with a stack of probably five books. The most books I'd ever taken out at one time. That was the beginning of my Belle-ness.

I'm totally that girl who walks down the street a book in hand and most likely another one hiding in my bag. I'm a Belle. You know that second scene, after the backstory of the Beast has been told, when you see Belle walking into town to the bookshop? After she gets the book she starts to walk through town reading. The townspeople think she's odd. That's been me with my family. My tenacity when it comes to reading has always seemed to throw them off. But it's simply me.

I'm the bookworm. It's just the way it is.

Until Next Time,

The Hopeless Romantic

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

You passed me

You passed me and glanced my way. The vivid blue of your eyes caused my heart to skip a beat. My stomach did a flip. And you passed me. I smiled as you walked away; Remember when you affected me like that all the time? I smiled as you walked away, relieved with the knowledge that you don't affect me like that very often. I like your blue eyes but my crush is gone. You passed me and I smiled.

Monday, March 14, 2011

I write so somebody else can read it

If someone had come up to me a year and a half ago and said that I'd be a 'blogger' I would have laughed in their face. I'd never, in my wildest dreams (and I have very wild dreams), thought that I would be blogging. Part of me still feels weird every time I get on and start typing. As one of my professor once told me, blogging is very narcissistic. Although I don't claim to be a narcissist, I can see where she got that from. Blogging usually is about the blogger and not necessarily the topic of the blog or the post.

So why did I start blogging? Looking back, I feel like an outsider looking in on someone else's life. I remember thinking that it would be cool. I'm not even sure why I decided to start one or how I got started. I think I Googled it. I didn't know what I wanted to accomplish. I even chose a dorky title for the blog. Even today, I think about changing the name but it's such a hassle that I can't bring myself to do it. Plus, I think the hopeless romantic title suits me.

I don't consider myself a great writer. I think I'm a decent writer but I always find my flaws and I'm always aware that I need to improve my writing skills. I find that blogging gives me practice. When I look back to my earlier post, I can see improvement in my writing. At least, I think there's improvement. I could be wrong.

But I love to write, whether I'm good or not. There's something about the written word that just draws me to the computer or the pen and paper. The need to express myself through words cannot be denied. I think that's one of the reasons I've enjoyed my blog so much. I write with the mindset that someone besides me is going to read it. It's about affecting somebody else. Affecting their life with what I have to say. (Is that narcissistic? Because I don't mean for it to be.)

Maybe my goal... my purpose... my whatever it is, is too far beyond my reach. I don't know if I'll ever write anything that could affect someone's life. I don't know if I'm that good of a writer. But the point is... I'm going to try. I'm not out to change the world. I'm not out for self-acclaim. I'm just want to make someone else feel better about their day or their life or their job or whatever.

I write so somebody else can read it.

Until Next Time,

The Hopeless Romantic

Sunday, March 13, 2011

Little Miss Regret

I often look back at my past and wonder about my life. Now, I don't really believe in living in your past but it's not anything that you can run away from either. Sometimes a current event that affects me sends me back into my past. And with the past comes regrets. 

The ache of regret fills my chest and I struggle to contain it. I struggle to keep it from overwhelming me. Sometimes I let it overwhelm me. 

But I have to rein it back in. I have to remind myself that the person I was then is not the person I am now. In the span of four years, I've become someone different. At the core, I'm still the same. But the shy bookworm of my past has receded into the background and been replaced with someone who's not afraid to talk to complete strangers. I'm someone who can function in 'society' but still retain that sense of bookishness and nerdiness that is me. So the regrets are from being someone else.  

As I get older, it gets easier to push the regrets aside and to learn to live in the moment and not the past. It's not easy, but it is possible. The hardest part is trying to remember to live in the moment now and not create new regrets. 

Live in the moment and don't forget who you are. 

Until Next Time,

The Hopeless Romantic

Saturday, March 12, 2011

A Hopeless Romantic vs Television

Why yes, that is another Chuck reference. I'm full of them these days but just humor me. As I've mentioned in an earlier post, this week is my Spring Break (which is almost over- darn it). I've had a lot of time on my hands. I've tried to keep myself busy with housework and various other things... not very successfully mind you. But I've tried.

Along with cleaning the house, I've watched a lot of TV. I watched the second and third seasons of Chuck, the first season of Castle, finished the third season and started the fourth season of Bones, and I've watched some other shows not worth mentioning as well. That's hours upon hours of television. I ask that you don't judge me. I'm merely trying to pass the time and instead of doing something worthwhile like finally finishing the Lord of the Rings trilogy, I've wasted my days away in front of 'the tube.'

Even worse, I've fallen in love. Don't worry, it's only mere infatuation. As usual. I've fallen in love with fictional characters. I've fallen in love with story lines. I've fallen in love with... well I guess those are the things I've fallen for. Anyway, the point is... all this time in front of the TV has not done good things for my head.

I find myself wishing I was a character in a show. That I had a sexy FBI agent as my partner. That I had an annoying mystery novelist following me around. That I was a forced to be a cute computer geek's fake girlfriend. That I was attending a horrible community college and in a study group full of mismatched people. ...I find myself wishing.

Now, don't worry. I'm not nuts! I really do have a tight grasp on reality. I understand the difference between real and imaginary. It's just sometimes... I find myself wondering what it would be like to be a character. I guess even more specifically, to have someone good-looking (Like Booth, Chuck, Castle, Captain Awesome, etc.) who wanted me.

So maybe what this boils down to is that I want someone to want me. I don't think that this is totally unusual. What's totally unusual is that I want a fictional character to want me. Maybe I am nuts. Maybe I just need to find a man, and fast! Maybe... I need to tone down my imagination....

So that's me. A hopeless romantic who craves romance. Ha ha. That's so cliche. But life is all a big cliche. (Maybe I shouldn't write so late- I'm not sure I make sense.) I guess for now, I'll keep loving my fictional characters (whether from television, movies, and/or books) until I can finally see past them and at the man who wants to be with me- nuts or not.

Until Next Time,

The Hopeless Romantic

Thursday, March 10, 2011

Chuck vs. the Two Giggling Girls

Recently, I became addicted to a little show titled simply Chuck. Now the road to my addiction started with Zachary Levi and his singing talent showcased in Katherine McPhee's Terrified. I'm a sucker for men who can sing... especially very attractive ones that are... tall and smile pretty and... Anyway, that's not the point. The point is that I'm addicted.

One night, a couple of weeks ago, I felt like watching something and naturally I started browsing Hulu. I stumbled upon the fourth season of Chuck. I couldn't resist and I clicked on the earliest episode available. There I was, lying in bed, enjoying an episode of Chuck when my friend texted me. She had just started a Netflix account and her first DVD was the first disc of the first season of a little show called... yep, you guessed it, CHUCK! Here we were, miles apart (okay, only a couple of miles) watching different season of the same show.

Even more than that, we started texting each other about things we were watching. Nothing too important and nothing really about the plotlines... mostly about the characters. It was quite fun and very amusing, I must admit.

Have you ever watched TV with someone over text messages? It's quite entertaining. Especially when you're giggling almost the entire time. *Ahem* I mean, I never giggle. Even when I'm sighing over a pretty smile and beautiful brown eyes. And he's a nerdy kind of guy. Ah, the good news: my friend also agrees with me about the previous two sentences. He is...

I'm going off track again. That's easily done I suppose. Anyway, since that night of Chuck via text my friend and I have done it a few more times. But maybe I shouldn't confess that.

Well I'm off for more Chuck watching.

Until Next Time,

The Hopeless Romantic

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Fallin' for you

This week is my Spring Break. I have a list of things I wish to accomplish in an effort to make myself feel productive. Monday, I focused on my room. I tidied up the cluttered areas, reorganized the bookshelf, dusted. Yadda yadda yadda. I also decided to reorganize my closet. This particular task required a step stool to reach the tall shelves.

I was just about done moving things around and making them look more organized when I realized that I had forgotten an item that I wanted to store on the top shelf. This step stool that I had only has two steps, it's not that tall.

Yet, as usual, I was able to successfully trip over my own feet, find myself flailing my arms in an attempt to keep my balance, and land in my laundry basket full of dirty laundry- only barely missing slamming my head on the wooden chest that resides in my room.

The end result: A big knot of a bruise below my knee on my left leg where the step ladder landed and stiffness in both legs. Thankfully my laundry basket is fine. I didn't even break it after landing in it. (Deep sigh) It's official, I'm a semi-klutz. I have a tendency to just bungle things up even when I try my hardest. The good news is that I don't ever injure myself very badly. It's always minor. Fun fact about me: I've never had a broken bone! I tend to be super cautious and it usually pays off. It's the simple things that get me. Cursed step ladder!

Oh, and my closet looks all nice and organized now. Go me!

Until next time,

The Hopeless Romantic

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Lime-green fingernail polish

I've always wanted to be a sophisticated person. Often times, I stare at those I deem sophisticated in envy. You know the girls who have an air of confidence and beauty about them. They're so sophisticated and confident that no matter what they wear they look good and you gaze after them wishing you had that same confidence and sophistication.

I'm not a sophisticated person by nature. In fact, I'm quite a dork. I'm a low-maintenance person. I'm not very confident either. I just don't think I'm worth it. That's not to say that I have a low self-esteem. Confidence and self-esteem are very different in my book. I like myself. I'm... okay with myself. I don't mind being dorky... when I'm at home. But when I go out and about... I want people to look at me and think that I'm confident and that I'm sophisticated.

Maybe I shouldn't pair confidence and sophistication together. They're not always related. But it's my blog and I'm going write stuff however the heck I want. So there! (Sigh)

I've come to realize recently, as I struggle to find my own style and my own niche in the world, that I'm okay with who I am. I'm not sophisticated. I don't have the patience to spend hours on my hair and clothing choices. I wonder if my idea of sophistication is actually more in line with being... high-maintenanced. I can see that now. Perhaps, as I discover more about myself, I'll learn what true sophistication really is. An online dictionary says that sophistication is to be altered by education, experience, etc, so to be worldly wise. Or not naive.

Maybe my dorkiness makes me feel naive. Like I don't know what the world has in store for me.

After writing this post, I think I've come to a conclusion on my feelings of sophistication. I'm not sophisticated. I'm never going to be sophisticated. I think it's time for me to embrace my true nature and let it guide me through my life, instead of trying to be something that I'm not.

I'm going to stick with wearing my converse and my jeans and my lime-green fingernail polish. I don't need to be sophisticated and classy to be an adult. I am an adult. I'm a dorky, bookworm, romance-loving, adult!

Until next time,

The Hopeless Romantic.