There are copious amounts of useless thoughts clogging my brainflow.

• The other day, I was driving home from work and witnessed a "smart" car literally surrounded by semi-trucks. One to the front, one in the back, one to the left, and one on the right. More like, "dumb" car if you ask me.
• For someone who enjoys technology as much as I do, I sure have a knack for breaking/destroying/ruining anything and everything that requires a battery or an electrical outlet to function properly.
• I'm not embarrassed to say that I am a Justin Bieber fan... or was... until I saw him on Ellen yesterday with his pants sagging down to his knees. Dear Justin, this is a fad, that I'm afraid to say, is strongly frowned upon in the 2011 world of fashion. Even for thugs, gangsters, and posers alike. I mean, come on Biebs... you really can't go wrong embracing your All-American suburbian roots, so quit taking fashion tips from Snoop Dogg. He's old. And gross.
• I wore sandals and a sundress out on Friday night. (Which also breaks a few fashion rules... but, we'll blame my lapse in judgement on Cabin Fever.) Anyways, it's now Wednesday and I'm losing most of the feeling in the tips of my fingers as I type. And it's not because I slam the keyboard. Although, if you catch me on a bad day, I tend to write hate-blogs and then firmly hold down the delete button until I get all of my frustrations out of my system. BACK TO MY POINT!... Mother Nature, you are a bully, who enjoys teasing me then forcefully stealing the milk money of my life.
• I've decided to add singing "Bennie and The Jets" for my American Idol audition to my Bucket List. The song just reeks of classiness. And of me... a born champion. And the next American Idol.
• Ba-ba-ba-bennieandthejetssssssssss. Bennay! Bennay and the Je-hets!
• I don't follow much of what's going on in the Middle East, although I'm well aware that I should at least try to keep up. But, how in the heck do gas prices go up 30 whole cents in less than 8 hours?! And of course this happens when I decide to hold off until the next morning to fill up my tank. Anyone know of a reliable horse drawn buggy dealer?
• Now, this is a story all about how my life got flipped, turned upside down. And I'd like to take a minute, just sit right there. I'll tell you how I became the prince of a town called Bel-Air.
• Wait, no. That's Big Willy Style talking. I'm Nicole. My apologies, I get those two mixed up every now and then.
• What happened to the body I used to have in high school? Oh, that's right... Taco Bell's Beefy Five Layer Burrito's happened. Cool.
• Bikini's give me a gag reflex.
• I should probably go work out.
• And I will do that... right after I raid my fridge in a quest-like venture for cookie dough.

Apparently, I don't like to share.

I've always thought of myself as a fairly selfless person. It was only just recently, that I realized my self-view may have been a little distorted...


When we are young, we are taught that it is nice and polite to share. "If you share, you will make friends.", "If you share, people will think you are a nice person.", "If you share, your peers will like you." etc.

I guess, as a little girl, none of these "values" ever really struck up much interest in my head. "What's mine is yours" always seemed more like a type-o to me, rather than a gesture of kindness. I'm not quite sure where in my life's timeline it was that these teachings fell to my mind's waste-side.

My biggest guess is that it happened when I went from being the baby of my family to the (dun dun dun!) middle child.

At the time, I had an older brother who enjoyed playing in Micro-Machines and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and I was always more of a My Little Pony kinda gal, myself.

See, when you're a girl and have an older brother, there's really not much that you share interest in, as far as toys go. Plus, boys have cooties and smell like booties! So, who wants to play with their stuff, anyway? Ya dig?!

Now, the earliest documented piece of evidence I have proving that my innate sense of selfishness spurred from the birth of my sister can be found in a home movie which was filmed during the Winter of 1991-1992, right before the little devil was born.

My mother sat my brother and I down to ask us if we wanted to have a baby brother or a baby sister. Of course, she was just asking out of curiosity. I took her questioning as her suggesting that I had a legitimate choice in the matter. It almost seemed like she just put a catalog in front of me and said, "Ok Nicole, choose one." Mind you, my mother was 8 to 9 months pregnant at this point, so basically what we saw on January 22nd when she arrived, was what we were stuck with. However, being three and a half years old, this concept meant absolutely squat to me, and I had quite a different agenda in mind.

So... it was go big or go home.

"I want a brother AND a sister!"

I mean, hey! She was coming here for me, right?! To be mine, and mine only. I'm pretty sure I equated having a younger sibling to purchasing a My Little Pony from Toys-R-Us.

Side-note: My dearest older brother, who happens to be THE most SELFLESS person I've ever had the priviledge of knowing, said,"Well... I choose whatever Nicole chooses." And of course, with an answer like that, we now know why he is referred to as "The Angel Child."

Anyways, once my sister (and ONLY my sister) came, I still felt like I should continue my reign as "The Baby", as well as the #1 Diva of our household. So, when the camera was on the new baby sleeping, you could always distinctly hear me in the background, singing songs from The Beauty and The Beast... obnoxiously, and at the top of my lungs. And when my poor mother said, "Nicole, Mommy has to go potty, please watch the baby for just one second.", I decided there was never a more opportune time to play hide and seek with the baby and stuck her in a corner of some other room. That way, when Mommy came back, she could focus on the more important child, being me.

Now, when the time came about that my sister could wear the same size clothing as me, the concept of "sharing" made a B-line for the nearest exit in my brain and WWIII arrived in our household. That's also when my three favorite words became... mine, MINE, and MINE!

The point of my story is not that I still don't know how to share, because clearly, I'm an adult, I know I used to be a rotten selfish kid, and everyday I work on being more giving of myself and my things to those people who are in need. But, I find myself hurt and even angry, when people seem unappreciative when I offer up advice, stories, and personal treasures that I hold very dear to my heart, in attempts to help them along their way in life.

I guess that's the thing about sharing, though. No one's going to understand how much that special something meant to you, (be it a Micro-Machine, or a funny, yet embarrassing personal story to help ease a friend in pain) until they are put in a position where their own heart tells them that it needs to give up something special of their own.

Corny enough, here's what I've got to share with you, my readers, for now...

~ ~ Hugs and kisses (XOXO)

Now, try not to be too stingy with those, please. I can't start givin' them away like they mean nothin' to me!

I survived...

About 14 years ago, there was an awful flood in Southern Ohio, which affected many people and their homes, including my Grandma. It was the worst flooding that the area had seen in over 30 years.

Living smack dab in between two hills with a creek on each side, you can imagine that this was a scary time for my Grandma. But, being the resilient lady that she is, she made it through the adversities that this mini disaster placed before her, and now a sign that says "I survived The Flood of March '97" hangs proudly on her wall.

Of course, I have never had to deal with anything remotely close to The Flood of '97... but on this very day, exactly one year ago, I did have to deal with a mini-crisis of my own.

It was Valentine's Day and once again... (wah, wah), I was single. When I woke that morning, I knew I had many blessings to be thankful for, so I decided to try and maintain a positive attitude as I got ready for work.

Before you continue to read, you should know that I worked in a gift shop... where every purchase on Valentine's Day is going to someone's boyfriend, girlfriend, wife, husband, life partner, mistress, secret admirer, etc. So basically, every transaction I ran through our register felt like a dull knife, twisting in the wound of my loneliness. Oh yes, and I had the bright idea of covering someone else's shift on this particular day, so that they would be able to have a hot date with their lover.  Therefore, I worked a double shift, and got to experience twice the amount of procrastinated retail romance! Yay.

When the time came for me to clock out for the day, I thought to myself... "Self... this day has been rough, I'm going to treat you to a KFC Mashed Potato Chicken Bowl tonight!" (Which, if you have ever seen one, looks something like Thanksgiving Dinner on it's way back up, but tastes like heaven in a bowl-form.)

But, I never got to KFC that night. Want to know why? Well sure you do...

As I turned down a side street on the way there, I blew out one of my tires. I'm fairly certain that last February wasn't the warmest month in Ohio. Oh, and it was also pitch black outside. Perfect tire-changing conditions!

Now, my story did have a happy ending. My ever-so-wonderful Dad came to my rescue, like a knight in shining armor, and changed my tire for me. And although that night I really couldn't appreciate it (since I had already regressed and began acting like a hormonal teenager), I now realize something important about being bitter on Valentine's Day. Single people have to understand that being single on Valentine's Day isn't the worst thing that has ever happened or will ever happen in their life.

We just need to quit our belly-achin', ditch the miserable attitude that brings everyone else down and continue about our business today.

This being said, I've decided to commemorate last year's struggles by making a plaque that reads...

"I survived Valentine's Day 2010"

R.I.P. Chivalry

A friend and I had a phone conversation recently that turned into a debate on the reasons why chivalry has died. I blamed much of it's death on the advancements in social technology, which provide men much easier (and might I add, less personal) vessels by which they can contact plausible romantic candidates.

I'm certainly not bashing computers, cell phones, or iPod's in any way, (clearly I'm a blogging and social networking fiend, and can hang with the best of them), but oddly enough fellas, reading a text message that says, "Well hello, hot stuff." just doesn't do it for me.

Now, I don't wish to find the perfect gentleman; a guy who never forgets his "please's and thank you's", stands up when I leave to powder my nose, and opens every door, window, and beer can for me. If I ever meet that man, I might have to slug him in the arm and fake seeing a Volkswagen.

I just want an average joe, to be quite frank. Believe it or not, my rule of thumb has always been, "It's fine if you belch or fart... as long as vomit or "Number Two" don't follow so quickly that I have no time to evacuate."

... See, I'm not asking for much. Work with me, here.


I mean really! What happened to the time when a man used to be ballsy enough to ask a girl out on a date, when he's actually looking the girl in the eyes, and not using software with a funny name like Skype?

And the thing is, even if you were the worlds biggest shmuck... there is no way in hell that I would be able to reject you, if you approached me like that. In fact, there's a good chance I would start displaying symptoms of shock and you'd have to call for a squad.

I'm well aware of the fact that I sound like a very sexist Women's Lib advocate right now, and I'll give it to you men, I've known women to be a little more harsh and down-right bitchy, now-a-days. But you leave us no choice when we open up our Facebook inbox and see something like this... "u looked gud 2nite wen we gon chill nxt?"

Word to the wise, I usually get a little cranky when I can't decipher encryptions.

So here's a few things I'd like to clarify on behalf of all the single ladies out there...

• We appreciate and enjoy your honesty, as long as you aren't discussing how the wings we ate for dinner will probably give you the runs.

• We don't expect a dozen roses, but showing up with a few $2 daisies would be phenominal, once in a blue moon. Oh hell... who am I kidding? We'd probably have a heart attack if we'd get a  "You look cute today." out of you. Even if you're not at all that interested... it's still fun to play the naive card and believe that nice guys haven't gone extinct.

• Some girls like to talk on the phone, but please don't bother calling us so we can waste our breath while we hear you playing Madden in the background.

• We're content with a date consisting of drinking a few brewskys and watching a basketball game, but please don't ask us to re-enact the latest RAW match with you. Especially since you've probably been developing your moves since Hulk Hogan was in the ring.

• And last but not least, we know we're crazy. The best way to calm us down is to tell us that you think we look prettier when the vein in our forehead is bulging.