it's my yearversary

it's been a year since i moved to new york. that's twelve months. fifty two weeks. three hundred sixty five days. eight thousand seven hundred sixty five hours. five hundred twenty five thousand nine hundred ninety four minutes (rent LIES). which is just crazy.

if you had told me a year ago...
that i would live in harlem, dealing with five am ragers at the crazy asians upstairs and inebriated loiterers passed out, maybe (hopefully?) still breathing, on my front porch
that i would have my dream job where, yes, i can wear shorts and, yes, i can sleep in and, yes, i can read all day
that i would become obsessed with karaoke, spending probably hundreds of dollars on in and becoming such a regular that the owner recognizes me
that i would gain ten pounds (okay, maybe 15 on a bad day) from all the great food and literally (literally, i say!) irresistible treats and that i would feel pretty okay about it
that i would have countless friends come and countless friends go (interns are the worst)
that i would go to concerts and broadway shows and hipster JP-themed performances
that i would see the dc cherry blossoms and spend a weekend living large in the hamptons and get stuck in an elevator in philly aka the worst place on earth
that i would be going to malta because why the #$!!?@ not   
that i would meet Nick Offerman and Keenan and see BJ Novak and Al Roker and Nick Lachey and Tracy Morgan and Emma Stone and that one dude in pretty little liars
that i would meet--nay, hang out--nay, party with--nay, befriend TAYLOR FREAKIN SWIFT

...i would have called you crazy.

(still don't believe it.)

and yet, here we are.

i mean, a year ago in utah, finishing at byu, wondering what on earth to do, life was all...

and when i finally decided to just up and move, there were haters to deal with. naysayers to ignore. good-intentioned worriers to soothe. ignorant doubters to scoff at. incredulous disbelievers being all "but you're not even married yet" which was just like...

and to them (and that little part of me who doubted i could actually make it) there's only one thing to really say:

#nothingbutlove  #butseriously 

i remember being so scared last year. you know, so long ago. i wrote in my diary "growing up is weird. because you don't really feel it happening. it's just, one day you're looking back and you realize everything has just changed." and that was overwhelming, the openendedness. i was really scared of new york. of acting grown up. of leaving everything familiar for somewhere i'd never been before. and this has been the craziest, scariest, most stressful, hardest, and exhausting year of my life. but it has also been--and i'm not trying to be dramatic here--but it has been the most amazing and singularly happiest year of my life.

and i owe it all to...well, everyone.

for everyone back home who supported me and loved me and visited me (i try not to have favorites, but i mean...), i have to say thank you. i couldn't have done it without that pre-game pep talk (justin), or that first phone call where you pretended not to hear me sobbing (cait), or the proof of income (dad), or the panicked "are you alive?!" texts (mom), or the letters assuring me i had a pretty put-together life (lars), or that money for my fashion makeover (melbran), or the on-the-road-but-i-guess-i'll-talk-to-you phone calls (trav), or the t-rex et al photographic updates (abby), or the first visit just because that was everything awesome (ash). really, all i can say is thank heavens for FaceTime and group messages. you guys are the best and i love you (even if i still hate utah).

and to all my friends out here. thank you doesn't even begin to cover it. i could spend this whole blog giving shout outs (but that's not good edicut), so just know y'all are errythang.

this year has been...awesome? unforgettable? amazing? i mean, really, it comes down to the age-old question: how do you measure a year in the life?

how about .... karaoke, road trips--fruit snacks!, baked-by-tom cookies, seamless, donuts and dance parties, "all roads lead to molly's," mormon drunk, brooklyn we go hard, badminton, feminist plays, "just friends inviting friends," kiss marry kill, dough, institute (penis mascots?), subway leg lifts, brunch, "wall blasted with single air rifle pellet": art, cereal parties, shnugs!, "you're ducking worth it," tram rides and lighthouses, "it's not chocolate," waffles, the PPC, "does this feel like an old man gnawing on your knee?," just dance, CONFETTI, betelehemu, heads up, bad kisses, good cuddles, "i like the way you freestyle dance," tater tots, credit card!, the movie bag, "did he go deep?", tri-state hold em/three's a crowd/black diamond head/the loser game, MASH, "you have a really high metabolism," beyonce + golf = winning, crotch guitar, girl scout cookies, murals, 90s dance parties, sleepovers, "caesar...loves...humans," group messages, asian tourists, #tourguidetom, "let's keep in touch," puppy parades, nipply weather, "i didn't invite them i added them," linger longers, grouplove, movie screenings, "kaaaaate," teacups!, jesus count, reeses oreos, "you guys have a lot of inside jokes," sunday dinners, fork it all the way, nncce nnce nnce, TBH IMHO MRW, broken elevators, photo ops, ...more karaoke (#noshame)

if you can't tell....

so, yeah, it happened. one year older and wiser (maybe) too. this year has reminded me, again and again, that life is meant to be lived. hard and fast. because it's not the years in your life, but the life in your years that count. #preach

ya dig? i survived. i conquered. i KILLED it. ohh yeah.

TL;DR: i lasted a year, people. one whole year. so here's to another. i'm coming for you.

that time i met taylor

also known as "the greatest day of my life heretofore and ever after." cuz, frankly, that was the coolest experience of my life.

let me explain.

once upon a time, taylor was rumored to be releasing a new single at a yahoo live streaming event in nyc. i knew this and have been talking about it forever because, hello, i am human and i love everything taylor does. so when they announced the time and date, i definitely marked the calendar. and when they posted a contest for taylor's new york fans to see the show, it was definitely one of those things to make me go hmmm.

i read the terms of agreement (cuz i'm a super nerd like that) and saw that it wasn't a random drawing but that it would be based on your social media presence, enthusiam, and the general opinion of the judging board. whatever. (i didn't read it that closely) but it asked for your twitter account, instagram, and taylor nation account. and i'm like, lol, there's no chance i'm winning this because 1) i tweet about once a year 2) my instagram is much too self-obsessed to feature taylor and 3) wtf is taylor nation?

but it also asked for a 500 character essay. which, when it boils down to it, is about three sentences long. what did i say in this SPOILER ALERT award-winning essay?

...i have no idea. honestly, i don't remember. i wrote it in about five minutes, right there in the submissions form, so i never saved it. i remember saying something about being 23 just trying to grow up. i mentioned feminism and friendship. i made some snarky joke about how we wear the same clothes and have the same fabulous friends. i utilized ironic hashtags.

and i won.

cue epic fangirling.

so on monday, i left work early to go hang out with taylor. only i didn't know i'd be hanging out with taylor. all i knew was i was one of 89 people (chosen out of 5000) spending seven and a half hours together. what happened was seriously better than anything i could have imagined. 

we went to the abc studios for the yahoo live stream. i sat in the front row. err, couch. and i was four feet away from Taylor at any given time.

see here.

that's me in the background, generally freaking out.

yeah, that happened. do i look ridiculous? yes. do i care? nah.cuz, oh yeah, i met taylor swift.

#photosoritdidnthappen

she's gorgeous. it was awesome. the song was great. #FLAWLESS oh, and then we danced together. as in, she came up and we shimmied. there is photographic proof!

(thanks, laura) (though we can work on quality later)

and if you think that's enough to last a lifetime, you'd be right. i could have died and been happy. i could have been shepherded out and still raved about how great it was. but instead, the following happened. all of which is true, none of which is exaggerated, all of which i still don't believe.

so now let's start a segment i call according to taylor.

"this is the a-team right here."
referencing us on GMA. because she says she handpicked us as the ones who are at the forefront, championing her music without even knowing her. none of us had met her before and she wanted to bring us together. myself included. all i can say is...wut?

"i thought we could go somewhere and eat some pizza. how does that sound?"
/screaming
she does some interviews (i'm on GMA, ma!) and we're shepherded onto buses headed to some undisclosed destination. at this point, we're all in breathless shock over what just happened. i get some sort of speaking disorder that won't let me say anything other than "i danced with taylor. i danced with taylor." which is, you know, fine by me.
and then we pull into TriBeCa. and we park in front of her house. and we all start freaking out. and we're standing in her hallway, climbing her stairwell and i'm like...there's no way this is happening.

"thank you so much for coming!"
oh, the pleasure's all mine, taylor.
she's standing barefoot in her gorgeous foyer, featuring huge mirrors and vintage birdcages and large black and white prints of her and her fabulous friends -- including one of ed sheeran managing to flip the camera off in such an adorable way.

she hugged me. and basic english escaped me. i was quiet and mesmerized and i just wanted to be close to her (#notacreep). it's just...everything. her cats make me want to be a cat person. her apartment makes me believe in the power of exposed beams and dark leather.

i used her bathroom. this is not a drill. the one with the gilded mirrors and red walls. the one hidden in a wall behind her piano. her piano! the one i almost played chopsticks on.

"did everyone gets something to eat?"
we stood in her kitchen and watcher her eat. like a Discovery Channel special, we just couldn't look away. and she pretended it was normal, 89 people pressed around her, like she was used to having an audience for everything.

"who wants a coke?" 
she looks straight into my soul. i just want to say yes. so i raise my hand, make eye contact. she asks me "diet or regular." and then she passes me one. as in, taylor swift handed me a coke.

the only thing going through my head at this moment: is this real life?

"is my song on the radio?"
we all heard it, the new, catchy, sugary, wonderful shake it off and she ran across the kitchen to turn the volume up. and then we danced. we had a dance party with taylor swift in her kitchen. and it was flawless.

"let's go take polaroids. grab the grammys"
she had four or five grammys scattered around her living room. along with a gma and a cma ("this one is just," eye roll "whatever"). we all press around her, too excited to act normal. and everyones pushing to hold a grammy and to get a picture we were promised would be emailed to us.

"thank you so much, kind soul who did that"
because, oh yeah, i fixed taylor swift's tag. why not, right? i mean, we're besties now and that's what besties do. so, yeah, when i was standing behind her and i saw her tag sticking out of her dress, i just reached out and fixed it. and she turned around to say thank you. and we made eye contact. and i smiled bashfully. and she thanked me. and i didn't know what to say. because basic manners escaped me.
i did hear someone behind me exclaim in sweet, flabbergasted jealousy "she just fixed her tag!"
i thought whoa, that was a special moment there.

"have you held my grammy yet?"
this is not a euphemism. she asks me directly -- immediately after the tongue-tied, tag-fixing debacle. and then she hands me her grammy like it's the most normal thing in the world and i almost die, hugging her again for a photo.

"well, see you around."
we were all saying goodbye as she gave us goodie bags filled with merchandise. she took the time to say bye one-by-one, hugging us one last time. and as she thanked me for coming and i giggling, thanked her for having me, i admitted it was my one-year anniversary in the city coming up. and she held my arms and made her classic shock-and-awe face and told me "oh my gosh i did not know that! that is so amazing!" we bonded over a love of fall and the promise of pumpkin spice lattes.
and as i finally started to leave (awkwardly, always awkwardly), she smiled and sort of shrugged and said "well, see you around."

there were finger guns fired. and i DIED.

so, there you have it. the absolutely 100% totally true story of my night with taylor swift. i have no idea how that happened, and i really still can't believe it did. but there we are, just me and taylor, kicking back since 2014. you know, nbd*.

*jk. bd. lol.

whistle blower

i posted this video about street harassment the other day. unfortunately, i don't like facebook as a forum. like...at all. so i'm sorry if that got out of hand. but i feel like i've got to say something. because i'm over it. quoting the great Batman Begins, "harassment! all i see is harassment!"

but seriously.  

i've faced harassment pretty much every day since moving here. it ranges from innocuous to terrifying. i've been cursed at, spit at, followed, called quite a lot of names. from things that have been seemingly sweet to skin-crawlingly vile. and it's something i live with. it's something i deal with. but i'd still like to draw attention to it. because it's wrong.

people try and play different angles. everyone has an explanation. a justification. an excuse.

she was asking for it. 
what did she expect? 
it's just a joke. 
she should be flattered. 

it's disgusting. i don't care about cause and effect; the bottom line is sexual harassment is wrong. period. and it's not about the women.

let me be clear. this is not me saying women's actions don't have consequences; this is me saying they shouldn't. where did the responsibility go?

when I'm wearing shorts and a guy comes up to whisper that he wants to f--- me both ways, that's not on me. when i'm wearing sweats and no makeup and a guy whistles, telling me to "work that ass," that's not on me. when i'm wearing a dress and a guy tries to get my attention, following me down the street to do it, that's not on me. when i'm wearing a long skirt or a baggy tee and a guy tells me "look at me, bitch," that's not on me.

it's not about what i wear. how i saunter. what i say. it's not about the color of my skin, my hair, my eyes. it's not about where i am, what culture i'm a part of or who i surround myself with. the terrifying truth is...they couldn't care less about me.  

those guys don't see me, they don't see what i'm wearing. they don't care about hemlines or dress sizes. they see a woman without a man and decide that they're allowed to comment. whether it's positive, flattering, creepy, simple, sexual--it demeans the women. because, honestly, it's not about us. it's never about us. catcalling and street harassment is about the men and what they're getting off on. it's a power play. it's them pushing boundaries and getting away with it. it's them assuming they have a right to us, that the way we dress or walk or act is for them.

and that's wrong.

when we put the responsibility or expectation on the woman to dress or act a certain way, it takes away any obligation for a man to act like a decent human being. regardless of what a woman is wearing or parading, no man has the right to feel entitled to it. but the sad truth is, guys feel justified in reacting to a woman as an object.

and before you go all #notallmen on me, please don't. because, yeah, sure. not all men are douchebags. not all men sit on corners or stare at girls or yell obscenities or whatever else you want to say.

sure, not all men, but yes all women.

all women have felt harassment--even if they don't want to recognize it. and it's something guys can't understand. i don't consider myself a victim, and i try hard not to have other people's actions dictate mine. but my entire life has been spent dealing with this issue. we're taught to keep our heads down, ignore them, accept it and move on. but i'm over it.

i don't like that i have to be careful where i go or when. i don't like having to cross the street to avoid a group of strangers. i don't like not being able to say "good morning" back in case that's not all he wants to say. i don't like seeing every stranger as a possible threat. i don't like keeping my finger on speed dial when i walk home at night. i don't like imagining what i'd have to do to fight my cab driver off if he took a wrong turn. i don't like pausing before entering a subway car with just one guy in it, wondering if it will end well. i don't like having to constantly have my guard up, my keys in hand, my bitch face on.

i don't like it. but most of all, i don't like that we try to normalize this. that we shrug it off and make excuses saying that's just the world we live in. we try and laugh it off. we try and lay blame or point fingers--usually at the women. but that's diluting the issue. 

because the truth is, i don't think there's any real solution. this isn't easy. it's not a quick-fix. it's frustrating and overwhelming and we can't just pass a law and be done. but i hope i can raise awareness. i hope i can open the eyes to it of those closest to me. because i want people to understand...this isn't about what a woman can or should do. this isn't about who's to blame or what to do. this is about convincing people of one very simple truth: street harassment is wrong.

cut. print. check the gate. moving on.

until we accept that it's an issue, until we stop trying to lay blame and justify, until we stop making excuses and just finally admit it's a problem...nothing will change. i care about this because i can't normalize it anymore. no more slut shaming, no more victim blaming. i will rant and rave and rage against the machine. because it's all i can do. and i'm done being quiet. something needs to change, even if that something is just public opinion. so face it. this isn't about who to blame or how to fix it; this is just about admitting there's a problem.

manic monday

i have a very restless mind. seriously, i should probably learn to meditate because at the speed my brain is running i'm getting exhausted trying to keep up. but this summer has been RICH (is that a thing?) and i'm excited about everything i've done, am doing, and will do. cuz, you know, #life.

so. since i'm bored. and it's a monday. and i couldn't sleep last night cuz my mind was going a mile a minute (that, and my sunburn). and i just like to talk. and blogging is like talking. so, since all of that, here's a little of what's been on my mind. and is on my mind. and is better than working on monday.

fresh on the mind: i saw this one-woman show called "the other mozart" which is the true story of Mozart's forgotten sister, also a musical prodigy who wasn't allowed to be anything because #sexism. it was a really beautiful, tragic, funny story that should definitely be a movie and told everywhere because it was just that awesome. and i can't stop thinking about it. 

most anticipated summer movie: dawn of the planet of the apes. i hate it, but i secretly love it and i just have to see it, okay? so that will be happening.

best thing since sliced bread: tater tots. i'm seriously obsessed and i may need to get some immediately...

the final countdown: laura is coming back to me, finally and forever. she'll be in the US of A august 2nd and in my neck of the woods a couple weeks later. i plan on introducing her to the world through a carefully detailed plot known as Operation: Reintegrate Laura.

favorite book of the summer: this is not a test by courtney summers. it's a book about the zombie apocalypse, but it's not a zombie book per se. it's actually super thought provoking and eery and immediately absorbing. so just read it. cuz i said so.

constant obsession: shorts. always and forever. i just...i love shorts (sorry, ma). my friend thinks she's never seen me wear the same shorts twice. this is an exaggeration but...maybe only a little. no judgment.

best summer tune: come with me now by the kongos. i listen to it too much. but, hey, it's better than fancy (lol jk i listen to that one too)

what i wish i could watch: jurassic park. that movie is everything. and it would be even more everything if i could watch it outdoors on the big screen with hundreds of other people who just get it. sigh. a girl can dream.

best summer snack: i am always in the mood for potato chips. just plain, greasy potato chips. it's revolting and i hate myself, but i crave them like a pregnant woman craves bath salts: it doesn't make sense, but you just can't resist.  

midsummer, looking forward: well, there's malta #duh, but that's in september so maybe it doesn't count? if it doesn't, i would definitely say i'm super stoked on laura coming out here. there will be jimmy fallon (fingers crossed), karaoke (lol still do that without her), maybe a paly (i've actually yet to go to a broadway musical...), and lots of food (classic). she better be normal...

midsummer, looking back: i think the best time i've had this summer so far is just sunshine with friends. whether it's philly (the worst) or Rockaway beach (so so) or the hamptons (yaaassss), i've had a lot of good days and i can't even begin to describe how happy that makes me. i feel absolutely liberated, which i know sounds dramatic but, hey, it's me talking. so there's that.

it's been good so far--nay, great. and even though i can't believe it's already mid-july (what?!) i can't wait for what's coming...whatever that may be.

dun dun dun? 

city of brotherly love

the one (and only, if i can help it) time i went to philly was a pretty memorable one. see my last post if you don't believe me. but i can't pretend it wasn't fun. well, funny? unforgettable? exciting? i can't quite decide on the right adjective. things went down. that's for sure.

the good. 

it was a beautiful weekend. the sun was out, the sky was blue, the wind kept up on our toes. we were wearing red, white and blue; stars and stripes. i brought my picnic blanket and we had a good time playing games, doing photo shoots, asking stupid/epic would you rather questions, throwing peanut m&ms, and gorging ourselves in a manner befitting an american holiday. 

and then the next day we played tourist. and old town philadelphia is beautiful. the old buildings, the cobblestone roads, the big trees, the horse-drawn carriages of the not-amish. it felt very american. and we definitely enjoyed the backdrop of independence hall. 

and perks of having your bag stolen? bypassing the long security lines. all they ask is "twirl, please." and twirl i did. plus, i got good jumping practice with all our old-timey jumping pictures. 

nailed it. 

we looked good.

and like any good group of twenty-somethings, we danced just right on the line between immature and enthusiastic. so when we found ourselves in front of independence hall, i wanted a picture of me at the front door. because why not? and also duh. so i skipped up the steps and thought lol what if i knock? so i knocked. i made a big show of it, tried opening the front door, pushed down the nob and everything. as you can see, it's been documented.

and then as i walked away, skipping back down the stairs to everyone else chilling in the shade, the doorknob starts rattling and i watch in surprise as this old security guard opens the doors and looks around confused. we start busting up laughing as she comes out to check for...someone. but i wasn't gonna raise my hand. we just laughed, she went back in, and that was the time i doorbell ditched independence hall. 

it's probably the greatest thing i've ever done. 

the bad. 

turns out hotel management don't like letting people into their prepaid rooms if they don't have the credit card to prove they are the ones who prepaid it. #respect, i get it. but waiting for twenty minutes at 2 in the morning for a grumpy manager to grudgingly hand me the keys aint so fun. "DON'T charge anything to your room," they say. and i'm like, please, we ordered in our own pizza, duh. 

well, we were happy to get out of there come morning. so happy we were jumping for joy. 

literally. 

only problem? we decided in the elevator was the best time to click our heels up. allison was like "jump on three" and 80% of us followed orders. one. two. three. crash. 

the elevator stopped moving and we stopped laughing. 

for about a second. 

half of us thought it was hilarious; the other half, not so much. but we were in stitches, giggling over, one, the tension; two, the fact that it actually happened; three, that of course it happened in philly; four, that we were literally stuck in the elevator. i was slightly panicked we'd be charged some fee--like they have a "you break it you buy it" elevator policy in place. but we made the best of a bad situation by 1) laughing 2) giggling behind our hands when people got annoyed we were actually laughing and 3) taking elevator selfies. (but first, let me take a selfie...)

so how many people does it take to break an elevator? nine. it takes nine. also, allison is the guilty looking one in the top right corner. we blame her. 

when they finally came to open the doors (ten minutes later), we were trying to corroborate a story. just in case. but they forced open the doors--and we'd only made it three feet down the floor--so we just climbed out. they had a worker on hand who started apologizing profusely. like "we are soooo sorry this happened to you. i am sooo sorry. do you need anything? can we do anything for you?" and we just booked it out of there, like, "no worries, we're good. byeee!!" 

"sorry for breaking your elevator" was not mentioned. 

here's them rescuing us. she looks like superwoman and we appreciated it.

the ugly. 

see this post. and imagine me crying with a stuffy nose. the amounts of snot that came blubbering out of me was not insignificant. also, the after photos of my cry face are pretty horrific. we won't show you pictures.  but, hey, the fireworks were awesome. the show was great. and the company was sweet. so i can't complain*  (*but i will). 

the end. 

so philly got a place in my heart, that's for sure. a dark, sad, diseased part of my heart where i store only the most hateful memories. but, hey, it left it's mark. it was a city i knew i wouldn't like, so it made sure that i would not like it the most. Philly: 1532650 Shelby: 0. 

i still feel pretty victorious. i mean, hello, my name is shelby and i survived a weekend in philly. unscathed, no. but stronger. you can't keep me down.

Taken.

Things that make the fourth fun?
Stars and Stripes. Neil Diamond. Grilled meat. Fruit. Fireworks. General Gluttony.  

Things that make the fourth not fun? 

Getting your purse stolen. 

Yeah, turns out that's a real buzz kill. 

Philly is a real son of a...well, you can imagine. 

There I was, minding my own business, pumped on life. Sure, my original plan had been Boston. But Hurricane Arthur had other plans, managing to opposite-of-postpone the fourth of July spectacular. So my group of friends regrouped and decided on Philly. 

First mistake. 

And we all can guess what happens next. I went off to enjoy the concert, leaving my bag with the group. There were a bunch of bags there, someone in the group was always there. So let's not lay blame; it was just one second  and my bag was taken. Could have been anyone's. It just happened to be mine. 

For a minute I believe that maybe I can find it, that maybe it was buried somewhere and it will just be one of those New Era stories where if I only pray hard enough or sing some hymn, some guilty thief would return my bag to me. 

It didn't happen. 

And after some denial and definitely after some begging, I faced the music and decided there were certain things that needed done. So I called my bank. 

Well, first, let's be real: I hyperventilated hard core. Mostly because I still have the stuffiest nose, so breathing is already hard. So, yeah, I cried. And it got ugly. 

But then I called the bank. 

My credit card company. 

My other credit card company. 

And the other one. 

Turns out, my card was used for gas and a dollar candy at the convenience store. 

Which is just rude: not only did I have a thief, but I had an uncreative one at best. Twenty-five on gas? That's the best you can do? Dream a little bigger, darling. 

It kinda sucks, feeling the rug pulled out from under you and having no real idea how to go about picking up the pieces. I mean, I have no money--and this came after two unforeseen medical bills that already put me in the red zone financially. They took my keys, my metro card, my ID...not to mention my favorite wallet and my best deck of cards (also metro cards) and my key chain from Paris. My tissues (which would have come in handy with all the crying and snot blowing that was happening) and $25 and my headphones and Chapstick and--

MY TWENTY BAGS OF FRUIT SNACKS!!! 

Let's be real. That's probably why they stole it in the first place; I literally made it irresistible. Welchs fruit snacks by the dozen. mmm. Can I really blame them? 

Answer: yes, yes, I can. And I wish I had the opportunity to knee him/her/them in the balls while shouting some major profanities because WTF douchebag?! Who ruins Americas day for a lousy $20? You're the worst and your city can just suck it. 

I've had enough of your crap, Philly! 

It was pretty traumatic but I dealt. They only had an hour before I managed to cancel all my cards and alert the banks. So there. I still got to go and listen to Nicki Minaj and Ed Sheeran KILL IT. And then I watched the coolest most expensive fireworks show because #muhrica  So all in all it was a good night. 

...And also a no good dirty awful night that I will never forget. 

You win some, you lose some. And I lost. Big time. 

But, hey, I absolutely love and adore philly! Absolutely nothing can turn me against it! 

(This is a major lie. Philly is the worst.)

So much for brotherly love, #amiright 

hey, batter batter

as anyone who knows me knows, i am a huge sports fan.

i am also a huge liar.

note: only one of these things is true.

but seeing as i'm in new york (living the dream!!!) i knew it was time to take me-self out to the ballgame. yankee style.

(you should know i bleed blue)

all joking aside, i really don't think there's anything that feels more like summer than (fake) green grass and a baseball diamond. this may be due to an array of nostalgic baseball films i was inundated with as a kid. angels in the outfield, anyone? but seriously. is there a sport more represented in cheesy/disney films than baseball? and why not, right?

i love everything about it. the cheesy organ music! the snarky song choices when anyone screws up! the chanting! the clapping! the baseball caps and tees! the hot dogs! the seventh inning stretch! the bright outdoors! the smell of fake grass! just the laidbackness of it all.  it feels a) american, so b) it's awesome.

some people think it's boring. to them i say...have you watched football?

but last night was splendid. the sun was beating down on us, the sweat was pooling, the drunks were getting drunker. and yet...everything was perfect.

it all happened cuz earlier last week some friends decided they wanted to go -- and i bullied my way into an invite -- and then we got an entire group to rally. twenty-four people came and the yankees conquered. coincidence? i think not. just look at our team spirit!

note: turns out i'm horrible at taking pictures (and may also be a narcissist) so i failed to get photos of everyone who came. #mybad but i know my awesome night was thanks to all 24 awesome people who came. #blessed

ah, summer. it's enough to make a girl who doesn't like sports suddenly want to go to every game, but maybe that's just because she bought a hat and she has to get her money's worth in and, you know, blue's her color and new york is her city so she's all in it for the yankees because that's only fair.

let's go with that.