only me.

200 miles. 28 hours. 24 Bouncing Boobs. And I had the time.of.my.life once again. Our team raised over $2,500 in an effort to raise awareness about organ donation. So here is a huge, heartfelt thank you to each and everyone of you who donated money, shared Brent's story with family and friends, signed up to be an organ donor, wished me good luck, or simply read my blog. 

Now for the fun stuff. AKA how I went from falling flat on my face to losing the time to getting stuck in a sports bra to burning my ovaries to finishing 16.5 miles. 

Simply put, winter in Jersey sucks. So when mother nature blessed us with a 60 degree day in February I *had* to go for a run. Nevermind the fact that I didn't get home from work until 8pm and it was dark out. Nevermind the fact that my parentals were still my roommates and my mom insisted on giving me her two cents. Two very smart cents, that went something like this:

Mom: "Courtney!! it's dark out, you are not going for a run."
Me: (in a very defiant manner): "Mom!! I'm 26 and I will go for a run if I want." And then just for good measure, I added "plus, it's Hopewell, nothings going to happen."
Mom: "Well that's just stupid. Do you even have your ID with you?"
Me: (rolling my eyes): "Really Mom!? Don't be ridic. Nothing's going to happen. I'm just going for a quick jog through town."

Fast forward ten minutes later and I'm running through town thinking about what a gorgeous night it is even if it is a little dark. Two seconds later and I am flat on my face. Literally.flat.on.my.face. I have no idea what happened. I couldn't even blame it on icy sidewalks (remember it was 60 degrees out)! I just remember flying through the air, doing everything I could to avoid falling, and landing on the ground. Picture a horrific slide into home plate and that was basically me. Dazed and very confused, I looked up and three EMTs had already swarmed around me. How convenient of me to take a little track snack right outside of Hopewell's Fire Department. As I fought back tears (mostly of the embarrassment variety), I insisted that I was fine (yea, okay Court) and would be okay to run home. The EMTs were not having it and maintained that I wasn't running anywhere except right into their car so they could escort me home. I practically begged them to let me continue, but being that I was outnumbered three to one, I had no choice. So, 26 year old me was scooped into the car (thank GOD it was not an ambulance) and an EMT drove me home. And, just because the situation couldn't get any worse, the EMT politely asks, "So,was this your first time ever going for a run?" I almost died, because let's not forget that I played sports my entire childhood (including track) and this was my very first day of training for The Relay. It was as though the EMT sucked all of the motivation from my very soul. Oh, and the best part, as we drove home, who do I pass, but my mom taking the pups for a walk. Talk about the luck of the Irish! So, in my best Jersey Shore effort, I did the dip. I ducked and crossed my fingers hoping my mom wouldn't see me. But let's be honest, based on how my knees looked, it was only a matter of minutes before my mom heard the whole story (no help from my dad thank you very much!). 

Two months later and my training for The Relay is going remarkably well. No more falls, no more escorts home by an EMT, no more lectures from Mom. I'm at the point where I'm running six miles and I'm trying to focus on my time. The thing is, when you focus on time, you obviously need a watch. So there I am at work, changing into my workout clothes, getting pumped by my usual pitbull fix, when I realize that my trusty, hot pink watch that has been my faithful running companion for years is dead. Panic sets in. I cannot run without a watch. I simply cannot do it. I frantically tear my office apart searching for a battery, because we all know that I need to run while the sun's still shining after my running in the dark incident. (The fact that you actually need to go to a store to get your watch battery swapped out was completely lost to me at this time). I then start dialing everyone I know in the hospital, hoping I can find a watch so I can still get my run in. Sometimes, my stubbornness really gets the best of me, because, quite honestly, I really could have gone for a run without a damn watch.

Finally, there's a light at the end of the tunnel. My cousin Brent was still working his shift in the ER and said I could borrow his watch. Woohoo! I knew I could do it! Forget the fact that my wrists are so incredibly tiny and Brent was not lending me a sports watch. It was one of those super nice looking watches meant to fit a guy. As I watched the watch dangle pathetically from my very skinny wrist, wondering what good this watch was going to do me (with my luck, the watch would have flung off and shattered two seconds into my run), Brent was at my side strapping the watch to me with some good ole coban just like I was a patient of his. The end result: priceless. Can I just say WINNING!

If anyone has ever been shopping with me, you know that I require an assistant when trying on clothes. My very being defies gracefulness and eloquence. So leave it to me to get stuck in a sports bra by myself in a dressing room at Dick's Sporting Goods. It was a week before The Relay and I decided my workout wardrobe was long overdue for an update. Any excuse to go shopping. So off I went for some solo retail therapy. As I perused the store, I grabbed anything and everything in sight. New running tights? Definitely, just in case it's cold when I'm running in the middle of the night. New tank top just because? Absolutely! Reebok EasyTone Long Bra Top designed to create resistance as you move and help maintain proper posture? Yes, please! I'm not shy about my small boobs, so I grabbed a small and headed to the dressing room. Not more than 30 seconds alone in the dressing room and I'm already having problems. I should have known that if I had to struggle to get into the Reebok EasyTone sports bra, there was no way I was getting it off alone. And believe me, I put up a very valiant effort to get that freaking top off. I was able to shimmy the the top up to my neck, but then I was stuck. And could barely breathe. I couldn't have ripped the fabric if I tried. I was able to shimmy it back down around my chest, but that was it. So there I was, stuck in a dressing room half dressed, half naked, pondering my options....search the store for a sales associate and ask someone to remove it...or...purchase it while it's still stuck on me. Courtney: 0. Sports Bra: 1. As a competitive person, losing to a sports bra is an epic failure.

Sooo when kdubs decides to give my phone a little ring a ling, I realize there's still hope! Lucky for me, my mom happened to be pulling into the same shopping center I was in and came to my rescue. But before she did, while I was stuck in the dressing room, I decided to have a little photo shoot with me, myself, and I. Oh and just so you know, I did not purchase anything that day. But here's a huge shout out to my mamacita!

Finally, the day of the Relay is upon us. And, I know that for some this may be considered TMI, but for purposes of this story, I have to disclose that I had my period. Translation? I had the worst cramps in.the.entire.world. Killer cramps and I had to run 16.5 miles. Can a girl catch a break!? After almost collapsing after my first leg (although, I must say I ran hella fast because I was in so much pain I just had to be done), I took my mom's advice and purchased a heat pack. So right before I embarked on my second leg of 6.5 miles I stuck the heat pack right over my lower tummy. Not over my running tights, but smack down on my actual skin. Homegirl was in pain and desperate times call for desperate measures. Who cares that the instructions come with a gigantic warning stating that the heat pack should not be placed directly on skin. So, of course, after a couple of miles into my run, I realize I could not take the heat any longer. I swear it felt like my ovaries were burning. My hopes of having babies one day were going down the drain. A bit dramatic, yes, but you let me know how it goes if you ever run with a heating pack placed directly on your skin. Needless to say, I was able to rearrange the heating pack, but not without looking like a complete fool while trying to run under the pitch black sky at 10pm (because Heaven forbid I stop running for two seconds).

There may or may not have been a few more typical Courtney moments during The Relay, but I can't disclose all of my stories :)

for my mom.

Why I thought it was a fabulous idea to take a red eye back to the east coast is beyond me. Throw a three hour layover in Hotlanta into the mix and now we're really talking.

But, alas, I did just spend 10 days on my favorite coast with several amazing friends, so I suppose I shouldn't be complaining. Plus now I have all the time in the world to throw myself into one of my most beloved hobbies - writing. So here I am with my one suitcase, plus one personal item, my laptop, my purse, an extra bag thatI accumulated somewhere along the way, tuning out the chaos that has embraced the airport food court in the early morning rush, losing myself to my new favorite CD (thanks, Trish!), and sprawled out at a table in typical Courtney fashion as though I'm in the comfort of own very humble abode.

My brain is on overload. They say you only use a fraction of your brain, but after the past ten days I feel as though my brain is chock full of *stuff*. I'm operating at 100% capacity. I have so much I want to write about; I feel as though I could take another week off of work to just write. Collect the thoughts, the stories, the experiences that are taking over my brain, and ship them off on that channel that travels through my fingertips finding themselves transformed into words on my blog. And I will do just that - well not take another week off as much as I'd like to - but I will be writing. Alot. So keep your eyes peeled.

But this morning I want to write about something different. I want to take a few minutes to celebrate my Mom in honor of Mother's Day (even if she did cram in her birthday, anniversary with my Dad, and Mother's Day in the span of less than a week! Really, Mom!!?).

The short version: My mom is a remarkable person.
.
If you want the "Full House" version that would make my sister cringe due to its unabashed honesty, read on.

My Mom and I have always shared a very special relationship. She is without a doubt one of my best friends. That go-to person you seek for her words of wisdom, unparalleled guidance, and unconditional love. Make no mistake, our relationship has been far from perfect. We have had our fair share of ups and downs. We certainly do not see eye to eye on everything. There have been many times when we have driven each other to the point of insanity and on the surface I have questioned our relationship with each other. But, through it all, she has remained by my side; my beacon of hope, my avid supporter, my friend, my Mom.

At my age my Mom already had two children, miscarried a third, and was planning for my sister. While my dad worked to financially support our family, my mom sacrificed her career goals to be a stay at home mom. Times were not always easy. In fact they were far from easy most of the time. But my parents made it work. Instead of having the material things that most of my friends had, I had a Mom (and Dad) at almost every one of my softball games. My dance lessons. My races. My track meets. My field hockey games. My lacrosse games. Instead of having one house to call a home, I grew up in multiple houses in one town, and was taught that a house is not what makes a home - it's the people in your life that do. I learned that life is what you make of it, rather than what you have. Experiences outweigh possessions. Compassion, respect, and forgiveness are traits that will take you far in life.

I look at where I am in my life today - my success, my happiness, my well-being - and know that I would not be here without my Mom's presence. I am at the age where I fully understand what my Mom gave up for me. I recognize the fact that this came at a cost to her. The values she instilled in my life - in my brother's and sister's lives - are values that will be with me forever. I can only hope that I impart a fraction of this wisdom onto my children one day.

I often joke that my mind is like that of an elephant's. I have a superb memory (if I do say so myself), and everyone knows that an elephant never forgets! With that being said, I have tucked away hundreds of memories involving my Mom - good, bad, funny, sad. Some of the memories are old, dusty and ridden with cobwebs; others are fresh, lingering with ripeness. As I sit here on the plane (I've relocated from the hustle and bustle of the food court to actually board my plane) I plucked two memories from my brain.

The first was about 10 years ago. Maybe 15. I was walking along the beach with my Mom in, where else, but South Carolina (our home away from home in the summer), and I distinctly remember saying to my Mom how much I couldn't wait to be older. Immediately my Mom replied, "Courtney, never wish your life away." A simple statement. One that my Mom has probably long since forgotten. I, however, have never forgotten that moment or those words of wisdom that rolled off of my Mom's tongue so effortlessly. Don't get me wrong. I find myself constantly saying I can't wait for "xyz." It's the underlying meaning of that statement that has given my life so much meaning. In essence they helped mold my philosophy on life. You never know what tomorrow will bring. Live each day to the fullest. Know the difference between living a carefree life and a careless life, as the disparity is paramount.

The second, equally as casual moment occurred right before I headed off to sunny California to confirm my aspirations of moving west. Before I slipped out the door into the early morning twilight I gave my Mom a quick hug and she whispered "I am so proud of you." I will never forget this moment for as long as I live. Moving to California was a dream of mine and to know how proud my Mom was that I was able to fulfill my own dream - to pick up and leave with no regrets - will forever bring a smile to my face.

So thank you, Mom. For everything.

Happy Mother's Day!

<3 Court

Courtneyisms on Running.

After my last post, I figured I'd share something a bit...lighter. Something carefree and refreshing, for me, at least. So, without further ado, I'd like to present you with what I proudly call the Courtneyisms on Running:

1) Run in circles.

Most people cringe at the thought of running around in circles. I, however, cherish my time on the track. Running is already incredibly therapeautic, but when you throw circles into the mix....ahh, it's a tiny slice of heaven sent down from the gods of psychotherapy. My mind comesthisclose to shutting off, which is a miracle in and of itself. When I'm on the track, I don't have to think. After a few laps , my legs fall into this beautiful rhythm that requires virtually no concentration. I let go and I run. 

2) Want to get noticed? Go for a run.

Think about the last time you were driving and saw someone running. Admit it, you totally checked that person out. So if you're feeling down, need some attention, grab your sneakers and hit the streets. Want to get noticed even more? See Courtneyism Number 5.

3) Forget the orgasm, give me a downhill.

I'm not talking about a 90 degree descent, because quite honestly that's just as difficult as running uphill, especially when you lack any type of core strength (ahem, such as yours truly). But, when you're running uphill, there is nothing your body wants more than a downhill stretch. Just the sheer thought of a slight decline after I've been running uphill is enough to put me over the edge, and then when you finally take that first step downhill...ah...pure bliss. So the next time you're running up Mt. Everest (let's face it, any type of hill seems like a mountain when you're hot, tired, and sweaty), just think of delayed gratification. And hey, a downhill stretch does last longer ;).

And one more thing, don't be fooled by surfaces that seem "flat." You'd be surprised how much of an incline a seemingly level road actually has.

4) H 2 Oh my.

I don't know how people run without a water bottle. If I'm going to be running for more than two seconds, I need to have water at my beck and call. I suppose it's like a security blanket of some sort. And a regular water bottle or Nalgene simply will not do. I actually took the time and energy to find a water bottle that minimizes any extra effort on my part while running. Because Heaven forbid I actually have to use any additional strength to carry a bottle. Please, that's for amateurs. And so I invested a whopping 10 bucks for a handheld water bottle that loops right over my hand. Hydration at my fingertips? Yes, please. Hands down one of my best purchases ever (no pun intended).

5) Workout clothes can be sexy.

This is one of my more recent revelations. Back in the day when I used to actually make money, I insisted on shopping at lululemon for yoga apparel (thank you, Tricia!). Oh and for people who know me, homegirl does not do yoga. Been there, done that, no thanks. But of course I still purchased yoga pants galore for all of my other work out festivities. Simply put, it was love at first sight. I loved everything about lululemon, right down to the very aroma of their store. So don't ask why I decided for the longest time to skimp out on cute athletic apparel for when I run. I was reminded of my lackadaisical attitude toward my running attire when I recently perused a Sports Authority. All of my self discipline dissolves when I'm shopping for just about anything else, but I never thought about marrying up fashion with running, until I saw all that Nike, Adidas and Reebok have to offer! Hot pink sports bra? Yes, please. Sexy black running shorts? Check. The age old saying "if you look good, you'll feel good," totally applies when you're working out. Running is 10% skill and 90% attitude, so yes, if it takes a flashy tank that hugs you in all the right places to make you feel good on your run, I say go for it.


6) Underpromise, Overdeliver.

I'm serious! If you want to run 6 miles, tell yourself you're only going to run 4. This is a complete mind game that you can win! The entire time you're running, you will be thinking - and repeating to yourself - that you only have to run 4 miles. A drop in the bucket. Just as you're finishing up your fourth mile, tell yourself to run one more. At that point, your mind will think one more mile isn't so bad. Repeat this at the end of mile 5, and voila! Six miles will be here and gone before you know it.


7) Suck it up and do it.

This doesn't come easy all the time. As a matter of fact, there are many times when I actually dread going for a run. And then, once I'm on my run, there are times when I kinda sorta hope that maybe I'll fall or twist my ankle just so I don't have to finish the run. Anything to get out of it. As if running is some sort of self inflicted punishment. Dramatic? Yes, but would you  expect anything less from me? But once I let go of that negativity and channel my energy in a more positive manner, running becomes...enjoyable. Especially if you're trail running. How many other opportunities do you have to enjoy the beauty of the outdoors without anyone else interrupting you? I can't think of very many.

8) Screw the treadmill.

Honestly. The treadmill sucks. Enough said.

And with that, I'm off to bed. It's late and I have to get six or seven miles in tomorrow.

G'nite :)

Faith, hope, love. And an organ.

My mom's sister has three children who are approximately the same age as my siblings and me. Scott and Kyle are 28. Brent and I are 26. Andrea is 24. Ashley is 23. We grew up less than a mile apart, attended the same school district, waited at the same bus stop, played sports together, practically lived at each other's houses, built forts together in our grandparent's backyard summer after summer, vacationed together, fought together, laughed together, and cried together. In a word, we were inseparable. 

As we grew older, the elasticity of our close knit friendship was tested, and often times strain was placed on each of our relationships. But through it all, we have always been there for each other - when our grandmother passed away from lung cancer, when our grandfather passed away five months later from a broken heart amidst an array of medical complications, when we each graduated from high school, when Scott married Christine, when Kyle married Lauren. Happy or sad, good or bad, we have been there for each other...

So when Brent was diagnosed with Crohn's Disease (an inflammatory disease of the intestines that may affect any part of the gastrointestinal tract) *and* Primary Sclerosing Cholangitis (PSC, a chronic liver disease caused by progressive inflammation and scarring of the bile ducts of the liver) at the innocent age of 12, we were there for him. Being diagnosed with two diseases - one which has no cure - didn't stop Brent. So for the next few years, Brent was a "normal" teenager, doing all of the things the average teenager does. What most people didn't know was that Brent was not a "normal" teenager. Brent had to wear a spleen guard around his stomach to protect his spleen. Which meant that Brent couldn't play sports like most teens can. Instead of sleeping over at his buddies, he sometimes slept over at CHOP (Children's Hospital of Philadelphia). Instead of carrying a cell phone, Brent had to tuck away a pager in his backpack - a pager that would beep if a liver became available.  So while most of us were dying for a text message from the person we're crushing on, Brent was waiting for a page. Imagine that. You're 15. Your liver is essentially broken. You're trying to maintain a "normal" teenage life. Oh and you're kinda, sorta hoping that today is the day you're given the gift of life. Only that call never happened for Brent. 

At the age of 16, doctors attempted to place a stent in Brent's body, to hold his bile ducts open. Unfortunately, the ducts were clogged and he almost died from the procedure. Being the fighter he is, Brent fought back and survived. Eventually, through some miraculous combination of time and a new, yet risky experimental medication, Brent's MELD (Model for End Stage Liver Disease) scores stabilized. This stabilization, coupled with Brent's improved condition were grounds for taking Brent off of the transplant list. Finally, some resemblance of a "normal" life was bestowed upon Brent. A gift most of us don't even realize we've been given. A gift we take for granted day after day, month after month, year after year. A gift that often slips my mind when I find myself carrying on unnecessarily about the trials and tribulations of my single life.


And through all of this, the friendship between the six of us carried on. Crohn's Disease was put on the backburner and life went on...
 
But as they say (and don't ask me who "they" is), all good things come to an end. It was the day of my brother's wedding. I had just corralled the troops, making sure to get a picture of the six of us - Scott, Kyle, Brent, Andrea, Ashley, and yours truly. No family event is ever complete until someone snaps a pic of the original six (as I secretly call us). I was talking to Brent, probably trying to drag him onto the dance floor, when he told me in confidence that him and his incredibly supportive girlfriend had to leave the reception. I was very perturbed, no one can leave a wedding early! Much to my dismay, Brent was not simply leaving the reception. Brent and his girlfriend were going to the hospital. He had been fighting a pain in his lower back for a few weeks, but never said a word about it, so that everyone could enjoy the wedding and not worry about him. I can't imagine the last time I was that selfless. Discreetly, Brent checked himself into the ER, while the rest of evening carried on. And as amazing as the reception was, I couldn't erase the conversation I had with Brent, and then with Andrea about his condition. The uncertainty of the unknown was lingering in the back of our minds. But there was nothing any of us could do except wait...

Less than 24 hours later, the doctors delivered the news that no one - not even your worst enemy - wants to hear. Brent most likely had cancer. That devastating and painstakingly overwhelming disease that has the innate ability to bring even the toughest person to tears instantly. As if Crohn's and PSC weren't enough, cancer had to be thrown on top. The icing on top of an incredibly poisonous cake. 


Within a week, it was confirmed that Brent had cholangiocarcinoma. Cancer of the bile ducts leading to the liver. A cancer with no cure. A cancer with no promising future. Teams of healthcare professionals rushed to the scene of a mother's worst nightmare come true. There was constant debate about the best course of action for Brent. Only there wasn't one. Countless clinical trials exist, but Brent's tumors were so large that he was denied without consideration. And while a liver transplant wouldn't guarantee a cure, it could have been an option if only there were enough livers available. The Mayo Clinic couldn't risk "wasting a liver" on a patient like Brent, whose body may reject it, when it could be used for someone else. Basically, if Brent's body accepted a liver transplant, the chance of the cancer finding its way back to Brent was too high. So for the second time Brent was removed from the transplant list.


Fast forward 9 months later and Brent is doing remarkably well. He is undergoing chemotherapy in a two weeks on, one week off cycle and is back at work. In a word, he is a trooper. He is defying the odds and moving forward with his life. And let me tell you, his life is far from easy. But he's doing it in the typical Brent fashion we all know and love.

Despite this, I can't help but wonder if things would be different if a liver had been available for Brent. There's also the possibility that if Brent can fight off the cancer, he could be placed back on the transplant list. Which brings me to the reason for this post. In one month I will be participating in "The Relay" - California's longest party, stretching from Calistoga to Santa Cruz. Hundreds of teams will run to support "Organs 'R' Us" - a nonprofit organization promoting organ donation through walking and running. Each team has 12 participants, running 3 legs each (36 total), totaling 199 miles. My kickass team is the 24 Bouncing Boobs, and yes, my ta ta's may be small, but they still bounce ;). We will begin the race on a Saturday morning and continue running, through the night, until the following afternoon. We will sleep for only an hour or two. We will eat nothing but granola bars and Gatorade. We will climb the Santa Cruz mountains, run along the Pacific Coast, and cross the Golden Gate Bridge at midnight. And we will do all of this as our small part to raise awareness for organ donations in the hopes that the 100,000 people in America on the transplant list will receive the organ they so desperately need. We will run for the gift of life.

And that's where you come into play. Yes - you - my loyal audience. As a member of the 24 Bouncing Boobs, we are collecting money to raise awareness for organ donations (please see the link below for our website). I fully understand that America is *still* in a recession (I am reminded of this on a daily basis when I look at my bank account), so if you cannot donate, I *completely* understand. But just because you cannot donate, doesn't mean you can't help! Read on! Think about your position on organ donation. I know this can be a touchy subject for varied reasons - cultural beliefs, religious backgrounds, personal convictions, etc. But please, understand this: Regardless of what you believe in, when it is your time to leave this precious world, your organs can give another person a chance at life. Your organs - your liver, your kidney, your eyes, your heart - have the potential to give someone a life that they may not otherwise have. Or they can be buried. Left in ground to rot and taunt the 20,000 plus people who die each year because there simply aren't enough organs available. Your organs are not part of your soul or your spirit. When you die, your organs don't have to. Your organs have a choice. They can die with you or they can provide life. But only you can dictate that choice. It is my hope and my wish, that my story - Brent's story - is the inspiration you need to become an organ donor. The best part is that it is so unbelievably easy to do! You just need to make a trip to your DMV, check off a box that you want to be an organ donor, ask them to reprint your driver's license and Voila! You are now an organ donor. 


You never know whose life you may save.

Oh and as for the original six. We still have each other's backs. Always have and always will. But we need your help. I want Brent to be in my wedding party one day. I want to be able to snap a pic of the Original Six when we're all grandparents. I want the story of our close knit childhood to be passed down from generation to generation. And I want Brent to be part of that story until the very end. 


I know this was an incredibly long post, but Brent's story is important not only to me, but to Brent, our family, Brent's friends, and the thousands of people waiting for their gift. Please take a look at any of the below links for more info. And, from the very bottom of my heart, thank you *so* much for taking the time to read this.


For Info about Cali's longest party, please visit: http://www.therelay.com/re_new.htm


For info about "Organs 'R' Us," please visit: http://www.therelay.com/organs/indexmain.html


To see the "24 Bouncing Boobs" homepage, please visit: https://sites.google.com/site/team24bb/
Please e-mail/call/text me if you have *any* questions about donating.


For info about where Brent is being treated, please visit: http://www.pennmedicine.org/hup/ ; http://www.pennmedicine.org/perelman/ ; http://www.penncancer.org/ ; http://www.chop.edu/

the perks of life without a prudent insurance policy.

"There's a reason we refer to "leaps of faith" - a mighty jump from the rational over to the unknowable, and I don't care how diligently scholars will try to sit you down with their stacks of books and prove to you that faith is indeed rational; it isn't. If faith were rational, it wouldn't be - by definition - faith. Faith is belief in what you cannot see or prove or touch. Faith is walking face-first and full-speed into the dark. If we truly knew all the answers in advance as to the meaning of life and the nature of God and the destiny of our souls, our belief would not be a leap of faith and it would not be a courageous act of humanity; it would just be... a prudent insurance policy." -liz gilbert.

I will admit it, I may be mildly obsessed with Eat Pray Love, as this is the second time I am making a reference to a Liz Gilbert quote. There is just something so completely genuine and empowering about her words and how beautifully she writes that I often feel as though her words exist to feed my soul. A ludicrous perspective, but her writing truly speaks volumes to me. As does the above quote, which is precisely what the priest spoke about during the homily at mass this morning. Coincidence? I think not. You see, I tuck away a collection of quotes in my heart, so that when I'm going through a particularly sad or stressful time, I can be confident that the appropriate quote will surface and restore my sense of balance. Yesterday this quote flashed before my mind after a particularly frustrating conversation with a person I thought I knew better than I suppose I really did. Since my mind rarely shuts off, a fact that I've simply come to accept, I couldn't stop toying with this notion about faith with everyday life (not to be confused with faith and its relationship to religion). The more I thought about it the more I realized that I really needed a good ole fashion dose of church to really gather my thoughts and engage in some serious one on one prayer time with God (disclaimer - my writing is not meant to be construed in way, shape, or form as religious).  And then for whatever reason, as I fell asleep last night, snuggled under a heaping pile of blankets, with one leg peeking out, in typical Courtney fashion, I convinced myself that it would be in my best interest to wake up to my alarm clock this morning and get myself to church. Believe it or not, today's theme (I like to assign a theme to the homily - aka the speech -  the priest gives during mass) was about "taking a leap of faith."  I think my jaw dropped a little when the priest started talking. As I surveyed the ceiling, as I often do during church, my mind began to register what was happening. Was the priest really talking about taking chances...taking risks...putting all of your eggs in one basket...because you have the faith that that intangible reward will not only be satisfying, but so incredibly gratifying? Um hello, isn't this *exactly* what I was mulling over yesterday?  Quite honestly, I think Liz Gilbert and the Big Guy double teamed me, so I could really tap into this crazy idea of leaping blindly into the unknown.

So for the rest of the day, I've been contemplating what it actually means to "take a leap of faith" with no one other than me, myself, and I. When I look at my life, I realize that I would certainly not be where I am today if I didn't say screw it and blindly jump into that dark unknown feet first as I often as I have. This of course is not to say that I don't calculate the pro's and con's, the costs and benefits, etc. I am a CPA, which makes me somewhat analytical by default. But, despite weighing out the positives and negatives, I've always leaned toward what Robert Frost so poignantly coined the "road less travelled." Let's face it, I left behind family and friends to seek out a new life in California, only to have the faith to move back to the East coast for a relationship I wholeheartedly wished could have worked out (but was not meant to be, as I fully realize now); quit a promising career in the hopes that I could find a job that I truly loved (something that I'm still seeking); and walked away from a relationship that was seemingly perfect (remember, things are not always what they seem). When I lay it out like that, I think I'm quite the pro at taking leaps of faith.  So why then do I let tiny hurdles set me back and question life. Case in point: I had an entirely elementary conversation with a friend yesterday and walked away kind of shocked. I'm a pretty open person (the fact that I share my thoughts and feelings with the wonder that is the world wide web is evidence enough), but I walked away yesterday wondering if I am maybe too open? Perhaps it would behoove me to not let my guard down and let people into my life so easily. Maybe I should be more careful about taking risks and chances in life and play it safe. I mean isn't that what most people do? Take the road more travelled, hide behind their insecurities, flounder for excuses...just to play it safe? Do I really want to be on that road congested with people driving on autopilot for the sheer reassurance that I arrive to my final destination safely? Isn't life about the journey, not the destination? Wouldn't I rather go through life, relishing in all that it has to offer, testing the limits of fate and crossing the borders of uncharted territory? This isn't to say I should travel through life recklessly by any means, but to simply check faith by the door and not take chances is unimaginable. I know I may be ridiculous at times (okay, most of the time), but to think that I let one conversation throw my mindset off track to the point that I was questioning my ability to take a leap of faith is absolutely absurd.

I'm only 26, but I've already figured out that while I don't know all the answers to life (who am I kidding, I barely know any of the answers), I'd rather take that leap of faith and go full force into unknown, knowing that my journey is going to be one hell of a lot more exciting than those people who live to simply play it safe. So yes, maybe I'll get hurt and have more than my fair share of tears (I tend to wear my heart on my sleeve, which results in me crying...a lot). Maybe it will take me 10 more years to figure out what is that I want to do, or several more relationships to find that one guy who will compliment my happiness in life. Maybe I'll end up moving six more times before I settle into some state of permanency. But, my God, I know that with a little bit of faith, those leaps really aren't so terrifying after all.

up in the air. flapping away.

In approximately 60 minutes I will be snapping back to reality. My plane will hopefully descend into a peaceful landing and I'll be reintroduced to the chilly weather that the Northeast has embraced for quite a few months now. I am by no means ready to walk off a plane (in flip flops mind you) into 40 degree weather with a long day of work ahead of me tomorrow, but I suppose life must go on. Since I'm tired of reading and simply cannot fall asleep (because not even my severe iron deficiency can tire me out after all of the sleeping in I've done the past five days), I challenged myself to detail a few random tid bits from Spring Break 2011. 


My super awesome parents dropped me off at the airport six days ago and my desperately needed escape from reality began. Let me be the first to say that the airport is not a relaxing experience. As a matter of fact, I find that from the time you step foot into the airport until you are buckled safely in your seat, the whole experience is one legit, anxiety provoking, hot mess. Fortunately, I checked in online and printed out my boarding pass ahead of time. There's one saved headache. But then there's the whole security checkpoint process. Allow me to clarify my frustrations with the checkpoint "system." I have no qualms with the Department of Homeland Security patting me down, making me and my luggage go through an x-ray machine, or even having a security guard sift through the contents of my luggage (one time, I actually had a security guy recommend one bikini over another to ensure that I looked my best on the beach...how nice). I know a lot of people's frustrations lay within this whole system, but hey, it's a privilege to fly. You were not born with that natural right to hop on a plane, sit in a chair, rise above the clouds, and fly away. So if the DHS wants to search me and every other person out there who is boarding a plane to ensure that I land safely and in one piece at my final destination, search away! If you don't want to be searched, then quite frankly, I hope you're not flying with me. My frustration stems from my own self. For starters, I pack too much. TLC could do an entire series on "luggage hoarders," because of people like me. I pack enough to last me quadruple the time I will be vacationing. Jeans for 90 degree weather? Check (it may get chilly!). 3289459345 pairs of underwear. Check (what if I'm stuck without access to a laundramat?). 14 shades of eyeshadow when I know I may only splash on a bit of makeup for my entire spring break rendevouz. Check (what if I meet someone famous and need to get all glammed up?!). So, not only do I overpack, I also insist on carrying all of my sh*t with me. I refuse to check my luggage, unless absolutely necessary, which often times leads me to engaging in a full on argument with the security checkpoint personnel that my carry on luggage will indeed fit in the overhead. Yes, I am that girl - the one who thinks that "one carry on plus one personal item" doesn't necessarily apply to her. I know I can easily check a bag, but for a girl on a budget, that's a last resort, and then there's always that possibility of lost luggage. Who wants to deal with that. 


It shouldn't be too hard to imagine me, trooping through the airport, with my six plus bags in tow, fiddling around for my boarding pass and ID badge, trying to maintain some sense of sanity as I approach the first Security point. The lady screens my driver's license, gives me a nod of approval, and hurries me along. Next stop...the x-ray machine. I've had several x-rays of my actual body - broken bones and whatnot - and it's never been nerve wrecking. But the security x-ray really does a number on me. As if it's not bad enough that I'm already the girl who carries way too much with her, I'm also that girl who holds up the security line. I frantically throw my suitcase and other bags onto the security belt, but feel like I'm racing against time, as I see the passenger behind me put his stuff up on the belt in one swift motion. I try to tuck away my ID/boarding pass in an accessible component of my purse, which I'll hopefully remember, heave out my laptop, remove my jewelry, untie my sneakers in a frenzy, all while "Mr. I'm so suave" unknowingly taps his fingers behind me signifying his utter lack of patience with me. I smile and apologize one too many times for taking so long, even asking if he wants to go ahead of me. When he politely declines, I feel a rush of adrenaline go through me and pray to God that I can get my act together and move it along. I swear, when did I become so slow!? Then I remember the infamous liquid rule and all of toiletries I always insist on packing (as if my best friend didn't have a full stock of shampoo, lotions, etc. at her apartment). I rummage for my zip lock bag of liquids, toss them on the belt, and cross my fingers with the hopes that security won't detect that the zip lock bag was nothing but a mere decoy and the rest of my full size liquids are strewn about the rest of my suitcases. Finally, I'm across the border into the promising gates of relaxation. But of course the madness doesn't end there. By the time I've been screened, my belongings have crash landed at the other end of belt and I'm yet again left to scramble them up in the most haphazard fashion before they become co-mingled with Mr. Suave's belongings. Looking like a complete fool, I pile on my stuff as if they're my latest can't live without accessories, sink down into an empty bench, and take in a sigh of relief. The hardest part is over. The next part isn't so bad. After I've situated me and my belongings, I confirm my gate number and head to the nearest news stand to buy some snacks and copious amounts of water. On a typical day, I struggle to drink that all so important 64 ounces of water, but send me to the airport, and I act as though I may never see water again in my entire life. Keep in mind that I cannot possibly carry one more item, but still I try to stuff two large bottles of water into my overflowing purse. Because, hey, I just may get a bit parched in the clouds....


Thank God the rest of my trip was far more...peaceful. That's not to say that it wasn't uneventful. To give some of my readers just how ridiculous I am - or can be - I'll explain a very typical "Courtney has had one too many drinks" story. On Friday night, Natalie; her boyfriend, Joe; and I went out into downtown Ft. Lauderdale. A few drinks and a couple hours into the night, a few of Joe's friends who were in town for a bachelor party decided to meet up with us. Please note right here that I have no game. I may be single, but I don't try and pretend to be someone I'm not. I don't try to be smooth, or funny, or anything else on purpose. What you see is exactly what you get. Translation - you don't know what's going to come out of my mouth, especially when I've had a few drinks, but chances are it will end up being quirky, somewhat humorous and above all else, totally ridiculous. After talking for a few minutes, my new friend, Andrew, asks why I wasn't out the previous night. Instead of saying what any *normal* person would say, I said in my most animated voice, "I was still on a plane," and proceeded to raise my arm in the air and flap. Yes, that's right. I flapped like a bird in a bar so that my new found friend could fully envision that I was in flight to Florida rather than drinking at the Elbow Room in Ft. Lauderdale. When he didn't realize my absurd hand motions right away, I thought I was in the clear. But of course, even though it took a few minutes, he realized what I had just done and completely called me out on it..."Did you really just flap at me!?" Well, yes, I think I did. Sigh. Only me. The good news was that the flap became the signature dance move for the rest of my spring break and for their bachelor party.


Okay, my flight is about to land and knowing how long it will take me to gather my luggage, I need to log off...Until next time :)

miss independent.

A fairly independent person, I like to rely on myself as much as possible. This does not mean I do not ask for help, because that would just be ridiculous (Mikey, this is your shout out...I hope you're reading this). But I do try to do things on my own *when* and if possible. However, being fresh out of a relationship has really been a wake up call for how much I relied on a boyfriend to do things for me. While I did recruit a few guy friends to help me with my recent move across town, I was left by myself to do the things that I normally would simply ask a boyfriend to do....for example...


I was in dire need of a few things for our apartment...a shoe rack, a bookcase, lamps (because why would there be a single ceiling light in our entire apartment!?), curtain rods, etc. Given all of my needs, I decided that Lowes would be my best bet. The most bang for my buck. The quick and easy fix. Don't get me wrong, I love, love, love to shop. Just not for this type of "stuff." I have never gone into Lowes alone, and I must admit, I was a little intimidated when I walked through the entrance. There I was, practically prancing through the doors with my high heels, black tights, and pencil skirt only to come face to face with aisles upon aisles of....manly man stuff! Stuff that I don't normally just go out and purchase, or even have a desire to shop for. Confidently, I grabbed and a cart and whisked away...a serious woman on a very serious mission. First stop...the "home storage" section to find a shoe rack...Mistake number one. 


What I'm about to say may sound a bit presumptuous, but I'm speaking based on pure observation. The way I see it, if you're a single girl, and you want to meet a guy, go to Lowes, Home Depot, or any other "guy" store. And wear a skirt. Because I swear, as soon as I walked down the aisle, I was practically double teamed. I was not asking for it. I tried to be confident. I tried to be that girl...you know what I'm talking about...that girl who doesn't need a man to do things for her and can do everything herself. Unfortunately, I was not faking anyone out as I walked aimlessly up and down the aisle trying to find a damn shoe rack. Instantly, an employee came up to me and asked if I needed help. Yes, this is something that employees are required to do. I get that. But, my God, give a girl a break! I explained to one of the guys what I was looking for and he starts asking me all these questions about what type of shoe rack I need. And then just for kicks, he decides to flirt. So of course I start to babble on and on, wondering the whole time how many types of shoe racks exist and whether this guy really thinks I'm just going to give him my number?! My God, we're not talking about actual shoes here! I just need that thing that stores all of my shoes! After a few minutes, it was decided that they didn't have the particular over the door shoe rack I was looking for. Whatever, I had other things on my list. I ditched the guy before he could ask me another question and off I went. Next stop - curtain rods. Holy sh*t, I'm going to be in for it whenever I have an entire house to furnish. I had *no* idea that there were so many curtain rods to choose from! And could they be any more expensive!?! Desperate to not walk out of the store empty handed, I saw what I thought may be the light at the end of my failing shopping attempt....the aisle of lamps!  I should have known the game was over by that point. Three aisles of lamps!? Is that really necessary?! So much for the light at the end of the tunnel. Frustrated and tired, I decided I had had enough. I pushed my cart to the side and tried to make a quick exit out of the building. But, no I couldn't even leave incognito! As I'm hurrying out of the store, who do I bump into but "Mr. Allow me to find you a shoe rack and anything and everything else you may need." Of course he noticed that I no longer had my cart and asked if I needed more help. Blushing, I quickly smiled and told him I was just way too overwhelmed to buy anything. Really, Court? Overwhelmed?! As I walked away, I could hear the guy getting a good chuckle out of my ridiculousness and I desperately wished that I had brought a guy with me to help me navigate through the store without being preyed on. When I finally exited the building, I took a deep breath of fresh air and made a dash for the store right next door. A store where I didn't feel like a complete idiot. A store where I didn't need a guy to help me buy what I needed. Hello, Pier 1 Imports. 


My euphoric feeling of triumph lingered as I moved on from Pier 1, to Marshalls, and then to Wal-Mart (I'm on a budget, and as much as I prefer Target, Wal-Mart's just a tad less expensive).  By the end of night I had successfully purchased everything on my list! Sans the help of a boyfriend!


Last Friday night I was getting ready to go out, nursing a beer (I swear I don't normally drink alone!), and continuing the seemingly neverending unpacking process. In an effort to make my room less of a dorm room and more of a professional 26 year old's, I desperately wanted the clutter to disappear so I could start to enjoy the benefits of a peaceful living environment. So as I sat there in the center of my room, as I often do, I had this brilliant idea to put up my curtains. I had purchased two curtain rods during my shopping adventures earlier in the week. I dug out Kaitlin's toolbox, found a hammer and a screw driver and peered up at my window, almost a bit curiously, wondering what I should do first. In the pre-single Courtney days, a boyfriend would have done this for me. No questions asked. Why would I waste time putting them up, when a boy could do it for me? But I was alone, nevermind the fact that I may or may not have been a little tipsy, and I was determined to put up the curtain rods. I climbed up on my super shaky, for looks only, vanity stool and attempted to screw in the first screw. Mega fail. I know the whole lefty lucy, righty tight bit, but the screw simply was not screwing. So I switched to the other side of the window. I got lucky with this side and was able to get one of the screws in. Kind of. I latched on the curtain rod to that side and wondered what I was going to do with the other side. In comes the hammer. God bless my neighbor with all of the racket I was creating. I climbed back up on the vanity stool and started hammering the hell out of the screw, forcing it to go into the window. Easy enough, right? False. Now I couldn't get the rod to latch onto that little metal thing that goes over the screws. Back to the drawing board. A huge part of me wanted to just say "screw it" - no pun intended - and wait till my Dad could come over and  fix it for me. But as I sat there, drinking my beer, watching the curtain rod dangle back and forth, I decided that this was my project and I had to finish it. So I got back onto my dainty little vanity stool again and didn't get down until I basically forced the curtain rod to stay in place. I swear I was so close to taping the damn thing in place, but I got it. Mission accomplished. No boys necessary.


Oh and my bookshelf....well my Mom ended up helping with that...but I've done everything else I ordinarily would have relied on a guy to do for me. And I must admit, it feels fabulous to know I can do these things on my own :)