To be honest, I had no idea what to write for this blog post. So, I have decided to write a post about none other than… inspiration.

For those of you who don’t know, I like to consider myself a writer. It always amazes me what tiny little things inspire me. For example, about two years ago, I did a tedious exercise where I wrote down 15 first sentences, randomly. I tried to write a story from them, but to no avail. Then, when I looked back at them a year later, one stuck out to me. That one little sentence was a springboard for me to invent an entire world (which I am now trying to write down).

The most interesting thing about inspiration is that if I had shown that sentence to any other person, they would have come up with a completely different story.

Inspiration can be frustrating, too, at least to me. It never comes when I want it to. When I’m stuck on page 3 and need to figure out what happens after the lunchroom incident, my mind goes blank. It’s only when I’m walking down the street, thinking about what kind of cheese to get on my sandwich, that it hits me.

Got any thoughts about inspiration? Comment below!

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Naked New Yorkers!! AHH!!!!

Recently I discovered something so bizarre, so shocking, that I just had to share it with the world. Every year in New York City, in the freezing month of January, there is a day. And on this day, one thing is optional. And that thing is…


That’s right. On this very special day, New Yorkers prance around the dirty subway stations wearing nothing but a coat and their underwear. That would be public humiliation in any month, but in JANUARY?!?!?! I can’t describe the physical and emotional pain it would cause. (Read more about this crazy day here)

There is one person in New York to whom this would just be a day in the life. That person is the Naked Cowboy. For those of you who are unaware, the Naked Cowboy is a man who spends his days in Times Square, soliciting money… while wearing nothing but tighty-whities, a cowboy hat, boots, and a guitar. Can you imagine what it would be like if that guy was your dad?

“What does your dad do?”

“Oh… He’s the, uh… the Naked Cowboy…”

“Oh. OHHHH…”

Yeah. Awkward times. I wonder if he takes the subway to “work” every morning in his underwear, or if he strips down once he gets there. How did he even come up with that idea? These are life’s important questions.

Like my post on naked New Yorkers? Comment below!

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Memory is a funny thing. In my opinion, and you can disagree with me here, we are our memory. We wouldn’t be without it, just a blank canvas. I’m going to leave that aspect of memory aside, though, as it is a highly debatable topic, and deserves more than just a paragraph. I may return to it in another post.

What I want to talk about is what we remember. I’m talking about actual memories, here, not memorizing formulas or something– just for clarification. What senses do we use in our memories? Personally, my memories usually contain sound, touch, and a slight sense of smell. My sight is almost always cloudy, like my eyes are only half-open. It’s harder for me to remember specific things than it is to remember the big picture. I assume that’s how it is for most people, but I really have no idea. Some people are really good at specific things, like birthdays, but not I.

I only really have two full-awareness memories (at least ones that I can remember, anyways, teehee). The first is of the first time I ever went to Disney World, standing outside the gates of the park, waiting for it to open. When the gates opened, I had this feeling of pure joy. I remember it perfectly.

The second memory is my worst memory. I won’t go into detail here, because I don’t want the entire internet knowing this story, but basically it was the day after my grandpa died. I remember most of that entire day, from 5 o’clock AM to 11 o’clock at night. It was terrible.

There are also certain things that I think I remember, but don’t really. For example, there’s this picture of me as a baby, sitting in the grass, with this hilarious look on my face. My mom has told me all about how that was my first time in grass, and how much I hated it, so I think I remember it. Obviously, I don’t, because I wasn’t even a year old.

Any thoughts about memory? Comment below!

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That’s right, people, I’m giving America’s guilty pleasure some recognition on this here blog. Like it didn’t get enough recognition already.

Anyway, I’m not a coffee drinker, which is good, because the last thing I need is for my growth to be stunted. I do, however, LOVE creme frappuccinos. They’re just amazing– a perfect blend of creme and the flavor of your choice (my favorites are coconut and chai tea). The only bad thing about frappuccinos is that once you’ve drunk about half of it, it’s just flavored ice. Which is icky.

I also love their chai tea latte. It’s a great winter warm-up drink. Their iced version, though? Not so much.

But my favorite Starbucks drink, the one you’ve all been waiting for, is…

Iced green tea lemonade.

If you haven’t tried it, you should. It’s like a little cup of heaven.

While I’m on the topic of Starbucks, how about a little rant, eh? I have no idea why their drink sizes can’t just be small, medium, and large, like any normal American chain restaurant. But, no. Instead, we have the oh-so-classy tall, grande, and venti. Whoa, hold up! Is that a small beverage– called tall? And a medium beverage– called large?

What is wrong with America?

One time, I asked for a small chai tea latte. The barista gave me an evil glare and said “What?” with the attitude of a teenage girl (believe me, I know what that looks like). I said again, “A small chai latte, please.” She scoffed, an oh-you-little-peasant kind of scoff, and said “You mean, tall?” Uh, no, I wanted a small drink. Not a tall drink. A small one. People these days.

Similarly annoyed by Starbucks? Love their beverages? Comment below!

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A Word to the Wise

Today, readers, I present to you a tidbit of advice. Never start a conversation by saying “You know, it’s weird, but some people…” It never ends well. Ever.
I have done this precisely three times, and each time I have been presented with an extremely awkward moment.

The first time I make this horrible mistake, I was at my friend’s house. I said to her, “You know, it’s weird, but some people shave their arms.” I then looked down to see her self-consciously rubbing her freshly shaved limbs.

The second time, I was at a party of some sort, talking to a family friend. I said, “You know, it’s weird, but some people have like a thousand Facebook friends.” She nodded and said “hmm.” I later looked at her Facebook profile. She had over two thousand friends.

The third and final time I was this idiotic, I was having a conversation, and it was at a standstill. Trying to prevent an awkward moment, I said “You know, it’s weird, but some people don’t like chocolate.” Guess who didn’t like chocolate? Mhm.

Take my advice, people! These seven simple words are NEVER a good conversation starter, and will ALWAYS create an awkward moment. Be aware, and use caution!

(To those unfortunate people whom I used this phrase on: forgive me.)

Ever used this awkward phrase? Comment below!

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Sounds of Summer

All of the seasons are, in my opinion, characterized by different smells, sounds, tastes, and textures. Today I thought I’d talk about my favorite sounds of summer. So here they are, in no particular order.

1. The Ice Cream Truck
This one doesn’t apply now that I live in NYC, but when I was younger, the ice cream truck was a rare occurrence in my neighborhood. I would sit on my front porch for up to an hour, waiting for it, but it never came until I was least expecting it. At the marvelous sound, I would grab a dollar from my mother and chase the truck down the street barefoot. That sound excited me more than anything else.

2. Sparklers
On the Fourth of July, we always used to sit on the top of a parking garage near my house and watch the fireworks. Somebody would always bring sparklers. They were fun to watch and play with, sure, but to me their sound is synonymous with the good memories I have of the Fourth of July.

3. The Grill
Let me paint a picture for you: It’s a hot July day. Your mother has locked you out of the house in the attempt of making you have fun outside (only for an hour or two at a time, though, my mom isn’t insane!). You haven’t eaten since noon, and it’s six o’clock now. And then… you hear the marvelous sound of your father cooking burgers on the grill. It was truly a wonderful sound.

4. Baseball Meeting Bat
Every summer, my family and I go to a baseball game. It used to be that we went to a Columbus Clippers game on dime-a-dog night. We have since upgraded to a Yankees game, and although the atmosphere is waaay different, my favorite baseball sound remains the same– the sound of the baseball meeting the bat. Don’t ask me why, I won’t be able to tell you, but I love that sound.

5. Smacking Flip-Flops
Of course, because it’s summer, I hardly ever wear anything but flip-flops. Some people hate the sound of them smacking against the concrete, but to me summer just wouldn’t be summer without it.

There you have it, folks, my five favorite summertime sounds!

Got a favorite summertime sound? Comment below, and subscribe to the right.

(Note: the idea for this post was taken from the prompt, “what is your favorite summer sound?”)

See Ya Later!

Hey there, blog readers!

This little post is just to let you guys know that I won’t be posting for a week or so. I’m going to camp, woo-hoo!! That week long period should give you enough time to subscribe and tell ALLLLLL your friends about me :). It’ll also give me enough time to write some more cool blog posts for you.

Bye-bye, blogosphere! See you next week!

What’s in a Name?

Some people have great stories behind their name. I know people who are named after relatives, biblical people, even rock stars. I know people named after cities, flowers, and virtues. Some people get to say that they were named after the place their parents met, or their mother’s favorite heroine.

Not I.

My parents chose my name (which is Olivia, by the way) purely because they — and I quote — “liked the way it sounded.” This isn’t to say that I don’t like my name. I love that there is a rainbow of nicknames for it, and at some point or other I have been called almost all of them. The only thing I don’t like about it is that apparently, my being named Olivia sparked a craze, and I cannot tell you how many times I have heard my name in a store, turned around, and seen a little girl running to her mother. I also share my name with an annoying cartoon pig. If I had a nickel for every time I heard that stupid theme song, I could buy out Bill Gates.

In fifth grade, my teacher projected one of those baby-naming websites on the SMART Board, and searched up all of our names so that we could see the meaning.

My classmates’ names all meant something like “brave warrior,” or “beautiful woman,” or “fountain of joy.” As you can probably guess, my name means none of the above.

It means elf army. That’s right– elf. army. Let it sink in.

Naturally, my classmates burst out laughing, and, yes, it’s funny that I was named after an army of elves. But, of course, in the nature of irony, I was the second-shortest kid in my class.

Oh, joy.

I have learned my lesson, and before I decide what to name my future children (way, WAY in the future) I will definitely be checking a baby-naming website.

What’s the story behind your name? What does it mean? Comment below! Don’t forget to subscribe on the right!

Rant on Movie Reviews

Movie commercials always have reviews on the bottom of the screen, something like “The New York Times calls this the best movie of the year!” I don’t know about you, but when I see something like that the little voice in my head goes “DING DING DING! Good movie alert!” But when I see the actual movie, I speculate whether or not the movie people changed the review around in their favor.

Like, what if the New York Times actually said “If you like bad acting and terrible special effects, then this is the best movie of the year!” but the movie people switched it around in their favor. Or maybe they said “Only a lunatic would call this a great movie!”

Sometimes, they don’t even say who the reviewer is! They’re just like “Critics Rave: Best romance of the decade!” Okay… but who’s the critic? Is it the Washington Post, or your aging mother? Unless the director’s aging mother is the movie reviewer for the Washington Post, in which case the review would be completely biased.

Got any thoughts about movie reviews? Comment below! And look to the right of this post to subscribe to my blog! I finally got it to work, WOOT WOOT!

Beachy Keen! (I’m so punny)

Here I am, sitting on the beach, writing a blog post. The beach is amazing, but living about 45 minutes away from it makes me less appreciative of it than I once was, or that I probably should be.

I used to sit in the car for HOURS, sometimes even days, impatiently waiting for us to arrive. When we were about 15 minutes away, I would roll down my window and smell the salty air. As soon as we got there, my brother and I scrambled out of the car, haphazardly threw on our bathing suits, and raced into the ocean. Now, I walk slowly out of the car, plop into a chair and sit there for a while, like I’m doing now.

I used to marvel at how huge the ocean was, but now I barely even pay attention to its size, because I see it so often. Also, I’m not worried about the ocean swallowing me whole, now that I’m older, and the waves don’t knock me down nearly as much as they used to.

I used to live for the boogie boarding, the jumping, the diving in and out of waves. Now I’m content to only wade in a few feet. And, honestly, I’d rather be at the pool.

Got any feelings about the beach? Comment below!

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