Are you serious? I had no idea there was a bridge connecting New York City and Marrakech!

On a very hot day in May 2005, my friends Katie and Sara pulled into my driveway, windows down and music bumping. As I climbed onto the sticky leather seat of the red Blazer (RIP), Katie paused the song for only one second and said, “Whitney, this is our new favorite song.”

“OK,” I said, complying to her demand entirely.

“So, you need to learn the words so you can sing along with us,” Katie continued, as she started the song over.

“OK,” I said again, eager to hear my new favorite song.

Skepticism has never been my forte. I’ve been told (on numerous occasions) that skepticism is a sign of intelligence. With that in mind, I’ve often wished I could learn to be a little more skeptical in general.

To be completely honest, since I’m already admitting that I lack this blatant sign of intellect, I’ll admit that I could possibly be called gullible (though I don’t find it all that hard to believe that Tupac really did come back. Or that J.Crew wrote, “just kidding” underneath the tag of the high-priced necklace.)

In a way, though, maybe gullible people are what keep the world turning. Well, maybe not the entire world, but at least the fashion world.

For example, it took the right type of attitude to believe that shoulder pads really did look good.

But, some up-and-coming designer probably told some runway model that shoulder pads made her look skinny. And then, some compliant agents told some (gullible) actresses that shoulder pads would be all over the red carpet. And some bright-eyed fans watched as Brooke Shields and Michelle Pfeiffer strutted and smiled and shined in their shoulder pads, and they too went out and bought shoulder pads…and that is how the eighties happened.

All it takes is for a few outgoing people, albeit gullible ones, to believe in a few designers; and Voila! A trend is born.

Although my memories are fond of the time I spent in my zip-up-the-back, 10% denim, 90% spandex Pitaya jeans, I’m not quite ready to bring them out for round two. But, somehow, the majority (well, I think-I hope!- everyone was doing it…) of the girls at Zionsville Community High School found themselves embracing the same style.

You might find it hard to believe that when we paired these lovely jeans with a football player’s jersey on Friday, we actually found ourselves to be cooler. (In other words, our jeans, which we had to be poured into, except for the bottoms, with extremely large flares, were now being worn with an oversized, green, white, mesh and grass-stained top. But hey, Go Eagles! And then, Go Change!)

Maybe it was a little bit of gullibility that made us put on those clothes in the morning and smile at our stylin’ reflection. I can’t say I looked my best, but I can’t say I regret the choice I made.

And, over time, Yves Saint Laurent also may have had a few poor judgment calls. He may have had a few questionable items for sale and he may have had a few lawsuits for inappropriate ads or products. But, he was truly a legend and he changed the fashion world forever.

Yves Saint Laurent lived a good and stylish life; and has provided inspiration to both gullible and fashionable followers around the world.

The start of this week marks the end of Yves Saint Laurent’s life, and quite possibly the end of Hillary Clinton’s campaign. I personally find the former far more devastating than the latter; though I am trying to be sensitive to Hillary supporters (in case I ever meet one).

While it’s reassuring to know that he will be remembered and his styles will be cherished, it’s still a sad day in the fashion world.

A large part of me is hoping that Yves Saint Laurent and Tupac are hiding somewhere together, but for some reason, I think I should be skeptical about that one…

Spin the bottle, silly boy. Spin it like your favorite toy!

“Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You.” Dr. Seuss

Every single person in this world can be placed into one of three categories.

You might think that that sounds like a scary generalization, but it’s a theory that I’ve held onto since high school, and I’ve yet to be successfully challenged.

There are three types of people, fun makers, fun takers and unfun people (often called unfunners).

A fun maker (fən mā-kər) is an elite type of person. No matter where this person goes, they’re having fun. Obviously, fun makers are great at parties and in social settings. But, fun makers are so wonderful because if they’re present, it’s always a party. A boring road trip? You know that fun maker has snacks and games up his sleeve. Waiting in line for a concert for three hours? The fun maker is ret to start a rowdy game of truth or dare. And, of course, a true blue fun maker rarely turns down a dare.

Then, there is the fun taker (fən tākər). The fun taker is truly a great person. At a party, a fun taker partakes in all the goodness the fun maker is creating. However, the fun taker lacks the initiative, or confidence, or creativity to be a real live fun maker. If there is no fun maker present, the fun taker often feels somewhat lost, and struggles to think of something to do. But when the fun maker rolls up (music bumping, obviously) the fun taker is ready to partake- and even a little relieved to no longer have the pressure of thinking of something fun to do.

Finally, there is the unfunner (ən- fən- er). The unfun people make me feel a little sad. You see, unfunners just cannot really have a good time. Sure, everyone can feel the fun in the right setting- perfect people, perfect activity, ideal climate, comfortable clothing, great refreshments…but the unfunner needs everything to be just right in order to have fun.

In middle school, when the fun maker would suggest that everyone play spin the bottle (classic and classy) the fun taker would gladly join the circle. However, the unfunner would be the one to say, oh I don’t know if my parents would want me playing that…Or, I don’t know, there aren’t a lot of people here that I really want to kiss…Or, is it really a good idea to spin a full bottle of red wine on that marble counter top? What if it breaks?

Someone whom I have never met, but I am confident he was a real fun maker in his day, is Dr. Seuss (please note, Dr. Seuss also happened to be a September baby…ahem!).

How could he not be? He wrote the craziest rhymes and still makes children all over the world smile. He invented Whoville, for goodness sake. He’s quite the legend and in Leonard S. Marcus’ new book, Minders of Make Believe, he talks about what it was like to work with the Seussical man, himself.

I’m just so grateful that people like Dr. Seuss blazed a trail for fun makers to come for years and years. But, if you think about it, how could he not be fun? He invented the super-zooper-flooper-do and the automatic doughnut-making machine. If you have one machine to clean your house and one to make you doughnuts, of course you’re going to have fun!

I just can't help but wonder how Dr. Seuss would have felt about spin the bottle...

“Today was good. Today was fun. Tomorrow is another one.” Dr. Seuss

Mmm, tastes like chicken...wait. No. It tastes like chocolate!

I learned a new trick last week. My friend, Austin, taught me a little game he plays and I’m working to implement it.

It’s like this: if you have an idea, but you’re not sure if it’s actually a good idea, you should say it out loud before you take action.

I was skeptical, though, so we took it for a test drive after he explained the rule.

Here is a scenario we made up to practice: There is a couple, Max and Molly (it’s important to name them so you feel more attached and are more likely to pursue the course of action that benefits them the most. It’s also important that they have matching first letters of their names, because that’s fun…). So Max and Molly date for a few years, but really, the relationship is kind of messy. Max doesn’t treat Molly well, but she still has a lot of fun with him and they really are best friends. Sadly, though, Max tends to philander.So, one day, Max decides that he wants out of the relationship because he has been cheating on Molly with another girl, Stacey (you see how S doesn’t go with M? It’s an obviously poor decision by Max). So Stacey and Max start dating. Some time passes, and they’re still together. Molly has moved on, but still has a weak spot for old Max. One lovely Saturday night, Max asks Molly to hang out.

This is where Molly has to make an important decision. So she practices…

“I think I am going to hang out with my ex-boyfriend, who treated me terribly, cheated on me with Stacey, and is still dating her. We’d have to keep it a secret, because I know that it would make Stacey upset.”

Well, that’s one way to put it.

Or, Molly could say…

“I think I am going to hang out with Max, who used to be my best friend, I once loved dearly, and who can always make me laugh.”

Now you can see my skepticism with Austin’s little game.

I told him I was still not convinced, because it is simply a matter of phrasing.

Another, less specific, example:

“I think I am going to jump out of an airplane all by myself at 12,500 feet above ground level.”

Or…

“I think I am going to skydive.”

You see the difference? The first person sounded crazy and the second person sounded completely normal (maybe a little on the adventurous side for those of us who are afraid of heights).

What about this…

“I think I am going to eat an unusual fruit that makes everything taste good. It’s so strange that even vinegar tastes like apple juice. I could probably drink straight kerosene and enjoy it because it’s so magical. Even though I do not know the person serving it to me and found him on the Internet, I am going to eat an abundance of this fruit. It makes me feel like I am tripping on drugs. Furthermore, I am going to pay him to let me do it.”

Or…

“I am going to try this exciting new fruit that makes everything taste like candy!”

Maybe guests at Franz Aliquo’s party in Long Island City, Queens, said that very phrase last Friday night.

This miracle fruit, Synsepalum dulcificum, really does make everything taste good. It seems to be rather magical, and I might even try it myself.

But you see, if you played the scenario game, and were truly honest with yourself about the absurdity of the situation, you might not be so inclined to run over to Mr. Aliquo’s house and chow down.

Especially due to the fact that bartenders have been putting it in alcoholic drinks in order to make them taste good. The fruit masks the unwanted flavors. Essentially, people will drink an abundance of alcohol that they could not usually handle because of the potency of the liquor, and it will taste good. It sounds too close to getting roofied to me.

Maybe it’s just the college girl in me that knows better than to ingest a questionable substance (especially at a party…).

If this trend continues into the Midwest this fall, or even Georgia this summer, I might consider attending a “Flavor Tripping” party. Heck, maybe I’d even host one.

I’m going to be honest, though, I am not so sure I’d trust a college boy with that fruit.

The (very merry) twelve days of May

I’m addicted to holidays.

That’s the first step, right? Admitting you have an addiction…

I think, though, that in order to overcome an addiction, you have to want to change, and I don’t want to. I am at peace with my addiction.

I love everything about holidays. I love the insta-happiness I feel when I wake up on those magical mornings. I’m not just talking about Christmas, here, either. When I wake up on Halloween and the Fourth of July and St. Patrick’s Day, I am giddy.

Who doesn’t love candy (especially the cinnamon hearts at Valentine’s day)? And fireworks? And wearing green?

On Earth Day, my sister even paid a tribute to me on her blog. I felt so honored. It was like a little Earth Day present. Which rhymes with Birthday, the very fabulous day on which you also get presents (!!)…that brings me to my next point.

This year, my family missed my half birthday. Last year, my brother Duke remembered to get me a present, and this year, no one even noticed the day had come. Freshman year of college, my mom sent me a half birthday care package. This year? Not even a call.

But I am ok. I definitely survived. I think part of the reason I pulled through was because I knew that St. Patrick’s Day was so close. It gave me something to live for. I also think that maybe some people might have forgotten it because I might have forgotten theirs too. I’m definitely sending gifts next year; the mistake won’t happen again.

Another not so official holiday, but one that I think is definitely in the making, is what I like to call the Twelve Days of May.

The twelve days of May was kick-started when my brothers received their tax-refund check in the mail. It had begun.

Over the next few days (approximately twelve) everyone in my family began to receive their checks too. The little Post Office elves would sneak onto our porch and slip the gifts into the mailbox, pausing only for a second to make sure we hadn’t left them any treats.

We can get online and track our checks just like we can track Santa.

First, I got a very small one (about $1.54); I like to call that my stocking. It made me happy to know that the government was thinking of me, but it was merely a preview of the next gift to come, wrapped in a beautiful envelope and decorated with a perfectly placed stamp.

Soon, another check came in the mail, luckily a little more substantial. When I opened it, I had an idea as to what it might be, but I didn’t know exactly what the government gave me. As the numbers danced before my eyes, I saw a year of fun with this money. A CD? The stock market? The mall? Where would this gift take me?

Finally, the last check came in the mail, and as I opened it, I was happy to see the numbers, but sad that the season was over so soon. It would be another year before it came around again.

I knew that this year I’d been a good girl. I had worked hard and stayed off the naughty list. So, just as we’d shout, “Thank you, Santa!” when we were young, I thanked the government. I knew I had earned the gifts, but I still wanted them to know that I was grateful. I don’t want any coal in my envelope next May!