WhoDey? Oudin.

The first time I watched IU basketball my freshman year of college, I remember thinking - oh my gosh, they're my age! These semi-celebrities, boys we'd had crushes on, were now my peers.

Then as I began to investigate this finding, I realized that some professional athletes were younger than me (I'm kind of a sports-watching novice). It felt so odd. I suddenly felt inadequate. Sure, I was in college, but they were in college and providing us with the joy of March Madness.

It was even more shocking my senior year when I realized that 75 percent of all college athletes are younger than me. What was I doing with my life?

I just experienced this feeling again recently when I learned about seventeen year old Melanie Oudin. I'm five years older than her (half a decade!) and she's all over the news as she made it the US Open quarterfinal. What was I doing when I was seventeen? Well, I think I was probably still enjoying the fact that I could drive...

Even though Oudin lost tonight, I can't help but be in awe. In just ten days, she's evolved from a typical American teenager (though talented at tennis, still leading a typical life) to a celebrity. The word "believe" is now a message reserved for her tennis shoes. She actually has command of a word as common as believe.

She'll undoubtedly receive insane sponsorship as her career continues to grow. And as long as she doesn't pull a Phelps, things should remain pretty constant. So, I'm sure she was sad to see the tournament end for her, but for a Marietta girl, things are looking pretty good.

WB <3 FD

"I like my Skechers, but I love my Prada backpack." Ten Things I Hate About You

True love...

I love my Rainbow Sandals. I loved them before I had them. I loved my first pair. I am currently loving my second pair. I truly believe they are flawless and as far as I can tell, I will love my Rainbows forever.

Before, during, after: eternity. True love.

Not true love...

My junior year of high school I became obsessed with dried fruit. About two months before Christmas, I decided I absolutely needed a food dehydrator. On Christmas morning, there was no FD under the tree. I was very sad. My love for the food dehydrator grew.

Around 10 pm, my mom told me that she forgot, the FD was on backorder! It would be here soon. I was very happy. Again, my love grew.

When the beautiful dehydrator arrived, I began reading the instructions. Apparently, it takes 24-48 hours to dehydrate fruit. I thought it would be a matter of minutes (like magic). I no longer loved the FD. I never used it and it is still sitting in the attic (though I think Ashley did give it a go, once). Maybe someday the affair between me and the dehydrator will begin again.

This is not true love. This is infatuation.

I believe I am currently experiencing infatuation with Twitter. It's fun to read what my friends are doing (ie: so glad recruitment is over @saralayne! RT freeee! no more recruitment everrr). It's also fun to see what's going on around me and get news updates. I'm undoubtedly more up to date on sales, news shorts, and local events than ever before.

However, I don't believe it's true love. I think my feelings will eventually fade. I already have a few qualms with the site. For example, I don't love it when tweeters use it to be ostentatious and show off (I won't retweet an example on this one). Sometimes, I also get frustrated by the character limit. According to a recent study in Scotland, this limit is also making us dumber by reducing our attention spans. Therefore, I am definitely not ready to declare it love with Twitter.

However, unlike Twitter, I am most definitely in love with Gmail. In my opinion, it is the perfect email tool (Courtney, just say no to Hotmail). When the site went down last week for more than an hour, I'll admit that I was not only slightly panicked, but in disbelief. How could my love forsake me? I felt stranded and vulnerable...

It's definitely love.

I'd like to think I will remain faithful to Google forever (if Google Wave replaces Gmail, it still counts. It's just like my lover got a makeover). I can just picture myself sitting at my computer in 70 years, clicking through my Gmail and loving on my Rainbows.

livin la vida java

"He was my cream, and I was his coffee. And when you poured us together, it was something." Josephine Baker

Even after my third trip to New Hampshire, it never ceases to amaze me how different each region of the country is.

After making Jim explain to me (extensively) what each New England state is like- a game which I concluded by making him pick one word to describe each state - I feel I have a decent grasp on the region.

I quickly came to the conclusion that if New England was its own country and the Midwest (also a country) declared war on them, the fastest way to win would be to launch an attack on all Dunkin Donuts. Essentially, it's their lifeline. I must admit, though, that while I'm still a Starbucks lover and I respect Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf (holler back for the west coast), I became accustomed to the daily Dunkin Iced Coffee.

Although Starbucks clearly did not originate in Indiana, there are approximately twenty nine within ten miles of my home. Dunkin Donuts in Jim's hometown parallels our Starbucks. Driving from the airport, we saw three of them within a quarter mile.

Although I've already admitted I'm not good with analogies, I think I can safely say that Dunkin : New England as Starbucks : Midwest.

Dunkin is faster and a little grittier, Starbucks is a homier and has some sweeter options. And yet, while they're definitely different (to the point that I almost feel you can't compare them), I'm satisfied with both. I'm happy to be in Dunkin and I was excited when Jim taught me to embrace the chain, yet when I'm in Starbucks, it feels like home.

After ten lovely days in New Hampshire, I left feeling very satisfied. I am so happy that Jim has introduced me to a region of the country that was completely foreign. I feel so blessed to have spent time with his family and to have gotten to know the extended portion. Although I learned that New Hampshire was not the same as Indiana, they quickly made me feel as if I was at home and I was sad to say goodbye.

The trip also piqued my interest in the recent Twitter quiz, "What U.S. state do you belong in?" I was medium (to very) offended that Indiana was not an option, however, I was satisfied with my South Carolina result. Charleston? Yes please. (I felt similarly slighted when I learned of the newish bicoastal coasters, but I got over it).

The vacation also further opened up my heart to new regions of the country. While I dream of someday living a winter-free life, I am much more willing to try some of the colder zones. I have cute coats, and I always love an excuse to shop, so maybe Boston is an option after all. I mean, the Red Sox game was far more exciting than any Braves game I've ever attended.

So, as I enjoy my final days in Atlanta, I realize that I don't know where I'll be next. It might be Indiana. It might be Georgia. It might be New Hampshire. Though no matter where I end up, you can surely find me in a Starbucks...or a Dunkin.

a whole new wardrobe

"Mr Big: We're getting married. Should we get you a diamond?

Carrie: No, non. Just get me a really big closet." Sex and the City: The Movie

When it comes to clothes, I admit that I've been pretty lucky. I have two sisters and a very stylish mom that I've been able to share clothes with my whole life. In college, I was blessed with 120 sorority sisters who maintained an open (closet) door policy. Anytime I wasn't in the mood to wear my own clothes, I took a stroll down the hall to shop in a friend's room.

Now, living solely out of my own closet in Atlanta, I've fallen into a funk. My new skirt? I just wore it. My favorite dress? I wear it every other weekend. That old faithful feel good outfit? Not making me feel so good. I've been so spoiled by having 120 other closets that mine just feels tired (I am three months out...).

However, after this weekend, I'm a new (and now firm) believer that if it were more convenient, the key to a fresh closet is to move.

Even if you keep your closet organized- shoes in clear boxes, sweaters stacked with part of each one showing- you still forget about certain outfits. After moving it all out of my closet (RIP Gables Summer 2k9) I have a new appreciation for the way that blue cardigan looks with that pink skirt. I feel so refreshed that I didn't want to

part with any of it as I began packing it in the car.

Maybe if I just rearranged my drawers and closet every few weeks I'd never be tempted to shop at all...

...maybe, but probably not.

I also have a new appreciation for how much easier it is to move out with the help of your dad and boyfriend. After moving out of Theta all by myself in May (think five flights of stairs), Gables seemed like a breeeeze. Granted I only carried about two loads down while the fellas took care of the rest. But what can I say, I was too busy admiring all my old clothes.