Cold. Cold.

The four kitchen chairs, dining table, mini fridge, broken hammock and toilet we gathered and hoarded over the winter on our back porch are about to be exchanged for torches, fire pits and an herb garden as we literally cleanse the house of the chilly time blues.

(If you don’t believe in Seasonal Affective Disorder, explain how the winter left us one car engine in the front yard away from turning into the Clampetts)

When I was young everyone I hung out with listened to rap. I was born in Long Branch and my friends were from Long Branch, so that should explain it. My friends were greasy little white kids with bad ambitions. We’d listen to Z100 and paint our garage different colors. We started the Z100 Club and it was fine until our pet hermit crab died.

We were young and poor and bored, and we listened to music and started clubs to keep ourselves from going to the park, which was covered with really scary older kids.

Though music was important back then, and boom boxes were never turned off, I wasn’t always a big fan of what it was we were listening to. I couldn’t get amped over DMX’s  “Ruff Ryders Anthem” or anything else they’d sing along to, and it would get frustrating. I wanted to like what my friends liked, but it wasn’t physically possible. Those jams were not my jams. It was like they were hearing something I couldn’t.

One day, like most week days, we were watching the new show TRL. I was feeling as frustrated as ever because my friends were excited over this shit that sounded like pure noise to me. Music that most of you probably still like.

Then the Beastie Boys came on. I had never heard of them before, and I had never heard any sound like the ones they were making. It was Intergalactic, and that was the first time I can remember ever realizing there is a lot more to music than what I had been around.

My friends hated that song, which made even less sense to me than anything featuring Mariah Carey. But I started realizing that while I didn’t like their obnoxious music, there was a lot more out there that I would like.

Liking the Beastie Boys led me to Blink-182, in an indescribable way that makes sense to my life. And then Blink-182 led me to Brand New, and that led me to where I am today.

This isn’t the best story in the world, but I’ve always loved the Beastie Boys because they showed this little white girl sitting in Long Branch that it is possible to like rap, and other music, if you just go out and listen for it.

So thanks to them, and RIP MCA.

Who’s coming with me?

This is a picture of my cubicle. It’s not pretty, but it also won’t kill me.

Plenty of studies have cautioned against sitting all day at your desk.

If I had read those, maybe I would have caught on a lot sooner instead of waiting until my body fell apart.

I started sitting regularly at work in September when I left my fulltime waitressing gig for a fulltime desk job. Between September 2011 and March 2012, I gained over five pounds (okay - maybe nearly 10), became incredibly lethargic and began to feel pain in my legs and arms.

Worried over the fact that after only seven months I was already feeling old and tired, I decided to evaluate my sitting hours per day vs. my standing hours per day. I found that I was sitting for nearly 13 hours a day (work(8-10) + commute(2-4) + meals(2)), while I was only standing for about 5. That scared me enough to start paying attention to a fad that had been slowly taking over my office.

A coworker of mine created a standing desk in his cubicle on his first day as a new hire. I’d never seen anything like it before and initially thought it was embarrassingly dumb. Then, one day, another coworker started standing. And then another.

I was a bit intrigued but, remember, thought it was too dumb to consider. Fortunately after the weight gain, the change in energy and the pains, I finally decided to try out what my coworkers had been doing for months. Plus, I read the articles behind the last two links in the second sentence of this post. Those two articles, especially the infograph, got me moving.

I’m on a mission, sort of speak, to not die. So, once I thought I was going to die, I started standing.

What has changed since I started standing?

1. I snack less.
2. I have more energy during the day and don’t hit that mid-afternoon slump as frequently.
3. I am more engaged in my work and less likely to space out on the Internet.
4. I have fewer pains.
5. I have more energy after work.
6. I’m happier.

Standing at your desk does take a few days to get used it, and I suggest that women leave a pair of “standing shoes” at your desk so that you’re not aching in your heels. But, after your feet and back and legs get used to your new setup, I think you’ll be happy you switched.

Just don’t stand all day. That will kill you too.

When you put a down mattress topper on your bed, you think about how comfortable and upscale you’re going to feel for the rest of your life. I’d plan (and eat) dinner in there and I watched movies and I’ve cried and used it to sleep through annoying, sad or hung over days. I’ve made friends come over to watch them sit on my bed, enviously. My dates never wanted to leave (and the last one hasn’t). Best, a down mattress topper is the perfect excuse to sit in bed with your Merlot as opposed to the couch or kitchen table or anywhere else where people might be.

You don’t think about the day it’s going to rip open and send thousands of feathers throughout your room, each landing stem down into your carpet, fighting past the suction of the vacuum and forcing you to spend two hours sitting on the floor, plucking each by hand, individually throwing them out, along with any sense of luxury your now boring bed once had.

On Saturday I went to a Nets game with Mark. We had floor seats*. Mark was sitting next to a rapper who kept getting calls about an after party. There was a VIP area with free food and we had to walk past the cheerleaders in their warm up gear to get there. The Scarlett Knight ran into me and I almost fell over Mini Sly (who has an unexpectedly deep voice). I didn’t have to use the same bathroom as everyone else, rightfully, and I dressed like a basketball wife. Basically, it was everything I expect my life to be.

But, beyond all of that, slightly above the Nets winning, right next to the generosity of Mark for getting such great seats and other than the free hot dogs, the most glorious part of the night was Kris Humphries.

I didn’t even know I liked Humphries until I spotted him on the bench. But, there he was, suddenly beautiful and suddenly a star.

I took Mark’s phone and manically snapped pictures.

Manically.

I have no idea how I’ve managed to land someone who let me geek out so hard and swoon over a reality-drenched nobody the whole night.

Mark was probably just glad I was watching the game at all, even if it was through the lens of his iPhone.

*The best way to get your girlfriend to enjoy your sport is to make her feel rich, fancy and better than the entire time she’s watching.

Wondering if you’re allowed to finally date younger men without becoming the dark stain on your family’s name?

Well, are you currently sucked into a girdle and wearing a dress held up by bone-breaking metal? No. It’s 2012. You can wear, and do, whatever, or whomever, you choose.

For proof, read this week’s Ché piece at Cupid’s Pulse; Are Celebrity Cougars Becoming Extinct?

The roughest of rough days!

I read gossip columns. I can’t help it. I’d like to say I read the rags because of my writing at Cupid’s Pulse, but I’ve been reading that bubblegum dish since long before I ever typed a sentence on why Taylor Swift and Ashton Kutcher should hook up. The truth is that pouring over the personal lives of other people is addictive.

It doesn’t matter if they’re celebrities either. The only reason we read about Hollywood is because, on some level, we think we know them. We don’t, by the way. Just like you don’t actually know that friend from third grade whose feed you’ve subscribed to. Really, you’re just curious. And it’s not about their accomplishments. It’s about their day to day. You want to read their petty drama (though not often), you want to know how they spend their Fridays and you want to know if they’re breaking up. One of the most obvious reasons you read this stuff is because you want to feel like you’re better than them. Reading about people online gives you the opportunity to judge them from afar. Plus if your friends know the people you have gossip on, you get to share it, which also inflates your ego. “Let me tell you about this other person, and watch as I feel special about knowing the things you didn’t.”

The same goes for personal blogs. Except it’s not all negative. Your real readers, your true following, will genuinely celebrate your accomplishments with you. Yeah, the haters will be out there, but they aren’t everyone. If you start blogging, and writing honestly, your followers will start to invest in you. They feel a part of your life, even though they have no impact on your day to day at all. As time goes on, they may, but for the most part it’s like watching someone’s private home movie. Few would turn it off.

So blog. Your Tweets and News Feed aren’t that interesting. But if I am able to look between the 140 character lines, beyond the Instagram photos, and gain a real glimpse of  who you are, I’ll be hooked. Even if your life is kind of boring, if you blog it well, I’ll be there.

Take it from me. I won’t humble brag you, but know, if you type it, they will subscribe (even if unofficially).

Plus, writing is a catharsis, which is the real reason you should do it. But if you are at all egocentric, and you are, you should start a blog. And don’t bore me with essays on the upcoming elections or why teachers should be paid more. Tell me what you made on Friday night. Especially if it came out terribly.