Taylor, Can you hear me?

After much consideration, I've decided that Taylor Swift should be my best friend. I've told this to people but I always get the same responses: she's so cool or a request to attend our slumber party. I'm serious. Taylor is sarcastic in a completely feminine and fun way. She sings, dances, acts (did you see SNL?) and plays the guitar. She's more comfortable in jean and a t-shirt than high heels-- can I get a high five? She's got a bone to pick with men who cheat--we can all raise a glass to that one. And best of all she is there for her friends. Just ask Miley, who also dated a JoBro*. Taylor Swift is a class act.

This isn't to say that I don't love my own girlfriends. Actually, for the first time in my whole life I feel like I have a solid group of friends who don't resemble a clique in a teen movie. There is no hierarchy and no backstabbing. There is solid companionship. And from what I know of her lyrics, Taylor would fit right in.

Back in college I was disappointed by how little social politics changed from high school. Gossip ran rampant through the dorms and into the classrooms. Instead of talking in front of lockers, people chatted in the dining hall or by kegs at parties. Post sophomore year, I retreated from living the college dream. I wasn't going to put up with another moment of the he-said, she-said bullshit. I worked multiple part-time jobs and took up hobbies with my roommates. I dedicated myself to writing, cracked open books, and devoured my way through the first four seasons of Grey's Anatomy. It was well worth my time. Now 11 months out of college, I wish that I had a group of friends who really meant something to me. However, I do have a few friends from college who've stuck around. Most of them are Irish and named Caitlin. And most of them are not with me in New York.

Now I'm experiencing the fulfillment of having real girlfriends. We go shopping or do yoga, paint pottery at Color Me Mine on a random Saturday, get manicures and do Wednesday night trivia at Common Ground. But I want Taylor to know that I really enjoy my friends and I think she would too.

Taylor, if you're listening, I want you to know that you have an open invitation to my roommate's Gossip Girl Mondays. And, if you're interested, I'd really like to have you be my best friend. No pressure. I'm just putting it out there. I'll even print out a picture of Kanye's face and buy a set of darts. Just think about it. Call me?

*JoBro is a commonly used term for a Jonas Brother. Not including the Frankie, the youngest Jonas Brother, known to fans as the Bonus Jonas. Yes, I spent much of my junior and senior year of college babysitting and absorbing Disney Channel trivia post-Lizzie McGuire/Famous Jett Jackson era.

My Guys

I don't eat spicy foods because my dad always told me and my brother that it puts hair on your chest. I find it acceptable for a guy to check the score of the game at least once during dinner. I expect the guys I date to be real guys. I believe that a cold beer is well-balanced with intellectual conversation. I don't mind working around golf tee times or sitting at a Saturday night baseball game, even if the most enjoyable part is the sugar-free frozen yogurt. I expect a lot from the guys I date to be worthy of my dad and brother's approval. Because at the end of the day, if I can't take the guy home to meet my dad and Matt, then I'm not going to want to date him.

This is a problem I am encountering as I navigate my way through the dating world. In fact, a few of my friends and I seem to be having the same issue. We want to find a guy who loves us as unconditionally as our fathers. My roommate Lindsay requires that any guy she date be as silly as her wonderful and remarkably goofy father. My other friend needs to find a guy who loves baseball as much as she loves watching it and sharing it with her family. My problem is that guys I date and my guy friends all have one thing in common: they love my dad.

The last guy I dated would have passed a lot of my dad's tests. He was polite, well-mannered, and had a sense of humor. He was book smart, well versed in politics and supports Obama. However, my dad and brother wouldn't relate to him on a guys level. He didn't know The Beatles music anthology backward and forwards. He didn't have the verbal skills to litigate his way through an argument. He even had the audacity to say that baseball is the most boring sport in the world and that no one watches it. I immediately took my hat, hit him and said "That's for me. That's for my dad. That's for my brother. And that is for Babe Ruth and America." Okay, so he was joking. But let me tell you, that is a major deal-breaker.

And then there was my high school boyfriend. He truly loved me and was my best friend for three years. I felt comfortable having him play poker with my brother and his friends. He could talk to my dad for hours about music and baseball. He was part of the family and they were sad to see him go. Recently, I was faced with the harsh reality that one guy I cared about didn't care about me. Trust me, he wanted nothing to do with me. He was actually drawn to the charisma and character of my father. He didn't want me. He wanted the respect of my father. That's not good enough for me and certainly not going to gain the approval of my father.

Of course, then there are my guy friends. They always tell me how cool my dad sounds. He plays in bands. He flies airplanes, plays poker, rides a Harley, drives a convertible. I get it. I know my dad is the best. I'm not a daddy's girl for nothing. I am unbelievably lucky to have a father whose love knows no boundaries. When I'm crying and he just thinks I'm being a silly girl, he still lets me blabber away about how I feel. He tells me I can do whatever I want do. He's there to bounce ideas off of and to sing me to sleep. Hell, he's even there when I want to go shopping. He's brilliant and fun. No wonder all the guys in my life think he's the man. He kind of is.

I'm also unbelievably lucky to have my brother. I can't count the number of times he's nursed me through heartbreak. His solution is to hoist me over his shoulder and throw me in the passenger seat of his car. He puts on Dave Matthews Band and John Mayer and we drive to the nearest drive-thru Starbucks. We listen to the music as we drink our coffees and talk our way through my tears. He's my best friend.

Still I continue to date and get my heart stomped on by different feet in different shoes. However, there is one consolation prize. I already have the love of two men who love me. And really, how will anyone compare?

The United States of Facebook

"Why can you just not be Facebook friends?" Ruthie asked.

"You can't just unfriend someone," I say. I might as well have said duh.

"Why not?"

"It's like the lowest you can go. It's like cutting off all information. It's like so immature," I explained.

I had just opened Ruthie's eyes to the social etiquette of the world of Facebook.

There are unspoken rules to Facebook. For instance, you can add a friend on Facebook but you cannot de-friend a Facebook friend. You can stalk a friend on Facebook but must pretend you didn't learn about their scandals, behavior, or relationship status via the mini-feed. You can create a Facebook event, but choose your privacy settings carefully if you don't want to offend your 673 friends.

Facebook is where our social lives exist. We just operate around it. Even though our profiles display only the information we provide, they symbolize much more. For instance, if we don't say that we are interested in men or women, our sexuality can be called into question. Or if we don't say where we work, acquaintances might think we are unemployed or embarrassed by our jobs. Our marital statuses are made public, thus making our break-ups, including heartbreak, open for viewing. We live online, even when we are not signed into our account. We're addicted to the accessibility of this information. It brings us together and sometime tears us apart. But we all have one thing in common: our profiles. We are the United States of Facebook.

I understand why my cousin Ruth was confused by my reaction to her suggestion that I un-friend a Facebook friend. She didn't realize that would be the lowest of low blows. And why would she? It's not like I'm saying "we can't be friends." That conversation with the friend already happened. Unfriending means losing access to all information about the other person. Once you de-friend, you can't go back.

The Mini-Feed is the culprit of my angst. By presenting updates on the new developments in our friends lives, we are bound to discover things that are both exciting and sometimes unfortunate. I've been hurt by the feed, and I know many friends who feel the same way. In spite of it all, I still believe that losing a Facebook friend goes too far. And just because we aren't Facebook friends does not mean that I want to lose our virtual connection. My fellow Facebook citizens know what I mean. We've become accustomed to knowing the who, what, where, when, and why of our compadres. We don't want to be denied that freedom.

Although in all honesty, being Facebook friends doesn't mean a whole lot. While I'm friends with my actual friends, I am also friends with bizarre characters and acquaintances I've made over the years. I'm friends with a cartoon named "Maya Avocado" that somehow has ties to a friend I made in Israel on my Birthright trip in 2007. I'm friends with friends of friends I made at parties. I'm friends with my friend's friends whom I've never even met. It's like going to the same high school. You have your own crowd and hundreds of other people roaming the same halls.

So why would it be such a big deal to deny a Facebook friend the power to look at my profile? The truth is that even though they aren't part of my life, maybe I want to see their updates pop-up on my mini-feed... even if I don't want to know. You have the choice to accept or deny friendship. And once you accept, you accept. FFFL. Facebook friends for life.

Making it Work

The fundamentals of life in New York are hard to attain. It's like getting all your ducks in a row when one duck is asking for health insurance, one wants a home, one is hungry, one wants to go shopping, etc. You get the point. There is always something a little out of line. Having it all is pretty much impossible. Look at Lady Oprah. The things in her life that are right far outweigh her wrongs, yet she openly battles a weight problem. And if imperfection is okay by O, then it's okay by me. It's not about having it all right. It's feeling all right about it. So here's my running list of what I'm working on and how I'm working it out:

Making it work

• Job... check (Been there, done that on this blog, no need to rehash that journey. That's for the book). I finally enrolled in my company's 401K plan this week and could feel Suze Orman giving me a big high five.
• Friends... check! Finally, now that I'm in New York, I have a a solid group of girlfriends. I found two in preschool and a few I've met through other friends and at work. Best of all, I don't feel like my drama is the kind played out on The Hills, although we do quote the show as if it's real life.
• Apartment... check. I am still loving my apartment and my roommate. I can walk to work and the man at the convenience store truly knows my Diet Coke and Orbit gum addiction. I'm home.
• Style... working on it. After months of being cautious when it comes to unnecessary spending I am finally reopening the doors of my closet to style. The good news is that I have a steady income. The bad news is that I have a major crush on boots and scarves.
• Love... I tossed out my rose colored glasses for Acuvue Oasys. I'm a single female living in New York. This story is as old as time and as fresh as the shoes on Carrie Bradshaw's feet.
• Dog... Everywhere I go I see dogs. On my way to work, in stores, on the street, at restaurants. And whenever I see a small dog, hopping along to the beat of it's owner, I stop and I stare. I want one. I want a puppy. My roommate wants a puppy. I grew up with dogs and I just can't imagine a full life without one. When I'm not working 50-60 hr weeks and have some extra money to take care of one, I'll get one just like this puppy and name him O'Malley.

It's about the give and take. The concept of having it all and self-actualization isn't as fulfilling it sounds. Because when you think you have it all, isn't it natural to stop trying? I don't ever want to be that person who thinks they've got it going on. I just want to keep going... and boots. Lots of boots.

Suit Yourself

I'm sorry that I have been absent lately. The truth about my absence is innocent. I haven't been on "vacation" like celebrities who go to rehab clinics. I'm not spending my evenings learning a language or baking cupcakes. It's a lot less glamorous. I'm working. I'm working a lot. And I love it.

There is a rhythm in my daily schedule. I wake up, shower, write, get dressed, go to work, gym, dinner, write, read, bed. Repeat. It's mundane but reliable. I'm working my butt off- nights and weekends- and you won't hear me complain. Any extra work they need me to do, I'll do it. Any extra mile they need me to go, I'll go. Anything and everything. My job responsibilities are growing as my knowledge of the company expands. It's coming together. It's been six weeks and as my boss said, it feels like six months.

I felt compelled to update because of the news of the alumni who is suing her alma mater for not assisting her in finding a job. Check out the story here. Basically, the student has been out of school for three months. Her GPA was not outstanding and her quote reflects a lack of understanding of the seriousness of her goal. There is only one person who should be held responsible for finding a job. And that person is yourself. You can't rely on anyone but yourself. Universities have many students to consider. They can't make the phone calls and connections that you should be making yourself.

I called and I called and I called until I got responses from employers. I sent my resume to companies at 3 am in the morning when I couldn't sleep. I even sent e-mails and left a voicemail to one person in the same day. You don't stop until you've exhausted all your options. I firmly believe that a law suit is not an option.

You're suing for reckless abandonment. I think the the university should counter your claim and and sue you for giving up.

Homecoming

I'm going home tomorrow. I may live and work in New York but Miami remains my hometown. Tomorrow marks the tenth day in a row that I've worked at least an 8 hour day. Yesterday, I received my first paycheck! I've had a job for over two weeks! It's really happening in New York. No matter how many things change, I'll always look forward to my time in Miami. This is my first trip home and vacation in seven months. And let me tell you, it's long overdue.

I consider myself a homebody. I don't feel the need to roam far and wide to be comfortable in my own skin. I'm at home in my surroundings. Don't get me wrong, I love to travel. I miss the family vacations I took as a kid to Beaver Creek in Colorado, London, Paris, New Mexico, California, and, of course, New York. I visited New York and New Jersey at least once a year as a child, which is part of the reason I feel at ease here. I like exploring for small periods of time while knowing the time and date that I will return to sleep in my own bed.

The best feeling is that I'm going home with my pride. I accomplished my goal of finding a job. I'm living, maybe even thriving, in New York. I'm A-okay. Right now, work fills up 95% of my time and focus. Eventually, I'll make room for more things on my plate like spending time with friends on a regular basis. As of right now, I'm taking my job very seriously. I'm absorbing everything about my company like a sponge and giving it my all.

My eyes are beginning to shut as I write these words. I'm exhausted, yet fulfilled. I'm going home and it's feels so good.

KA Phone Home

It's hard to remember what we did before cell phones. I remember circa 1991 that my mom had a grey brick with buttons and black antenna sticking out of her classic Louis Vuitton tote. At the time I was in preschool and picked it up to play house whenever I saw it lying idle. I don't even know how I picked it up since it practically weighed more than I did. This is when my phone addiction started. By the time I was four, I could call Cousin Ruth in New Jersey--long distance, whoa--my grandma, my dad at work, and Katie Barnett (hi, Katie!). I knew their numbers by heart. It's funny how much I love phone numbers but have always loathed numbers in any other context.

I've had phones on my mind lately. I've been through nine cell phones since I first got one when I was 14. Nine! I had the classic Nokia that I put a red cover on and used mainly to play snake. Then I had the small Nokia with snake II, another Nokia that melted in the sun and it's replacement, and a handful of Sanyo flip phones. I've had two Motorola Q's. They done their job. I can check my e-mail, Facebook, and recently my Twitter. I can read the NY Times. It does the job and it does it well. Unfortunately, the Q is aging and I can renew my contract.

Here's my debate: should I stick with Sprint or switch to ATT. Under my Sprint account, I am covered under my family plan and costs ZERO dollars per month. Also, the new Blackberry Tour comes out two days before my birthday. I can envision myself becoming a crackberry addict. And did I mention that my monthly usage costs nothing? If I switch to ATT, I would covert to the religion of iPhone. Most of my office uses the iPhone and I really think it would be convenient. Unfortunately, this would require switching service and paying a new monthly bill of about $100. I can't make up my mind.

Help me decide:

Should I open the gate to tour the Blackberryland or convert to the gospel according to Steve Jobs?