Letter to My Teenaged Self

Looking back at past versions of myself, I feel like an entirely different person in many ways. I like that we're always evolving. If there's such a difference between high school and early 20's, I can't imagine how different life will be - and I will be - in another decade.

I decided to write my 13-year-old self a note, which I know would be much more warranted if I were older and had lived a longer life and tacked some more experiences onto my belt. Nonetheless these are, I think, priceless lessons to hypothetically pass down.
  
Dear Jill,

You're awkward.

Everyone knows it and, on some level, I think you do too. I respect the choice to deny it for purposes of self-preservation, but life might really improve if you were to allow even a slight glimmer of recognition to peek through. Here are some helpful tips from yours truly. Just consider them.

1) Be confident and outgoing. People, having no other way of determining who you are, have to trust what you're outwardly showing. They will accept however you portray yourself if you sell it well enough. So the only thing getting in your way is you. And I know your social ineptitude is really a bummer at this point, so if you really can't figure out the cool code.... well, fake it til you make it, sister.

      2) Stop sucking your thumb. Really, it’s embarrassing. Speaking from experience, it's coming from a few different places - the sheltered youngest child syndrome, a certain stubbornness stemming from getting what you want, and some degree of oral fixation. (As I idly bite my cuticles...) Biting your nails doesn't look great, but if you hopped on that train a few years earlier, you could save your parents and yourself a few grand in orthodontia bills. Food for thought.

3) Try new things. Step out of your comfort zone! Literally... just one new thing would be great. A sport? A club? A new route home? Something. At the rate you're going, you'll need to compensate with some kickass grades in college and some white lies on your future employment applications..... You're welcome.

4) Shower. Coming from an older version of yourself who still doesn’t love the whole production of showering, trust me - I get it. But you look mangy and oily and unkempt. If you were a cat, someone would have to bathe you against your will in the tub cause   you refuse to lick yourself clean. It's enough already. Oh, and put some chapstick on, girl, cause these crusty-crusts....

5) Stop being awkward and take advantage of your unbridled freedom. There are only so many years left where your biggest problem is which Wawa hoagie you should order. Stop being weird and shy    and actually appreciate what you have. Those big windows of free time will still be preserved through college, though they'll be fewer and farther between... then BOOM. Real world. The time to gallavant around your 2-square-mile town in your pajamas and buy junk food at 7-11 is up. Love it while you got it, kid.

      6) For the love of God, no one wants to date you yet. It's adorable how unjustifiably confident you are in yourself, but the overzealous advances to guys way out of your league have to stop. Learn from your mistakes. If you throw a love note at the hottest boy in school, he will share it with all of his friends and laugh at you. If you ask a hot guy out, then he dodges you for days in school, do not - I repeat, DO NOT - call his house repeatedly hoping he's come to his senses. You've been flagged.

     7) Buy a hair straightener. Use it.

Bucket List

To sum up my current feelings in life, I'm both grateful for my blessings and anxious to move onto the next chapter whatever that may bring.

More and more, I'm feeling the importance of being patient, positive and appreciative for everything. I feel like I'm hopefully on the precipice of something new and big and different. Last time I asked the universe to shove me in a new direction, it did. Within hours. So here's to what's next.

In the spirit of being open to new experiences, I've started a bucket list. It's not so much "What I want to do before I die". To me, it's just about putting on paper experiences that would mean something to me and having things to work towards that fulfill me. So I'll update it in the future as it is rather short right now, but here's the first draft:

1. Learn a second, if not third, language fluently. (Spanish, then Italian).

2. Learn to read music.

3. Take a road trip around the United States.

4. See as many countries around the world as possible.

5. Try to learn something today that I didn't know yesterday.

Italian Injustice

So I just finished a new book and I should've seen this coming. After losing sleep - either by being held captive, unable to stop reading, or by choosing to reading a true murder story right before bed - I've finally finished Waiting to Be Heard by Amanda Knox.

I don't know where I was when this worldwide sensation of a trial was happening. Both Italian and American medias apparently fed on this thing like parasites. Guess I didn't care much for current events in my sophomore year of college. Anyway, I'm more than caught up now and I'm obsessed. I didn't want the story to end. I have a pile of books on deck just waiting to be read, but I'm literally taking a grace period just to let Amanda's story marinate. It keeps running through my head. I got five hours of sleep last night after a marathon of her YouTube interviews, and I don't regret a thing.

This girl was steamrolled. I genuinely can't imagine being in her shoes. The absurdity of her trial sounds like it can't possibly have happened in real life. I understand that, being an autobiography, this book is the definition of biased. However, I feel 100% confident that this girl didn't kill anyone. There's no evidence whatsoever proving what Amanda was indicted for, and the antics the prosecution pulled (and got AWAY with) are insane.

I now present you with a short manuscript meant to truncate the 4 year trial into its most basic, ridiculous form and smother it with as much mockery as possible. Almost no exaggeration necessary.

Prosecutor: Amanda, can you tell us what you were doing in Italy?

Amanda: I was so excited to be studying abroad! I grew up in Seattle but have always loved the Italian language, so I thought a trip overseas would be the perfect way to push my limits and jump out of my comfort zone in a beautiful foreign country!

Prosecutor: Cool, so why'd you kill your roommate then?

Amanda: What?! I didn't. I wasn't there that night. I was at my boyfriend's place. We ate dinner, watched a movie... I never left the apartment.

Prosecutor: Oh, you left.

Amanda: What? No, I said I didn't leave all night.

Prosecutor: Okay, you did though. Who was with you when you murdered Meredith?

Amanda: I didn't!!

Prosecutor: Yessss.......?

Amanda: No!

Prosecutor: But yes?

Amanda: No! I was never there. I have no idea what happened or who killed her.

Prosecutor: Cool, so you were there. Mark that on the record. Was it your boss Patrick that killed her with you?

Amanda: What?! No!

Prosecutor: Okay, so you and Patrick killed her. Perfect. Who else is guilty - your boyfriend? Yeah, yeah, he was there too.

Amanda: This is ludicrous.

Prosecutor: So you met up with Patrick that night. Yes? Patrick came with you, say it. Patrick. Patrick was there, come on... confess. Patrick? Patrick. Patrick. Patrick? Patrick and you. Killers. Patrick, yes? PATRICK! Patriiiiiiiii - (42 hours of interrogation later) - iiiiiiiick!!!!!

Amanda: Fine! God, shut up! I guess it might've been him....?

Prosecutor: A ha! Sign this.

Amanda: Wait!! I don't know why I said that. None of us were there. I have an alibi.

Prosecutor: No one cares. Do not pass go, do not collect $200.....


PRE-TRIAL

Amanda: I didn't do it. Don't know anything. I wasn't there.

Judge: Likely story. Jail immediately.


TRIAL

Prosecutor: Amanda's a she-devil, a real ho bag. She's sadistic and violent and sexually deviant and loves to kill people for fun.

Jury: Mmm hmm. Yep.

Prosecutor: She and her buddies killed Meredith.

Jury: Sounds like fact to us.

Prosecutor: This is the knife she used. I was looking through the drawer of the person I was trying to accuse & found a random knife in a pile of other kitchen knives. I feel like it's probably the one...  It's pretty sharp and could probably kill someone, so it killed Meredith. Irrefutable.

Jury: Yep, yep. We're with ya.

Prosecutor: Also she just looks like she probably did it. So....

Jury: Right. So she did.


CROSS EXAMINATION

Forensic Detective (Prosecutor's Witness): There's Amanda's DNA on the blade, too.

Defense: Oh, really? Can we see the tests that show that?

FD: Uhhhh.... my dog ate it.

Judge & Jury: Good enough for us. Aw... dogs are cute!

Defense: Did you do your job correctly, following protocol every step of the way?

FD: Of course.

Defense: So you didn't interrogate Amanda for 4 days, slap her, threaten her family, use leading questions, and neglect to read her her rights?

FD: Well....

Defense: You didn't wait weeks before thoroughly investigating the crime scene's DNA, move things around, test levels of DNA that are legally-speaking invalid, and use the same dirty gloves to contaminate every piece of evidence you touched?

FD: Uh.....

Defense: You didn't disregard and cover up multiple declarations of innocence by Amanda? You didn't then make up stories from your imagination that perfectly fit your theories and leak them to the press as fact?

FD: I mean......

Defense: You said some other guy's DNA was all over Meredith's body, room, house and belongings. And that his handprint and footprint made in her blood were found in the bedroom.

FD: Yeah.

Defense: Did you find ANY microscopic scrap of Amanda's DNA anywhere near Meredith or the crime scene?

FD: She probably washed it off before we got there.

Defense: So not only could she see the DNA with the naked eye, but she could discriminate between hers and this other guy's. Then she used her magic disappearing ink to get rid of only hers.

FD: Uhhhh. Well, we found her DNA in the bathroom they shared!!

Defense: Right. Seeing as though they SHARED the bathroom.

FD: Stop making sense. She killed her; everyone knows it.


CLOSING STATEMENTS

Defense: She didn't do it cause there's literally NO credible evidence or witnesses to speak of.

Prosecutor: She did it. We just have a feeling about this one.

Jury: Okay, 26 years in prison.

Thank God after 4 years of unjust imprisonment, Amanda won her appeal case and finally went home. All of their evidence was deemed invalid and improperly analyzed. Good riddance, ya stupid Italian judicial system. Basically they had an unbiased, actually-intelligent team of outside investigators come in and analyze the way all the evidence was collected in the first place. Turns out the prosecution team are a bunch of persuasive apes who had the media, and consequently the public, wrapped around their finger.

What's the Opposite of Bridezilla?

Well it's that time of year again, folks. Wedding planners are booked through the summer, florists are in high demand and engagement photos are abundantly sprinkled across everyone's News Feed. Save-the-Dates adorn the fridge of every house you visit. On any given rainy day, you can practically hear the bridezillas from coast to coast cursing the gods of fate and weather.

Weddings are a $50-billion-a-year industry. On average, 500 people are married in the U.S. every day. In short, they're a big deal. And I can understand it to a degree. I love the idea of a marriage and the meaning of it. I love celebrating the union of two people in a fun, fancy way that says "This is no ordinary day." I get why it's a much bigger deal that planning a family BBQ.

That being said, there is one overarching concept that I will never comprehend about weddings: cost.

Let's imagine for a second that a man and woman go on a leisurely afternoon trip to Target, spend $40,000, then head back home. That's essentially what your average engaged couple is doing. Out of context, who still thinks it sounds acceptable to see a year's salary spent in a matter of hours? It's one party one day.

I know I'm in the minority on this, having never imagined my wedding day as a little girl or scrawled my signature with different last names into a Lisa Frank Trapper-Keeper. But my future husband doesn't know how lucky he is. I'm about to save him a buttload of money.

Things I Refuse To Spend Lots of Money On
(Spoiler Alert: It's Most Things) 

1) My Dress

The large majority of brides are willing to pay at least a grand on the dress alone. Again I ask.... WTF? It's a dress. You'll absolutely only wear it once; that's not even arguable. I know the point is to look like you're a Disney fairy princess waiting outside the ball for your prince to whisk you off into your sunset. But you know what else is pretty? Another dress that's half the price. Here and now, I vow to drive up to the nearest discount bridal shop, stick an arm out and buy the first pretty ivory dress my fingers touch. I'll still look nice and I won't have to take a second mortgage out on my home.

2) The Bridesmaids' Dresses

These dresses all look the same. Usually strapless or with little straps, slightly pleated for some texture, then either knee or floor length. And the average price for these things is $250. I know Dolce and Gabbana make versions of this dress. I'm sure Christian Dior does too. You know who else does? The Target in the suburbs of Philadelphia. Not only will I be ordering $40 dresses for all my bridesmaids, I also plan on buying them for them. Who invented the modern grandiose wedding and put in the rule book: "Bridesmaids must buy their
own dresses"? If most women have hopped on board the Expensive Express and dropped a year's salary on their Special Day, why wouldn't the cost of the bridesmaids' dresses be included? You're effectively gathering around a handful of your closest loved ones and asking them, "Would you please be a part of my wedding? I would be honored to have you there by my side. You will? Wow, that's so wonderful. Okay, that'll be $250 for the dress, $50 for altering, $50 for the gift, $150 for the bachelorette party, another $50 for your part of the bridal shower....." No judgment towards those girls asking their bridesmaids to help by paying for their dresses; I know that's tradition. I just think there's room for some cutbacks here.

3) Venue

Who wouldn't want to be married in a solid gold mansion perched atop the French Alps? That sounds like a lovely place to recite one's vows. Unfortunately, my future fiance and I would have to offer a down payment of our entire life savings along with an annual interest of 50%, our first born, and my left leg. So ya know ... maybe we'll just find a nice meadow and sparkle it up like Bella & Edward. Or set up some towels on the prettiest dune in Ocean City, New Jersey. Sure, I'd like my ceremony to be in a nice-looking place that accommodates everyone, but I think there's room for cutbacks here too.

4) Flowers & Centerpieces

Pop quiz: Does an arrangement containing my weight in flowers brighten up a room? Yes, yes it does. Unfortunately, they're also super pricey and die within a week. I'll absolutely have flowers at my wedding but I plan on keeping the whole as minimalistic as possible. A couple of little bunches around the ceremony sound lovely and sure, bridesmaids, hold onto these bouquets. But I don't need to say "I do" in a bed of daylilies I planted and nurtured myself. And I don't need flower pots dangling from the ceiling or lining the rows of chairs. While we're simplifying everything & saving money, I also expect to make some cute, cheap centerpieces in one afternoon. Haven't thought it through entirely - if that wasn't already clear - but I'm picturing some table numbers I typed up in Microsoft Word, some plastic Dollar Tree fishbowls, and a few pics of me & my husband-to-be.

5) Save the Dates

Skipping them altogether. No, really. As soon as we're engaged, we'll figure out the venue & catering choices and you'll be getting your one and only invitation on cute cardstock. "Here's the date. Please come. Love you all!" Except classier choice of phrasing. The way I see it - no need to dole out the money for two rounds of invites. Let's spend that money elsewhere! Yay!

6) Cake

Let's face it - by the time the dessert course rolls around, everyone's out on the dance floor anyway. You might Electric Slide back to your assigned table to shovel a few forkfuls of raspberry butter creme down your throat before going back out to shake your groove thang. Thang? Is it thang or thing? Both are embarrassing and outdated? You're correct. Anyway, my master plan will be executed in steps. Step 1: Get a fake cake. Something that looks like an elegant masterpiece of fondant and icing swirls but is actually hollow

or stuffed with cardboard. Step 2: Have one real piece made if I feel like doing the "cut the cake" picture with my hubby. Might even skip this step. Step 3: Get a delicious and super cheap sheet cake from the lowest priced bakery in the area. Pre-cut everyone's slices from this cake beforehand and bring these out to everyone. Hundreds of dollars saved. Of course, there's the alternate plan which forgoes the cake altogether
and brings everyone out some cheap, sugar-filled, pretty, scrumptious cupcakes instead. Or this cake of a black woman.

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The list goes on and on. You get the picture. It's every woman's prerogative to plan and execute the wedding of her dreams. This is just one girl's perspective on her future plans. In case you're wondering if there's anything I would be willing to splurge on, the answer's yes. The photographer. To me, that's huge and a professional album is worth every penny. Also? Food.

Inspiring

Don't you love when something comes out of the blue and smacks you over the head? Changes your perspective on life?

This something had me bawling to myself at 2 in the morning. Intrigued? Keep reading.

Two nights ago, I was lying in bed checking a few more posts on Twitter before getting some sleep. (For the record, I created a Twitter with the sole purpose of reading about celebrities with more interesting, entertaining lives than my own. I'm acutely aware that no one cares about what kind of salad I had for lunch.)

Anyway, a random tweet caught my eye. I casually clicked a link and found myself immersed in a video for 20 minutes, frozen in place and crying harder than I have in a long time. It was the story of a boy named Zach. At 17, he was diagnosed with bone cancer. After months and months of chemo, radiation, pills, and surgeries, he was told the cancer had spread to his lungs and pelvis and he had only a few months left to live.

So Zach chose to stop all treatment and return home to spend his last days with the people he loves. He and his family came to accept his imminent death in the most beautiful, peaceful way. He even had a girlfriend who knew he was terminal when they started dating and she saw him through everything anyway.

Sadly he passed away two days ago, but the song he wrote for his family? #1 on iTunes. WHAT?! Not #20, not #5... The most downloaded song, blowing past hundreds of famous musicians and artists. That's amazing. Here are the thoughts I've been ruminating on since watching this incredible story (four or five times).

1. What a beautiful example of positivity, empathy and human connection that people would buy this amateur song, be moved by this guy's story, share it with others, and make it #1 on iTunes. I love when the bond that connects all of us peeks through the everyday sensationalism of the media.

2. What an incredibly beautiful human being this guy was. Always a smile on his face, boasting a motto of "Just make others happy". He managed to change the future plans that he had naturally created for himself (college, then marriage and kids with his equally amazing girlfriend) and accept the imminence of his death as another part of life. "It's only scary because you don't know what's coming next... or if there is a next. It's like sitting in the dark. You can be there freaking out about what's out there or you can just close your eyes and fall asleep."

3. I appreciate so much the opportunity to have my life put in perspective. It's like being recalibrated. Here I am, worrying about my goals and why I haven't reached them and what my future holds. And there Zach is, knowing he has no future and choosing to live every minute to the fullest. It's like going from the upper echelon of society to abject poverty and quickly learning the true value of a dollar. Others in his position may never learn it. They may spend the last part of their unfairly truncated life wallowing in self pity and cursing their fate. Not to say that these aren't natural reactions or that those people aren't just trying to cope and weave their own confusing path to acceptance, but hats off to Zach. Only 17 and living his life more fully than the majority of the healthy people around him.

Here's the doc. It's well worth watching. Below that is the music video where celebs sang his song for him. 

A Lifetime of Eating

I love when I write memoir-esque entries. As if I've reached an appropriate age to look back and analyze anything. Here I am at the end of my days, pondering retrospectively about the meaning of life.

Make no mistake... I know I'm a spring chicken. Still, one of the biggest changes in my life recently - my diet - has got me thinking just how much I've changed in twenty-four years. My eating habits have gone on a rollercoaster ride, often taking sharp abrupt turns at unexpected times. So join me now as I chronicle the adventure, raising an imaginary toast to the plates I've cleared thus far and the food groups I inevitably still have to re-examine.

Chapter One:
"White Meat, Please" (Years 1-12)

Who had two thumbs and knew the words "soy", "tahini", "tofu", and "carob"? This girl! Since the womb, thank you very much. My parents raised my three older siblings and I on a half-vegetarian diet. In essence, only white meat. If it wasn't turkey or chicken, some soy product replaced it. Thankfully, I like the taste of every food ever so it wasn't a problem. As a human, you accept the world with which you're presented ... and my world was chock full of veggies, rice cakes, soybeans, and tofu everything. Cool, Mom and Dad, let's do this. The term "treat" was also redefined by my parents. First off, we had the Egg McMoses - a crowd favorite - which involved an egg, cheese, tofu and mayo between two buttermilk waffles. Sound gross? False. My mouth totally watered while writing that sentence. Then we had the infamous Tiger Milk bars which were our family's version of a Snickers. Found at your local granola stand, you could dive into one of these little babies for a savory taste of some natural carob, peanut butter, and nougat. Also completely delicious but judging by its equally high amount of sugar, not worth the deviation from regular person candy bars.

Chapter Two:
"Once Was Blind But Now I See" (Years 13-17)

At some point, my parents decided we were old enough to make our own decisions and venture out. So I embarked on a rumspringa of sorts, which involved trying out the phrases "Medium well, please" and "Why, yes, I will have a sixth Reese's cup". I started hanging out at people's houses just to raid their cabinets. Equally amazed and perplexed, I couldn't fathom this new world where people ate chocolate and marshmallows in various shapes for breakfast and a new group of Old McDonald's (unfeathered) friends were on the menu. Quickly, I considered Mrs. Butterworth and the Kool-Aid Man new friends. I felt like Charlie Bucket being set free in Wonka's backyard of goodies. No, scratch that. As I recall, Charlie was the restrained, responsible one who shared a single Twizzler with Grandpa Joe. If I had been let loose in there, I would've probably beaten Augustus Gloop to the chocolate river and eaten the Cool Whip out of every mushroom along the way. Anyway, it's obvious at this point healthy eating was not a priority. This became even worse by the time high school rolled around. French fries were often an entree. These were paired with a tall bottle of "Icy Lemonade", which I believe was once a stack of sugar cubes dyed yellow then liquefied so they would fit in a bottle. Then six packs of Welch's fruit snacks ("It's fruit!"), nine bags of Sun Chips ("French Onion! They're practically a vegetable!"), and I'd be on my way back to class. Hard to imagine, but the nutrition boundary was about to get pushed even further...

Chapter Three:
"The Freshman Fifteen Twenty" (Years 18-21)

 When I first got to college, I was panicky, socially awkward, and quickly retreated into myself. This translated to a semester of stress dieting and, contrary to the trend, actual weight loss. This stage didn't last long, thankfully. (Though the anxiety of dealing with crazy ass roommates would not subside until later, but that's another story.) Once I got into the swing of collegiate life, I succumbed to your stereotypical diet of fat, carbs and sugar. In a way, I'm glad I wasn't tracking calories or nutrition at that point because I literally had no other choice. If I was in the mindset to look out for myself at all, I would've had to forgo eating and wither away to nothing. One of my favorite meals at the dining hall was a tuna panini. Basically, they'd scoop a mystery mixture (75% mayo, 20% tuna, 5% ????) onto a buttery flaky white panini bread, smother that with as much cheese as space allowed, decorate it with various other accoutrements, then paint each side

with an oil-drenched brush, and smush it into a panini press until the flecks of lard were a perfect shade of golden brown. F***ing amazing. Then I'd top off the meal with a raspberry "iced" tea that was room temperature at best and had to contain my weight in grams of sugar. (Again, I'll reiterate, if I ordered a water, the dining hall workers would have pointed me to the nearest puddle.) Anyway, I'd jump into my dorm room bed and scarf this down without blinking an eye. The best, though, was night time. My roommates, and later apartment mates, and I would do "Half Price Apps" at Applebee's a minimum of twice a week. We'd finish classes for the day, someone would suggest Half Price, we'd all celebrate this amazing novel idea and pile into the car. As you might expect, these discounted appetizers did not include celery sticks and kale chips. We're hitting the ten o'clock hour and are elbows deep in fried chicken wings swimming in sodium and fat-flavored chicken quesadillas. Only time in my life I've experienced heartburn. Curious.

Chapter Four:
"A Weak Attempt" (Years 21-23)

After indulging in a lifetime's worth of crappy eating, I emerged from college with a diploma in one hand and a newfound resolve to turn things around. Gone were the days of burgers and late night pizza; I was going to figure this out. So I started wading through the sea of contradicting nutritional guidelines and trying things randomly. I wasn't looking to be perfect; I still believed in indulging in yummy foods to enjoy what life had to offer. "Quality of life!" I'd say, "Can't restrict yourself too much!" So while I was starting to hit the gym occasionally and read food labels, I was still a sandwich fiend and a suggestion to order pizza was a no-brainer every time. Carbs were whatever, sugar was "Yeah, I should probably stop at eight cookies", and no food was off limits. 

Chapter Five:
"Full 180" (Years 24-?)

Then, two months ago, came the most jarring upheaval of my diet to date. My sister has been eating Paleo for years - no grains, no dairy, no refined sugars, no legumes. She's made gentle suggestions to loved ones along the way. From the inside looking out now, I'm actually impressed that she managed to refrain from preaching full-on sermons during some of our family meals. Slowly but surely, she started recruiting on the DL. "Oh, Zach's doing it now." "Oh, guys, guys, she got Michele!" And as I stated before, my favorite foods were all on the opposite end of the spectrum from Paleo. I was carb happy. The idea of shunning pizza and sandwiches from my life forever was completely unfathomable. Impossible. Then one day I thought I'd give it
a try just to see what all the fuss was about. I went for about three weeks without any wheat, then thought I'd reward myself with a whole-grain pizza. HA. My stomach laughed at my naivete, then attacked me from the inside out. I texted my sister to report the pain; she said I had reached my "A-Ha!" moment. My reply? "Damn it." But from that point on, I've dedicated myself to the Paleo lifestyle. I feel lighter, cleaner, healthier. I also hit the gym five times a week on average. My system has done such a full turnaround that any legumes or grains causes an immediate reaction. Who would've thought? Certainly not me. I'm not super strict all the time; I'll have a damn cookie if I really want it. But gluten is out the window and I don't imagine it'll ever make a reappearance.

Who knows what the future holds? Guess I'll just have to live life and continue being surprised.

Pop Star? In Your Dreams!

I'm waiting in the wings. It's five minutes before showtime. My two friends - and fellow bandmates - are standing behind me, giggling about something. The bustling sounds of a huge crowd seep through  the heavy red curtain when suddenly it hits me - I don't have any idea what I'm supposed to do. Never learned a lick of choreography. I spin around.

"Wait, guys, I don't know any of the dance steps. Did we ever come up with any?"

"Oh, yeah," one of them says, "We've been practicing for months. Every Wednesday 4 to 8."

"Oh," I mumble, trying to suppress the hot wave of panic that just seared through my chest, "I didn't know that. I guess I'll just... walk around and point like Posh Spice."

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True story. Well actually, no. That was a completely fictional story made up of far-fetched, illogical events. To be fair, when I was dreaming it, my unconscious mind perceived it as 100% true.

And why wouldn't it? I'm in a girl group with my pop star best friends? Yep. We're popular enough to fill a packed arena to perform what I can only assume are covers of other people's songs? Sure. And following months of secret rehearsals, no one thinks it's strange that only 2/3 of the band knows any of the choreography. Yep, well... everything checks out!

No exaggeration ... that's maybe the most logical, realistic dream I've ever had. Unlike most others floating around in my subconscious, this one had a setting that stayed the same, characters that didn't sporadically morph into other ones, and a sequential plot you could actually follow. Usually, if I remember a dream at all, it's not even worth rewinding and analyzing. I'm running down a street made of pizza crusts and I pass a Cookie Monster who's actually my dad but is now my high school Chem teacher and he's late to catch a flight going to New Mexico where I am suddenly am now and I see a lizard crawl over my foot but it's really a koala. That's more like it.

It's actually fascinating to get an occasional glimpse into the inner workings of your mind, as ridiculous and erratic as these manifestations often are. Want to know the dramatic conclusion of my pop star dream? Of course you don't.

Well, after eventually deciding I wasn't prepared enough to join the show (you think??) and pulling out, I realized I had a chance to redeem myself. After the concert, there was an open mic hour where anyone was welcome to showcase a talent. As I watched my bandmates perform our dynamic repertoire of Destiny's Child songs (Yep, definitely my subconscious), I thought I'd sign up to prove I was a vocal prodigy once and for all. Like anyone was wondering or cared or actually existed.

Cut to me on stage seconds later, bypassing all laws of time and space, warming up the crowd with a few jokes. Then the lights go down, everything goes quiet, and my mind is blank. I can't remember how the song starts. I can't come up with a single word. (In retrospect, that's probably because the song didn't exist and improvised songwriting has never been my strong suit, especially when I'm dead asleep.) I leave the stage flustered and spend the rest of this sleep cycle getting laughed at, having my picture taken to document the embarrassment, or watching family members struggle to compliment either of my botched performances.

Maybe I'm not meant to be Beyonce after all. Oh, who are we kidding? I'm a Michelle on the best of days.