30 Is The New Black

With a sea of emotions, the big milestone birthday has almost officially arrived.

 

That time where I always thought I'd have life all figured out and everything would be perfect.

 Should I rejoice that the awkwardness of my twenties are over? Or panic as I kiss my youthfulness goodbye in return for a world of 9pm bedtimes and wrinkle creams? 

I accomplished some amazing feats in my twenties. I've traveled all across the country and grown exponentially in my career. I've turned myself into a marathon runner and represent a fantastic brand due to my successes on the pavement. I've modeled luxurious European headpieces. I've done things some people don't get to do in an entire lifetime.

But it wasn't an easy decade.  

As I reflect, I'm fairly certain that your twenties is the equivalent of going through puberty.

At 20, I was a small town college girl with big hopes and dreams, but not a lick of sense. I had no idea what it meant to be responsible. Or to be a good friend. Or how to love. Or sacrifice. Or how to take care of myself.

I was barely 21 when I packed up as much stuff as would fit into my Jetta and moved into a city I had never been to. After a while, I found myself broke and alone. I had two choices: give up and move back to Alabama, or pull myself together, figure it out, and move forward.

So I worked multiple jobs -- one to begin a real career, the others to supplement my career dreams so that I could do things like feed myself and put gas in my car.

I learned responsibility pretty quick.

Through those jobs, I became friends with some incredible people from all facets of life. They took me for who I was, never passed judgement, and was the best support group I'd ever had.

They taught me how to be a good friend.

There are certain inevitable things in life that you can't be prepared for at any age, and death is the hardest of them all by far. When I was 22, I lost my dad to cancer. I found myself at a crossroads again: succumb to a world of sadness, or live happily in his memory and make him proud.

In life and in death, he taught me how to love.

My mid twenties became less about trying to decide what bars to go to every night and more about building a life for myself and taking care of the people that meant the most to me. 

I met Prateek who taught me what it means to sacrifice and prioritize and that sometimes the right decisions are the hardest. 

I find myself now in my late twenties, turning 30 in a few days, surrounded by a solid group of great friends and family and everything I could have ever asked for.

  

The feelings I've been having of aimlessness, inadequacy and insecurity over a stupid number?! What is wrong with me? I should have way bigger fish to fry than that.

   

I don't believe that learning how to be responsible or how to love or how to be a good friend ever really stops. You are constantly discovering yourself, no matter the age. 

I think that maybe your twenties is where you truly learn some of those life principles, and your thirties is where you can actually execute and benefit from them. 

  Growing older is a privilege, not a curse -- and a person's potential has no expiration date.

So, maybe it's not that I'm young or old. Maybe I am just where I need to be.  

Bring it on, 30. 

 

Carmen Sandiego

 I'm no stranger to traveling, but it's been a crazy few weeks!

Cliffs notes version, I went from Tampa to Orlando to Minnesota, drove around Minnesota for a few days, then back to Orlando then back to Tampa all within a week's time. I saw family I hadn't seen in ages and attended a work conference. I lost my cell phone charger, my voice, and a lot of sleep. I gained some new friends, a new running pain/injury, and a 13 ft Boston Whaler.

Shall I continue?

My Uncle Dan's place is in a small town called Garfield, MN - population 354.
 (No, really. It was on the sign when we drove into town).

Some may call it the boondocks. I call it a slice of heaven.

My mom's entire side of the family was there and we had a wonderful relaxing time making s'mores and hiking through my Uncle's ranch.

After a few days of relaxation and unplugging from the world, it was back to the airport and back into Orlando for a work conference. But this isn't just any conference. This is a conference where colleagues become friends and every night there are themed and planned events. 

This year featured a night at Epcot American Adventure and Illuminations show, and a night with my favorite theme to exist EVER--country western night!

PS- if you ever get a chance to check out the Tobacco Rd Band, definitely go and get your country music fill. They are legit.

After a few nights of limited sleep and long meetings, while I'm sitting in a lunch session on the final day, this happens:

I was correct of course. I came home the next day to a boat.

I guess I'm glad it's not a motorcycle?

It's a Boston Whaler, which meant nothing to me at the time. Prateek explained to me on the phone that they were "unsinkable".

I quickly reminded him they said the same thing about the Titanic.
 

Sadly our baby Whaler has to live on it's trailer until we can get the dock fixed from Tropical Storm Debby's wrath.

Boat name suggestions are welcome!


It's nice to be home and getting back into a normal routine, even though my hip tendonitis / IT Band Syndrome / whatever the heck it is that makes my hip hurt when I'm running came back a few weeks ago. I didn't say much about it because I couldn't see the keyboard through my tears.

(OK maybe that's slightly exaggerated.)

I went crawling to my running coach, who handed me a resistance band and sent me away with instructions to strengthen, stretch, ice, and rest for a week or so.
By the way, do y'all realize how awkward it is to ice your hip?!


It's been two weeks and I took a practice run this morning - no pain! Fingers are crossed that I can continue on with my Chicago Marathon domination plan without further hindrance.
Even if it means an hour of quality time with the foam roller every day.

My favorite torture mechanism.

Happy summer to everyone! 

Stop by if you're in the area - the pool is clean and the boat is ready!

Sarees, Bhangra, and Malai Kofta

Working for an upscale hotel company, I've attended and assisted plenty of Indian weddings to ensure all details were complete, from confirming that the tables were set with all provided decor and double checking that the horse was properly attended to after the Baraat.

I have not, however, had the pleasure of attending an Indian wedding as a guest....until this past weekend!

Prateek's cousin got married at a beautiful banquet facility on the Henry Ford Museum grounds in Michigan. P's sister graciously let me borrow some of her traditional clothes for the Sangeet and the Ceremony/Reception, and dressed me from head to toe with gorgeous bangles and jewelry to match the stunning Salwar Kameez and Sari.

Ready for the Sangeet

Wedding Sari

The detail on the back of this Sari is exquisite!

The bride was breathtaking, the food was delicious, and the celebrating lasted late into the night with a mix of American Top 40 and Indian favorites. Even a few I recognized, like 

Deewangi Deewangi, and  Chammak Challo.

Beware: these songs will get stuck in your head. Watch and listen at your own discretion.

All the weight I gained from stuffing my face with Naan and Malai Kofta was burned off by the end of the weekend from the hours upon hours of dancing and jumping around with the nephews and nieces of the family. 

Congratulations to Neha and Rob, I wish you both a lifetime of happiness!

The Pursuit of Happiness

Throughout my entire teenage and college life, I found myself in quasi-serious relationships. I'm a romantic at heart and the white-picket-fence-babies-minivan mantra was (and is!) what most southern women want whether they would ever admit it or not. 

It's what I wanted at one point, too. Can't deny it. It's embedded into our southern-born DNA.

The Mrs Degree

You go to school. You meet the love of your life. You get married. You move back to your hometown (or somewhere relatively close). You have kids. Those kids grow up. Go to school. Meet the loves of their lives. Get married. Have your grandkids. 

And the cycle continues. That's how it's supposed to work.

It's what makes small towns so close knit and keeps a community strong.

Well me, I was the misfit. 

I followed my heart to Florida in 2005, and by 2007 was stuck in a place I never thought I'd be -- I  wasn't with the love of my life, I wasn't married, I wasn't back home, and I didn't have kids. I remember looking around my very first one bedroom apartment 600 miles away from home thinking well what now? 

I was alone with no friends, and had a job that was promising for the future but didn't make ends meet.  I had never been single for a long period of time, and had never supported myself without financial help from school loans or someone to share the bills with. 

What to do?

Like the Taurus I am, I stubbornly decided to prove that I could do it on my own. No time to feel sorry for myself -- so I hit the ground running.

In the Sunday paper one morning there was a listing for servers/bartenders needed at a local restaurant. I had waited tables in college and knew how nice awesome it was to walk out with wads of cash in my hand (heck, I'm still jealous even today, who am I kidding)- working two jobs was going to be tough, but it was a good temporary solution and I figured maybe I'd meet some friends there too. 

Done and done. 

Little did I know how many people I would meet and how much self-evaluation I would encounter.

I realized I didn't even know what I wanted for myself. For so long I had been morphing my wants and opinions into whatever everyone else wanted or liked. What does Mary want? What does Mary like? I had no idea. It's very similar to that scene in Runaway Bride, where she doesn't even know how she likes her eggs cooked. 

The group of people I worked with were so open minded that it allowed me to form my own opinion on things without being judged or criticized.There were the goody two-shoes, the alcoholics, the born-again Christians,  and the ones that have a record in the Pinellas County System. You had the mothers and fathers trying to make ends meet for their kids, and you had the college students just trying to make a few extra bucks to pay their cell phone bills. It was one big dysfunctional family, and they carried me through my self awakening while I got my groove back.

At this point in my career, I had gotten promoted with my hotel company and didn't "need" my serving job anymore, but it's where all my friends were and I had fun there. So I kept it going on the weekends.

It was chaotic - it was dramatic - it was long nights and early mornings - but it was family, and that's how families work sometimes.

Thank you to my St Pete family for getting me through what could have been a dark time. Just like the great Whitney Houston, I will always love you.

Walking The Plank

During my trip to Calgary last year as we sat at the parade for Stampede, I made mention of the fact that it was similar to Tampa, except for instead of the city turning into cowboys and riding horses, the city turned into pirates and rode in on large ships. 

It started with just Rachel/Hugues. Then Mom said she'd like to come too. Then my brother decided to drive down from his base. And Jackie and Delane, God love them, skipped a trip to New Orleans for the National Championship game so that they could instead spend their time off in Florida with us.

And so began the Malone/Lefebvre/Stallings Gasparilla Weekend 2012.

We got the weekend started with G. Love & Special Sauce. The McFarlands and the Watsons also joined us that night for some funky blues music. 

 

Good friends and Good Fridays. And the lady in front that totally photo bombed our picture.

Saturday morning it was time to pillage. 

Jadoo got in on the action, too

We all got brunch tickets at the convention center so we could have our own table and watch the invasion up close and personal. Nothing beats coming face to face with sweaty rum-carrying pirates.

Waiting for the pirates to invade

My sister dressed as Tinkerbell, and had mentioned to me that she was "nervous" how people would take it. 

Deep down she secretly knew everyone would love it, and follow her around like paparazzi and get interviewed by a local radio station.

Her husband was Captain Hook.

Best part of the costume? The green chuck taylors.

The pirates invaded, captured the mayor, and stole the key to the city.

It was time to head to the parade route.

This is the part of Gasparilla that always ends up with the best (worst?) stories. Luckily for the Malone/Lefebvre/Stallings clan, it was all good stories since we had reserved seats and had an area to move around with some personal space (Can't say so much for the other side of the street, where debauchery unfolds each year, but let's just say it's not for the kiddos).

It's reported that 400,000 attend Gasparilla festivities each year.  From ages 0 - 100.

Speaking of which.....

*ATTENTION PEOPLE OF THE TAMPA BAY AREA*

Is this your grandmother??

If so, I would like to meet her.

Anyone that can pull off an eyepatch, a nose ring, and a wig with bandana at that age deserves a medal. I want to be like her in 70 years.

The parade began and the beads started flying through the air. It's amazing how little pieces of plastic that probably cost no more than ten cents to make can cause people to hoot and holler and get into fights.

The girls came out with some good loot while the boys were throwing all of theirs to unsuspecting pillagers across the street. 

We can thank the Kraken for that.

It was a long, hot, fun-filled day, and the sun (and the Kraken) got the best of us, so we headed home to rest up.

The rest of the trip we visited with family, went to the beach, scored some great deals at the outlets (Tory Burch dress for $25, what's up!), and went to the Lightning vs Capitals hockey game. 

Sadly, now it's back to the real world. 

But not without a little sunburn. And a little more loot.

Empire State of Mind

In high school, Jackie and Kate were (and still are!) the jelly to my peanut butter. We did everything together. Even though now we're worlds apart with jobs and husbands/significants and everything else, we still somehow manage to keep up with one another and pick up right where we left off. 

We planned this New York trip almost 6 months in advance, which is probably the earliest I've ever personally planned a trip in my entire life. Little did I know at the time of planning it that I would A) get selected to run the Marathon the weekend before, and B) have a work trip the three days in between San Francisco and New York! It was a whirlwind week to say the least, so by the time we got to the airport I was more than ready to participate in mindless activities such as shopping, eating, and being tacky tourists.

Jackie was in town already so we flew up together, and she had scored some Sky Club passes. 

So we cocktailed. 

The plane got delayed, so we cocktailed more. 

Then we cocktailed on the plane. 

Then, since the Sky Club passes were only valid for one day, we cocktailed again at the lounge at La Guardia.

 The bartender poured us two each..... to go.

FYI, it's hard to double fist and carry luggage.

On the way to the hotel in the cab, Jackie makes it clear to the Pakistani driver that we are tourists and she then asked that he "tell us all about the city as we go along". She also looked up Empire State of Mind on her phone and played it on repeat about 4 times.

I immediately busted out my iPhone map and tracked where we were going to make sure we were going in the right direction and not down some back alley or taking a "shortcut" through Jersey to get to our hotel on Wall Street. 

 By the time we got to the hotel (safe and sound!), it was sleepy time for Mary. Kate met us at the hotel later that night, but I couldn't tell you when because I was passed out asleep.

 Our swanky digs

Since we stayed on Wall Street the first night, we got up the next morning and wandered around looking for the Bull.  

On our way, there was a guy selling hats for $2. It was chilly outside (perfect hat weather), and you can't beat that price with a stick.

 

We bought 5.

We eventually got to the bull, and even though it was surrounded by barricades due to protesting we still got close enough to take some pictures, don't you worry.

The best thing about us three is that while we have many common interests, we also have enough differentiating us to always keep it exciting. 

For example, Jackie and I approve of the Bull. Kate clearly does not.

Me, I'm the classy one.

Jackie enjoys self-portraits and has developed quite a remarkable talent in holding out her arm and making a picture look like someone else took it.

That's all her.

After our bull adventure and a little mosey around the 9/11 memorial we cabbed it up to Grand Central Station to check into the Grand Hyatt, where we'd call home the next few days. After a delicious hibiscus flower cocktail, we decided to walk the few blocks to Times Square and check out the TKTS line for discount show tickets. 
We were in a quandary deciding which one to see, and most were sold out by the time we got to the front of the line. We ended up scoring some to Avenue Q, which I had seen before but LOVED, and promised Jackie and Kate they'd love it too.

It was colder than any of us had anticipated, so shopping was in order before going out that night. $20 peacoats from a classy retailer called Strawberry (It's like a schlocky Forever21 with a twist of tween hipster) and $5 pashminas from the street vendor, and we were all set.

The plan was to take a cab from the hotel to the theater, but after some drama of getting cabs stolen from us from a nasty man with a horrible yankee accent, ended up walking halfway to the theater because we were running late.

Usually being a little behind schedule isn't a big deal, but for a show, they will close the doors and not let you in.

We made it by the skin of our teeth, and laughed till we cried at sure-to-be classic showtunes such as "If You Were Gay" and "Everyone's a Little Bit Racist". Seriously, go see this show.

Unless you get offended easily. Then maybe it's not for you.

Fabulous green couch at the show

The next day was the day we had all been waiting for - Chinatown.

We met up with our other high school BFF Jonathan, who now lives in Brooklyn, and he accompanied us through Canal Street.

Chinatown has changed a lot since I'd last been there. It used to be that you went into a back room for the good stuff. Modern day Chinatown, you wait for someone to whisper "Prada? Gucci?" and if you looked up and acknowledged it, you followed them down the block, around a corner, around another corner, and down another few blocks to a quiet street. 

From there, you get a plastic menu-type sheet to view images of the bags that are available.

I picked out a few off the "bag menu" and the little ladies dissipated around a corner. About 10 minutes later they were back with a solid black plastic bag, holding the goods. 

I bargained it down to a reasonable price, and bought two for almost the price of one.

After I bought those, I bargained some faux Tiffany rings. And a few bracelets. And earrings.

Apparently if you spend more than $100 in Chinatown, they congratulate the guy that initially brought you over because you're a high roller. I was certain that my mug shot would be posted for future reference so that I could be targeted.

Is it being a cheapskate to buy a knockoff? I prefer the term "frugal", but sure.I've also bought my fair share of the real deal, like my Prada bag that cost me more than I would ever admit to, which never sees the light of day because I'm afraid it's going to get dirty. 

We made our way out of Chinatown and started heading towards the East Village. We passed a darling store called C. Wonder that was having their grand opening. The lime green doors drew me in, I couldn't help myself! I was browsing the jewelry, looked up and Kelly Ripa was standing there.Yay for celebrity sightings!

We made our way to a sports bar, as Auburn was playing LSU (let's not talk about that game though) and Alabama was playing Tennessee. It was a good place to sit and catch up and take goofy photos.

Jackie wanted to go sing karaoke later on, so we walked down a few blocks to the nearest karaoke bar and warmed up our vocal chords. This little place was a ton of fun - everyone sang along with everyone else's songs. One of the regulars was Irish and sang "Molly Malone" but changed it to Mary. Very sweet of them. Little did I know that she died of a fever and no one could save her and that was the end of sweet Molly Mary Malone. Bummer.

Needless to say, the next morning came too quickly and it was time to hit the road for the airport back to our respective states.

These ladies know more about me than most anyone else. They understand where I've come from and what I've gone through and where I want to go. They're the people I count on to drive me home after too many margaritas, and my voice of reason for when things get a little out of hand.  They're my future bridesmaids. They're the aunties to my future children.

They're just ridiculously fabulous.

I love you both and can't wait for our next trip!