Unemployment: Saved in the Nick of Time

Two blog posts in one:

Life gets really strange when you’re unemployed. Oh, how I hate that word. Unemployed. Using it makes me sound like one of those twenty-somethings draining the government’s money because I think a college degree earns the me the right to be CEO of a company and nothing less. For the record, I’m not even collecting unemployment. I’m one of the stubborn cases who would rather watch her savings slowly and painfully deteriorate than ask the United States government- or even my dad- for money. That being said, unemployed life can get weird.

My view while writing this.

Example: I don’t have a car, but I live in Arlington, Virginia. A car, while not entirely necessary, would mean that I could drive myself home right now instead of sitting at a rotted picnic table overlooking a busy, not-so-scenic multi-lane road. My boyfriend picked me up and took me to the gym on his lunch break, but the plan to sit in Starbucks when I finished backfired due to the large group of men who hold daily gossip sessions in all the available seats. I’ve arrived before them a few times and had the pleasure of eavesdropping while their chairs surrounded me (I pretended not to notice due to my headphones). Still, I never captured any of the gossip because, unfortunately, I don’t speak Swahili. You heard it right, folks. A nice group of old men from Tanzania meet in Starbucks (the location will remain undisclosed) every afternoon at 2 p.m. If you feel like this club would benefit you, please email me for further information. Anyway, now I’m sitting here. On moldy wood. In front of a busy street. Hidden by 12 trees. Writing a blog post until my boyfriend is ready to go home. Anyone who comes out of the nearby office building is probably shooting me nervous/judgmental glances, but that’s why I’ve chosen to sit with my back to the door.

….

Nearly a week has passed since I was sitting with my back to the door, so here's part two of this blog post. The forest-writing saga ended because Chris swooped in a saved me from my wooded blogging nightmare.  A few days later, accepting a job offer saved me, as well. I must say that as thrilled as I was to receive multiple offers, few things can trigger anxiety quite as debilitating as the process of

waiting for, deciding on, negotiating, and accepting a job. Last week, I thought a few excited toucans were throwing a fiesta in my upper stomach and rib cage. It seriously felt like their rainbow-colored beaks were scratching up my insides, leading to a deep, unresolvable ache. Similar to the feeling I get after eating a full bag of Dove chocolates. If you can’t quite wrap your head around having the Fruit Loops bird inside your tummy or what it’s like to eat 35 Dove chocolates in one sitting, imagine a giant air bubble hanging out right below your sternum. Luckily, as with most things, champagne was the answer. After three days of sometimes searing, sometimes annoyingly dull and persistent pain, I decided to drink some bubbly. Hallelujah. Needing an excuse to drink champagne is always welcome, but I never want to go through that kind of decision/waiting process ever again.

Not these. Definitely not these.

On the bright side, it’s over and I have a truly spectacular job! The company I’ll be working for is small, full of the brightest minds I’ve ever met, will help me grow a legitimate career, and keeps its wine coolers (not to be confused with Seagram’s wine coolers) full at all times. Actually, they’re mostly a red wine group, so I guess they were wine racks I saw, not refrigerators. I can’t remember. All I know is that I liked it.

Back in the post about job hunting from a few weeks ago, I said that I didn’t have any great advice after snagging an initial interview. Now I do- and it is cheesier than Plaza’s queso dip. Be yourself. But only if the yourself you’re willing to accept is that really quirky side of you. Everyone has one waiting to be set free, so everyone can relate to it- even your interviewers. I went into each interview professionally, but also as the Shannon who can’t control her weird faces or habit of bringing up wine and/or teacup toy poodles in every conversation. In response, I had incredibly enjoyable interactions that not only highlighted my ability to do the job well, but also left me wanting to hang out with each person more (and seemingly vice versa). Even the really quiet people who interviewed me ended up laughing by the end of the session because we were just having a fun conversation that happened to be an assessment of my capabilities. I’m no Kathy Griffin, but I definitely found that everyone appreciates a little non-PC honesty. We’re all human, and no one wants to work with a robot (unless it's as cute and witty as R2-D2).

The American Dream

White picket fences, golden retrievers, manicured lawns, whispy curtains, and two sedans in the driveway. This is the American Dream right? Comfortable. Familial. Endearing.

Maybe if you live in the 1940s.

Gated communities, pure bread water poodles, private greenhouses, plantation shutters, and a Mercedes/Range Rover duo in the driveway.

That sounds more like it.

As the rest of this post unfolds, keep in mind the following:
1. I know some people are still passionate about their careers
2. I am very good at Wii bowling
3. The Occupy Wall Streeters to whom I refer are the youngsters who didn't really understand the true issues at hand, rather have entitlement issues
4. Please read the entire thing before assuming I know enough about politics to actually write a politically-driven post (Newsflash: I don't)

The idea of the American Dream seems to have drastically shifted in the last few decades. A happy, employed, nuclear family just doesn't cut it these days. We want more. More cars. More space. More gadgets. Essentially, more money. Seemingly no one is happy starting a small business unless it will provide a luxurious lifestyle. Who cares about passion? No smell of flour on your hands from opening your dream restaurant, no excitement surrounding the best idea you've ever had for your ad agency, no pride in your heart about seeing improvement in your students (see #1 above). Hard work means rarely coming home to the family and most likely getting stress hives from your job, but it's okay because there's a Nintendo Wii to distract the kids (#2), along with a pool, grand piano, and The Yacht.  Wasn't there a time when the American Dream implied the possibilities of succeeding freely, able to provide for a family and live in a home or your own? Not doggedly, without ever attaining complete satisfaction.

I mostly want to be her because of my girl crush

As Keeping-Up-With-The-Joneses-Syndrome becomes a greater epidemic by the second, a new, profound rage against the "1%" is also hitting an all-time high. Or, the way I see it, low. Demonizing the richest of the rich is the middle class' favorite pastime. Ironically, the middle class (generalization- deep breaths) is openly upset that the exorbitantly wealthy have so much more than "the rest of us." Meaning they want more, too (which would make them equals with those they supposedly disapprove of), or at least want the 1% to have less. Sounds like the age-old case of the green monster to me. What you're saying, dear Occupiers of Wall Street, is that you should get a share of that opulence. That it's not fair. I get it, because I often think that it's not fair that I wasn't born Kate Middleton, Carrie Underwood, or Heidi Klum. [Before you huff and puff, I'm aware that none of those women fall into the 1%. Maybe Kate Middleton, but she's not even American, so none of you really care.] All of this disdain for the rich makes me roll my eyes, because most of the blind indignation (#3) comes from believing that opportunities aren't equal, the "inhumanity" of the wealth gap, and- essentially- people wanting to be richer themselves. You hate the rich because you aren't.

I will say that the one argument against the 1% that I can tolerate is regarding their alleged control over the government. I most certainly do not have the inside scoop on that can of worms, but I'm with you- corruption is no bueno.

The American Dream has shifted from living a secure suburban lifestyle to having your own plane to fly to Paris for the weekend. But then everyone's mad at the people who do fly to Paris for the weekend. It's very fickle. Life would be super awesome if we were all born into homes with two employed, educated parents. But that's not life. Therefore, yes, the rich should help the poor. What would be even more amazing is if they did it on their own accord- which many do, tax write-offs aside. They're not bad people just because they're rich. The world hasn't gone to shi...itaki mushrooms...because Henry Ford invented the automobile and his ancestors now get to enjoy the ride (no pun intended). Good for them. No, the world's- rather America's- real problem is lacking the ideal to work hard until reaching a level of comfortability, then finding contentment in that level, no matter how much the paycheck continues to increase (or not). Again, I recognize the extreme cases and outlying variables that don't allow this basic progress in certain demographics, but I am speaking to middle class America: Work hard, be content (not the same as shunning growth/motivation), and stop looking at those with more than you as villains.

I hope you all kept in mind the four disclaimers at the top of the page. As the proclaimed "Switzerland of Pageantry" by our current Miss America herself, Lord knows I understand both sides of nearly every argument- almost to a fault. All I am saying here is find a way to be happy and don't dislike other people just because of differing lifestyles (#4). If you've read my blog over the years, you know my life mantra comes into play here: You are in control of your own happiness. Also, may I add, you are only allowed to dislike the rich if they're nasty, bad tippers, or hate Harry Potter. I don't like anyone who hates Harry Potter.

Man's Best Friend

I'll be the first to admit it: Whenever I have an extreme emotion, all I want is someone to join the party. I don't want to hear how to make things better or listen to why I should manage my expectations. I want you to jump up and down with me when I get a new job lead or lay prostrate on the floor with me after realizing I've gained eight pounds. And if you can't bring yourself to join me on the overenthusiastic highs and the self-indulgent lows, at least be very quiet and just smile at me like I am the most wonderful person on the planet.

This is why I need a dog.

Two humans have ever come close to the qualities I'm looking for in an emotional sidekick: Tommy Hendrickson and Emily Howard-soon-to-be-Montovani. Their bonus: In addition to hopping on whatever quickly-moving train I'm riding, these two will also make sure I have a full glass of wine in hand. Unfortunately, they aren't furry and I can't nuzzle them while talking in a high pitched voice. Scratch that. The latter has definitely occurred. And Tommy's legs, well, let's just say they're not NOT furry. What I'm trying to say is that even my best friends are no match for the therapy dogs bring to the table.

True or false: When a puppy looks at you with those wide eyes that are bigger and sadder than Precious on a diet, you can't think of anything else in the world at that moment.

Answer: true

If you answered false, might I use these as my rebuttal:

Now that I'm positive we're all on the same page, I'm sure you will agree that pups have an inexplicable way of making you happy. Their approach is very similar to Sour Patch Kids, in that just when they're getting so sour that you can't believe you decided to have one, they become ridiculously sweet. Observe:

 

 

I've done a lot of thinking about getting a pooch and have decided it's a must. First I need a job, then an apartment, and then a car, but I'm thinking a new little lovebug will come into my life within the next year! Also, the name will have something to do with wine or cheese, depending on the personality of the little one. Options are: Brie, Veeta (Velveeta), Colby, Jack, Colby-Jack, Grigio, Aquinas (favorite pinot noir), Raymond (favorite cab), Kendall-Jackson (if I get a Great Dane), Chardonnay (if I get a little fluffy white dog), Napa, or Noma (Sonoma).

 

They say you can't buy friends, but I can't wait to buy my new bestie! Don't worry, human besties, I'm not replacing you. I'm just buying you out of the emotional sidekick gig. You can still bring me wine, though.

A Dummy's Guide to Job Hunting

Before I begin this post, I'd like to address the title of this blog. "Shannon's NYC" may seem rather misleading considering that I am now a resident of Washington, D.C....actually that's misleading, too. I technically live in Virginia. But anyways, I'm going to come right out with it and tell you: I'm not going to change the name. Basically, this blog is a compilation of my musings and interesting happenings in my life, beginning with the chapter of my life that took place in New York City. The rest of my life will always be shaped by my time in that crazy city, so why not remind myself and readers why this blog started to begin with? We all know that life takes us in different directions, from city to city, through different relationships, jobs, and apartments. In "Shannon's NYC," NYC no longer represents that literal city, but the start of a new adventure and a new chapter in life. And I hope those never stop coming my way.

Today's topic: job hunting.

The first thing you need to prepare for when starting the job hunt is the basic understanding that you will, without a shadow of a doubt, gain 5-8 pounds during the process. Accept it, embrace it, and enjoy it. I've never met someone who does not procrastinate when applying for something: college, jobs, match.com, anything. If someone told me I have to write one paragraph on why I deserve a million dollars, after which I would then win a million dollars, I'd still take three days to actually write it. In the mean time, I'd order Indian food, take a leisurely walk to Starbucks, watch the entire first season of Orange is the New Black on Netflix (while eating a large block of sharp cheddar cheese), and clean every room in the house while listening to The Jackson 5 station on Pandora. That's just how it goes. Get your yoga pants ready because you sure as hell won't fit into anything else by the time you're employed.

Next, if you have been twiddling away your life by pursuing your impractical dream of being a big time actress, rock star, eating contest champion, Olympic jump roper, or anything else that does not take place inside of an office, you will be qualified for absolutely nothing. Every single entry level position will be taken by biddies coming right out of college who don't have a weird talent that they wanted to pursue professionally. Anything above entry level requires 2-5 years of experience. And I'm not talking about the experience you've had feeding yourself and surviving on your own for the past few years. I mean, they want you to have already had this job before, somewhere else.  Prepare for an overwhelming sense of having nothing to offer this big, bad world. You can know in your heart that you're a phenomenal writer and the fastest learner since that horse who started counting with his hooves, but communicating those traits in a cover letter and resume is nearly impossible.

How do you actually get an interview, then? From my lengthy experience in the last week (hah!), A. Pray that people in college and high school liked you enough to reply to a plea for help finding a job on Facebook and B. Write a cover letter that cannot be copied and pasted for multiple applications. Start each one from scratch and explain to the recruiters why that one, specific job is the perfect fit for you. The first time I did this was for an office manager-type-position at a company that functions similar to Google- we're talking meetings on bean bags, no dress code, and free weekly back massages. I decided to be 100% personality. My cover letter started like this:

"According to the most reliable source on the internet, Wikipedia..."

And wrapped up like this:

"If I can feed llamas without getting bitten, I’m fairly certain the world is mine for the taking."

They contacted me requesting a preliminary interview exactly 3 hours and 38 minutes after I submitted the application.

I'd love to have some wildly amazing advice for what to do after you get the initial interview (because I know my insight so far has been wildly amazing), but that's as far as I've made it in this process. I can tell you what not to do, though: don't stop applying for jobs. My brain has told me the following: Oh, you're doing great! That one company is interested so that means you get to reward yourself with a three day break from applying for anything! I'm acutely aware that this is the wrong move, but here I am, writing a blog in Starbucks, trying to avoid cabin fever while also using this as my reason to not apply for anything today. Am I employed yet? No. Thus, should I stop applying? No. Don't worry, I'll get back on the wagon. But for now, I'm going to bask in the fact that a cover letter that included my experience with llamas back in 2007 got me my first real-world interview.

Miss New York Farewell Letter

Contestants and myself painted a home demolished by Sandy

The following is my official farewell letter that was published in the Miss New York program book last weekend (along with pictures from throughout the week!):

Miss New York is a prestigious title. New York is home to the world's most renowned city, Beyonce (at least half the year), and- most importantly- the original Buffalo sauce. The representative of this extraordinary state is expected to uphold the reputation of independence, cultured intelligence, and fast-talking wittiness, all while rocking six inch heels and an outfit that screams "Fashion Capital of the World." You might imagine the intimidation factor in accepting this role, particularly in the glorious wake of Mallory Hagan's crowning at Miss America rather than in the spotlight of a gorgeous theatre full of adoring pageant fans. No, I was not in a gown or wearing fake eyelashes when I became Miss New York. I was in the bathroom of a restaurant where my friend's dad's 50th birthday party was being held, going over the responsibilities in store for me with Director of Operations, Paul Brown, on the phone. "I'll do it," I said.

That's one of the most brilliant things that has ever come out of my mouth.

I often joke with my friends that I'm the default Miss New York, but as I reflect on the last six months, I know the invalidity of that statement. I have given this title the best of me. I may not have changed legislation regarding my platform or sung my talent on the Miss America stage, but I've changed the minds of pageant critics and sung the National Anthem in Central Park for the New York City Half Marathon (and at about six million other events). I've spoken to over 4,000 students about multiculturalism and the importance of treating everyone, differences small or great, with kindness. I've "crowned" countless children and adults with the Miss New York garb, providing confidence and laughs. I've performed alongside Broadway veterans and posed for photographers with Mayor Bloomberg. I've petted pigs, held babies (it's amazing how moms pass over their 8-week-olds as long as you have a crown on your head), had snack time with 3rd graders, and was a pizza party guest of honor for a middle school Student Council. I've made a champagne toast

to a room full of people who don't speak English, learning the crucial life skill that interpreters cannot remember entire paragraphs at a time. They will say something completely different from what you said that makes the audience laugh, when what you actually said was absolutely not funny at all. I've developed relationships with the incredible Miss New York sponsors, friendships with fellow state titleholders, and a newfound belief in myself that I am capable of anything. Heck, my very first appearance as Miss New York was on national television in front of millions of people on The Sean Hannity Show. Bring it on, real world.

As much as I gave my heart since becoming Miss New York, I received back every ounce of love and effort I poured out. Much of that return was from the kids' smiles, thank yous from school administrators and event coordinators, and experiences I will carry with me the rest of my life, but feeling the incredible support from individuals who made my reign a success was equally rewarding. Thank you Paul, Kenny, Faith, Diane, Ken, Cathy, Stuart, and Terry for your leadership as the Miss New York Board of Directors. Thank you Mallory and Claire B. for your priceless advice and friendships as former Miss New Yorks. Thank you Deana for being not only an unbelievable communicator and advocate for the MNYO and me personally as Business Manager, but also for being my confidant and biggest source of general support I've had as Miss New York. Thank you Christina T. for your mentorship and Linda for driving me all over the state and being dedicated to this organization in a way that is unmatched . Thank you Katie, Nina, Maria, Desiree, and Acacia. You are all Miss New Yorks to me. Thank you Elizabeth and Tommy for chaperoning me at events and Claire M. and Lindsey for being key players in my accepting this title. Saving the best for last, thank you to my heart and soul, that is my family. Dad, Jean, Jim, Lindsay, Drew, and Sherwin, you all have been to way too many pageants/pageant functions. I will never be able to repay you. Thank you for loving me, crown or no crown, and for teaching me the meaning of selflessness, true happiness, and unconditional support. I love you all.

And thank you, Mom. I know you went to Heaven 10 months ago and pulled some strings to make this dream of mine come true. You've been my number one fan from the day I was born, never missing one single pageant and holding an unwavering balance of loving support while never adding pressure as a stage mom. I would not be here without you. I'm glad you got to see every moment of these last six months from the best seat in the house, overlooking it all.

May everyone remember that winning is not in the crown, and cheers to the new Miss New York 2013!

<3 Shannon Oliver
Miss New York 2012



Miss New York 2013- Nina Davuluri!

Mediterranean Cruise

Mykonos

I'm only 25, as of two weeks ago, and already my life seems so full. I am Miss New York, I've worked in AIDS homes and leper colonies in India, and I have traveled the world on luxurious cruise ships that my friends in India could never comprehend as any more realistic than Santa Clause or Hogwarts (I'm still holding out for my child to get a letter to join the wizarding world). In the last week alone, I visited Italy, Spain, Greece, and Turkey. Prior to seeing those countries, I've been to Denmark, Poland, Estonia, Russia, Norway, Sweden and Finland. Add in Scotland, England, France, Singapore, and India (as I mentioned), I think it's safe to say that I've had more adventures than most people do in a lifetime.

The interesting thing, though, is that through all the international travel and the incredible history, scenery, and entertainment at my fingertips, nothing is as engrained in my mind as the

Step-grandpa, Ron, at Pisa with all our purses

people I've shared it all with. Through moments with loved ones- old, new, and temporary (i.e. the piano man on the ship...totally platonic, totally temporary, but lots of love), I realize that location is just a setting for memories. Not of the sky, water, or ancient ruins, but memories of who you are with at the time. Recognizing that vital part of experiences- the people part- makes me appreciate the memories with people in "normal" settings. I'm so grateful for my glorious time abroad, but at the end of the day, my experience could be just as profound in someone's backyard in Ohio. Just as long as memories are being made with those I love.

In the last two weeks, I've made some extraordinary memories. I love how my dad somehow figured out where the ruins down below in Pompeii were when we were way up on top of the volcano,

Venice

Venice ferry

pointing them out to us all (who were pretty much only aware of the pretty view before he showed us the cool stuff). I love how I learned all about my step-grandfather's life when the two of us were the only two that weren't completely melted by the Greek sun on top of the Acropolis in Athens, so we walked an extra loop around the ruins together as he told me about his time in grad school. I loved when my little 9-year-old brother leaned against me in the ferry boat in Venice, and how much my cousins and I laughed around the diner table every night on the ship...until our abs hurt (at least mine did). I loved singing with the pianoman, Kory, every night in Crooner's Lounge, making friends with his brother who was on the ship at the time. I loved swimming with my little brother's former nanny- and friend of mine-Val and cousin Jake in Mykonos, and watching my stepmom light a candle for her late mom at the House of the Virgin Mary in Ephesus. None of these glorious experiences would've been glorious without the people who I shared them with.

Happy couple- Dad/Bonus Mom

Sammy lookin' super thin...

Coming home is not sad (okay, maybe a little) because each day is an opportunity to make more amazing memories with people I adore. Will they be in the Leaning Tower of Pisa or in a gondola in Venice? No, but they can be just as significant. These next few weeks are my last as a resident of New York City, something that makes me teary-eyed to write. I look back on the first entry of this blog and think of everything that has happened since then in amazement, pride, and a little bit of pain. I will miss the people who I've made memories with in New York, like my coworkers at Bond 45, all so diverse and intelligent, who accept every new employee as family and have a joyful spontaneity that I've never seen in another group of people. I'll, of course, miss the close proximity to my brother and sister-in-law, but I know our hearts will never be far. I'll miss my best friends Tess and Tommy, though they will always be in that circle of family-friends, and the

Kory the Pianoman

incredible women I've come to view as sisters in the Miss New York Organization. I'll miss people who I befriended in the beginning of my New York journey at promotional events and on OkCupid (everyone does it- don't judge me), the ones I never spent enough time with from Busch Gardens or college, and all the talented, loving people I met at auditions or in music workshops. I'll miss the people who changed my life that perhaps I will talk to rarely, if ever. That's a LOT to miss. Yet, with the fear and sharp pang in ending this chapter comes the excitement of new memories I'll make with loved one in Washington, D.C. With two of my closest friends in the world, Claire and Lindsey. With my amazing- truly, truly amazing- boyfriend, Chris. With my long lost best friends from the Pearls (a cappella in college) and my first friend in the Miss America Organization, Katie. With so many people I have yet to meet. I can't wait for the new memories!

Whether in Rome or New York or Washington, D.C., the beauty of location is not in the physical surroundings, but in the people you are with. As nostalgic as this post is, if you've made it to the end, what I hope to convey is that you don't need to visit landmarks you've read about in textbooks or dress up on a Titanic-type ship to have just a much fun as I did over the last few weeks. You've just got to put down your iPads and remote controls and go engage with people you love- and meet some new ones along the way.

Cheetoh Fingers

Children are fascinating little creatures. They can be annoying, lovable, infuriating, and adorable all at the same time. But why does everyone always say to become more childlike? The world would be a messy and loud place if we all reverted to our childhood ways. I'm talking Cheetoh fingers everywhere. Still, those bible verses and Oprah-wannabe-motivational speakers have a point. Children's minds and hearts make the most honest, precious, and sincere contributions to our often jaded existence.

Twice in the past week, I worked with dozens of kids at the West Side YMCA. These cuties were 7-13 years old, living in the age of snack time and cooties. Innocence jumped off their faces when I walked into the room holding my Miss New York sash and crown. Dropped jaws, Disney princess gasps, and frozen stares greeted me, followed by 20 questions. Are you a real princess? Is the crown real? How'd you become Miss New York? Do you have any pets? Can I tell you about my pets? Can I touch your earrings? Does wearing high heels hurt? You shouldn't wear high heels because you look pretty with out them.

Well, okay then. Whatever came to their minds, they asked and said. On the first day meeting them, I didn't have time to respond to the onset of questions before hitting the stage to rehearse for the benefit concert we'd be performing in together, but that didn't stop their curiosity or affection. Even when we were onstage, I'd get a random leg-cling here or a hand-hold there. The little girls hugged me at any opportunity and the boys waved whenever I looked their direction. My scheduled rehearsal ended at 6, but how could I say no when they invited me to stay for snack time?

Thirty minutes later, at least 20 little girls had tried on the crown, and my sash had escaped unscathed by dirty fingers! A minor miracle, if you ask me. I was exhausted from answering all of their enthusiastic inquiries and listening to all of their hurried stories about their families, hobbies, and achievements, yet I walked away incredibly refreshed. Those kids showered me with adoration without constraint, believed in my goodness towards them as to share with me all of their personal thoughts, and didn't think twice about taking my compliments or shelling out their own. If I told a child, "You look so pretty in that crown," she'd either say "Thank you!" or "I know!" None of this "You're just being nice" crud that adults think they need to say to come across humble. They told me they liked me dress, shoes, hair, smile, and earrings. One little girl told me I should wear my hair pulled over one shoulder and her peer said, "Oh, you totally should listen to her. She's really good at hair." Why don't adults compliment each other that much? If you like something, say it! If you think your friends are good at something, brag about them!

When I came back a week later for the actual performance (alongside numerous Broadway veterans...so neat), the children's welcome was too precious for words. All of the little munchkins ran to give me a hug as though I was their long lost best friend. One girl had even found a picture of me online and printed it so that I could sign it! As much as lazy me wanted to go sit in the green room with the rest of the performing adults, I stayed in the kids' holding room for the majority of the time to answer more questions, take pictures, and play an awesome new kid game called "Legen...wait for it...dary." Pretty sure none of them have seen How I Met Your Mother, but I'm really glad some teacher out there was hilarious enough to make a game out of the show's legen...wait for it...dary quote. See what I did there?

Children believe in virtue. They trust completely and expect you to do the same. They express themselves without fear of looking silly, never question if what they have to say is important, and find joy in something as small as being the one who gets to stand next to the princess onstage. They listen intently to the answers they asked for, have no hesitation to hug, and volunteer to help in any capacity. I think I'd take a Cheetoh hands pandemic in exchange for all adults to adopt that kind of childlike openness.
______________________________________________

Since the last time I blogged...

I walked in honor of my mom to raise money for Bladder Cancer research:

I went to a CITGO conference in Connecticut with Miss CT, Miss NJ, and Miss MA:

I met the entire Miss New York class of 2013:

And I attended an AIU/AIG lunch at the National History Museum:

Plus a few other things I'm sure I'm forgetting... :)