#9- All I want for Christmas is a toy.

I want a Crayola Crayon Maker for Christmas.

This thing is AWESOME. You put little bits of old, worn-down crayons in and it melts those worthless nubbins down, pours them into a mold and makes a whole new crayon! I saw the ad on TV and I said to my roommate, "Wow! That's so cool!" And it was! It was so incredibly cool. And for the first time in as long as I can remember I was over-the-moon excited about a toy.

You might be thinking, "But Maggie, when it comes down to it, your iPod and your lap-top and your cell phone... These things are all essentially toys." Yes... essentially. But they're NOT toys, like toy-toys, like toys you buy in a toy store toys. They're valuable and fragile and, at this point, necessary. True toys are relatively inexpensive, durable and totally pointless, other than to bring joy to children. All these gadgets adults use are fun, sure, but they serve a purpose. They make life easier somehow. True toys don't make life easier- they make life more fun!

Now you might be thinking, "But Maggie, video games and game systems are expensive, fragile and (for pathetic males in this country) necessary. And they make life fun." NO! Video games are not toys! Stop it! Just because you play video games does not mean you are a child at heart. It means you have no imagination and have to have some nerd make up a world for you to exist in via a controller. Sad. (And while we're on the subject, video games are destroying the modern relationship. Never again will I sit silently next to my guy while he and his friends play Madden. Never. If your idea of the perfect woman is one who likes to watch you play video games... you will die alone. Or at least you'll never be with me.)

Anyway... My point is, true toys are ones that have no significance in this world other than the significance you bestow upon them. I have had many significant toys in my life, dolls and stuffed animals and building blocks and tea sets, that played a huge part in my childhood. They taught me how to imagine, to believe, to create. They taught me how to be anything I wanted to be.

I want a Crayola Crayon Maker for Christmas. I want to make crayons. And then I want to draw. No, not draw... color. Kids color. And I want to color. I want to color a sun and clouds and grass and a house and flowers. I want to color my family and my dog and my friends and a fairy princess and a pony and a rainbow and a ballerina and a butterfly and for a moment forget that I'm on my own now, and I'm scared, and all I have to protect me are these "toys," these devices grown-ups invented to make life "easier." I want to color every moment from now until eternity so I never have to face the fact that I can't go back to the way it was.

All I want for Christmas is a real, fill-me-up-with-glee toy. And strangely, that's how I know that I'm growing up.

(Check it out; http://www.crayola.com/products/splash/crayon-maker/.)

UPDATE!!!: I got my Crayola Crayon Maker for Christmas from my aunt Lucy. I am overjoyed.

#8- Children care about Barack Obama; that's important.

With a Monday-Friday, 8-4 job comes a morning routine. With a morning routine comes a morning commute. With a morning commute comes a number of interesting characters that walk the same stretch, ride the same train or take the same bus. I have many; guy I see everywhere, boxy ginger girl, friendly bus driver. But my favorite people that I see on my way to work each morning are two elementary school-aged brothers that take my bus.

I call them "the Obama boys."

They earned this title because every day these two kids are wearing winter hats with 'Obama' written across the band in what look like tiny red and blue rhinestones. I think one of their beanies may even have his face bedazzled on it as well. No lies. Check it out:

So every morning these two boys get on the bus, and every morning I notice their hats and smile to myself. What other president in our nation's recent history has impacted the youth of America like Barack Obama? I wrote an essay last year about how I heard two preschoolers talking about how great Obama was in a St. Louis laundromat. It's incredible. When I was four years old I don't think I knew who the president was. When I was in elementary school I knew Bill Clinton was a better choice than Bob Dole, but I wasn't rocking a glittery 'Go Clinton' tank top. I honestly did not care.

Children care about Barack Obama; that's important.

Everyone is all bitter that Obama has been in office almost a year and hasn't really done much. All right, that's fair, but I do think he's done a lot in terms of unifying this country, hence the peace prize. Not only has he brought minorities closer, but young people closer to old. He has gotten children interested in how our country is run. Unheard of.

The president of the United States should be someone who kids look up to, who they admire and aspire to be like some day. You never heard a child say, "George Bush is a great man. I want to be just like him when I get big." I heard a child say that about Obama! I heard it. Those words came out of a tiny little boy's mouth. I almost cried.

I hope Obama is the first of many presidents that children in this country truly adore with all their hearts. Being president should be right up there with astronaut and fireman on this list of things kids want to be when they "get big." Eventually the decision of who to vote for might actually be a difficult one because we will have so many worthy, motivated candidates who have dreamed about the opportunity since they were four years old sitting in a laundromat, or riding the 206 bus with a bedazzled Obama hat.

The future is bright. I blame Barack.

#7- My boyfriend will not make me fat; he will make me happy.

This morning I was riding the train to work, and on the seat next to me lay today's edition of the Chicago RedEye (a Chicago Tribune publication targeting 20-somethings). Anyway, the headline on the cover was something along the lines of, "Your boyfriend is making you fat."

This intrigued me.

I turned to the article which was entitled "Big Love: Your boyfriend could be giving you love handles" by Leonor Vivanco (see bottom for link). It basically states that when a woman moves in with her boyfriend, her risk for weight gain and obesity increases...

Uh, duh. And more importantly, who cares?

I know that working out and eating right isn't necessarily all about physical appearance and attracting potential mates... but it kind of is. I mean, the only reason I freak out when I feel a little fat (which I am not- see affirmation #1) is because I'm worried that I am not as attractive as I could be. I'm single, I'm waiting for love to find me (see #2) so I want to look my best. No I don't want to die of a heart attack, but being healthy on the inside is the least of my worries right now.

My point is, obviously women are likely to gain weight when they move in with a boyfriend- they can stop caring!!! They can eat and not worry that they will die alone under a mountain of cheeseburgers and fries. They've found someone, they're comfortable, and if the guy loves them enough to move in with them, then that extra weight shouldn't make a difference.

Also, the title of the article is such crap. Nobody's boyfriend makes them fat. They can encourage you to eat more if they like you thick, but unless they are shoving cookies down your throat they are not making you fat. It makes women seem so helpless. "Living with my boyfriend made me lose control of my life!" Bullshit. If women want to exercise after work, they'll exercise; if they want to go home and have sex with their boyfriend, they will have sex with their boyfriend. Eat right, don't eat right; just do what you want to do, and be thankful that you have found a man that wants to be with you. Some of us aren't as lucky, you fat morons.

I eat, and I eat in front of guys, and if I find myself in a serious relationship there is a good chance I will stop caring and gain a little weight. At my wedding reception alone I will put on five pounds. During my pregnancy I will consume everything in sight. I want to be beautiful, but I find that I'm most beautiful when I'm not thinking about being beautiful, when I'm focused on the people around me. If I have a good man, a wonderful family and a happy home then I will be gorgeous all of the time, even if I weigh a million pounds.

My boyfriend will not make me fat; he will make me happy. If he doesn't, then he's the extra weight I need to get rid of.

(http://www.chicagonow.com/blogs/redeye/2009/10/big-love-your-boyfriend-could-be-giving-you-love-handles.html)

#6- My mug tells me I'm fabulous

This is why I am a total nerd: I love making word collages.

It's true; I'm twenty-two and I love clipping out words from magazines and pasting them on to a piece of paper. This summer during camp I got way in to cutting words from newspapers, gluing them down and then painting over them with bright colored paint. It looks so cool.

Anyway, tonight I completed a new, super nerdy collage. And I must say, it is pretty sweet. Yesterday at Starbucks I purchased a new mug or 'tumbler,' and although I felt it was made for crazy middle-aged moms, I chose the "design-your-own" mug. You take out the paper lining and cover it with pictures of your dog at the beach or your kid's graduation.

I covered mine with words clipped from the October issue of "Cosmopolitan"; hottest, sexy, fearless, fun, perfection, delicious, love, better, diva, passion, creative, crazy, beauty, sister, radiance, fierce, bitch, insane, strong... The list goes on.

They are words that I think describe me, sometimes describe me or I would like to describe me. And suddenly my mug is a source of self-confidence. I can hold it in the palm of my hand and carry it with me every day. My mug is an embodiment of this blog; affirmations all the time. When I look at it I'm proud of the kick-ass job I did, and I feel great because of the positive phrases in front of my eyes. It's an amazing gift I have given myself.

If you have the time, the patience, and the twelve bucks, I recommend making one of these mugs for yourself. Paste pictures, paste words, paste fall leaves; paste whatever makes you happy. Buy some great tasting teas, brew your own coffee and enjoy.

Who says an inanimate object can't give you compliments? My mug tells me I'm fabulous. It is the perfect way to start my day.

#5- I hate math. But I love babies.

I'm terrified of my new job.

I'm nannying for two infants. Babies. Teeny tiny babies. Not one. Two. There are two of them, and they are very little and very incapable of using words to express what they want. So they cry and they cry and I have to figure out what's wrong. Double time.

I could so easily fuck this up.

One is a breast milk baby, the other formula, and they eat at the same time so I have to prepare two separate bottles in two separate ways. The older of the two is teething so she sobs like crazy until finally she passes out from exhaustion. The other hates drinking from a bottle as opposed to a boob so she wails until she finally gives in. It's important I remember when and how much they eat, when they poop, how long they nap, etc. Who knew taking care of infants would involve so much math?

I hate math. But I love babies. And I think that might be my saving grace.

I want these little girls to grow up happy and healthy, so even if I make some mistakes here and there, I know that I don't have it in me to mess up so badly that I harm either of them. I've never raised a child, and my employers know this, so there is definitely a learning curve that comes along with this position. And I plan to learn. I will learn how to kick ass at this job. And then I will kick major nannying ass.

Tears will be shed, by both the babies and me, but in the end I will have contributed to the development of two beautiful little girls. What could be more motivation to do well than that?

#4- I'm not well-read, but I do read well.

I don't read much.

For someone who loves writing, it is disgusting how little I read. The problem is I'm really picky. If you say, "Hey Mags, I think you would really like this book," I will politely thank you for the tip and then most likely make a mental note to never read the book you recommended. Sorry. Reading what others suggest feels like conforming somehow. It's insane but true.

Classic novels? Forget it. Needless to say, high school English classes were hell. Thank god for Spark Notes, am I right?

So what do I read? Well, my favorite book is "Winne The Pooh" by A.A. Milne. It is wonderful. Children and adults alike can appreciate the humor, the simple story lines and the quirky characters. I will never tire of it. And it has influenced my short-story writing immensely. As have the novels of Chuck Palahniuk. "Fight Club" changed my life.

I also read literary journalism and biographies. "A Death In Belmont" by Sebastian Junger is really cool. Check it out. I loved "A Fractured Mind: My Life With Multiple Personality Disorder" by Robert Oxnam. It was wild. And the best autobiography I have ever read is "Broken Music" by Sting. You think you know, but you have no idea...

Sometimes I feel like I'm sabotaging myself by not reading bestsellers, classic literature or books about European history, but reading for pleasure is about pleasure. I refuse to force myself to choke down a novel just because Oprah thought it was phenomenal. Screw Oprah. I'm going to rebel. I'm going to appreciate the under appreciated.

Currently I am reading Agatha Christie's "Curtain." Christie is by no means under appreciated, but she's oft forgotten. I found an old copy of the book at an antique store in Sagautuck, Michigan. That's another thing I can get down with; old books. Not old as in classic but old as in faded and worn and smelling of time. Sometimes they suck, sometimes they're incredible (i.e. "Maggie" by Lena Kennedy), but how I feel when I'm reading them can't be beat. It's like discovering buried treasure. If you can, stop by an antique or used book store. It's worth it just for the atmosphere.

So basically, reading only what you want doesn't make you stupid; it makes you who you are. And I am an over-grown child who is fascinated by murder mysteries and the life of Gordon "Sting" Sumner. I can't pretend to be anything else.

I'm not well-read, but I do read well.

I hope you can say the same.

#3- I can be a city girl.

Most people don't realize this, but I started out in the city. I was born in Chicago, and lived in Ravenswood (a north side neighborhood) until I was 5 and a half. My brother Harrison was 3 and Asher, little Ash-Bash, was just 1. I was about to start kindergarten and my parents decided that if they were ever going to move to the suburbs they might as well do it before I started to make real friends.

So we moved to Evanston.

I've spent the past 17 years of my life in this beautiful suburb just north of the city, and there is no where else in the world I would have rather grown up. You can't truly understand Evanston unless you've gone through grade school here, or you have had a child go through grade school here. The youth is what drives this place, gives it its character. Sometimes this character glistens with pride and rich, diverse culture; sometimes it is sullied with violence and hatred. No outsider can see all sides. (Especially not all you Northwestern kids. You can never know the real E.)

However, despite all the complex challenges Evanston posed, I still grew up in a suburb. It was easy to navigate, familiar, comfortable. When I began looking at colleges I shied away from schools like BU and NYU that existed amongst the crazy of the big city. I was afraid of getting lost, literally and figuratively. Intimidation was my middle name, so all city schools were out.

"But Maggie," you might say. "I thought Washington University was in a city." False. Although I attended a school that claimed to be "in St. Louis," Wash U is much like Northwestern; situated in a suburb just outside a large city. I felt safe going to a school sealed off in it's own bubble. But it had to end eventually and, after four years and a million wonderful memories inside the Wash U bubble, I am back in Evanston. Well, back for now...

Today I picked up the keys to my new apartment in the city of Chicago.

City girl is returning home, and once all my crap is moved out of this house and into my new place I am officially no longer an Evanston resident. "What? A city? Mags, I thought cities freaked you out." It's true. They do. Most people fear walking alone at night or getting robbed. I fear dropping a bag of groceries in front of a restaurant full of people on my way home from the store. I fear I'll get lost, I fear I'll hit an angry man's car while parking on a side street (which you know is a legitimate fear if you have seen my car), and I fear I am incapable of being an adult. But...

I can be a city girl.

I've got a job, I know how to get to it using public transportation, and I have two wonderful roommates who may be as clueless as I am but will protect me from myself. I have an amazing network of friends all living in the same general area that I can count on for anything. And if it all goes to shit I always have my parents waiting for me up north in the 'burbs.

Warning: "Friends" reference coming on...

Chicago is the New York to my Rachel. I have Monicas and Phoebes, Joeys and Chandlers, eventually a Ross and many a side character to meet. If a fictional spoiled brat from Long Island can make it in the big city then there is no way I can't. I'm from Evanston, I have the E embedded in my heart, and if you do too you know that it is the ultimate strength.

Besides, I'm living in Boystown. There are rainbows everywhere you look. Whats scary about that?

#2- Love will find me. Period.

I've been single for nearly five years now. That's not something I like to admit or enjoy thinking about. My entire life I have been a romantic, have dreamed of the perfect relationship with the perfect boyfriend. I have experienced none of the above. I have barely experienced an okay relationship with a semi-psychotic boyfriend. I have never been on an official date.

I find that I go through these phases. I pick one guy and I put all my hopes of future happiness in his basket. Sometimes he knows, sometimes he doesn't, but I spend months or even years obsessing over one person until the feeling fades. I hit a lull and then I'm vulnerable, and the first person to show me affection becomes my new phase.

I am so sick of phases.

I've gone through four; a middle school obsession, a high school boyfriend, one crush and one fling. And the only time in my life that I was truly happy, that I had pure self-confidence and felt 100% myself was when a phase ended not of my choosing. My crush (who had little to no idea he was my crush) was dating someone. That was fact. It was too late to tell him how I felt and I had to move on. But with no one to replace him waiting in the wings I had no one to love... So, I loved myself.

I am only now realizing that that's what happened. Of course I felt amazing about who I was! I was directing all the attention and affection I had shown these guys during my phases at the mirror. I was my new phase. And I did it up big. I took care of myself, I bought myself gifts (all from Urban Outfitters obviously), I found a wonderful, purely physical fling, and I invested in myself. I was fabulous.

And then... I fell into my new phase. Unrequited and uncomfortable.

Now I'm back to feeling fabulous yet flawed, in a bad way. Undesirable, unworthy, uninteresting. I'm trapped. I know I'm being ridiculous, and when I look around and see all the love that I do have in my life I feel extremely lucky. I just can't help feeling like I'm never going to find the phase that sticks, the phase that turns into a state that turns into a commitment. Will I ever find something lasting? I can't know for sure if I will find love, but I do know this:

Love will find me. Period.

It's not my job to make it happen. It's not my responsibility to latch on to someone and squeeze all I can out of their heart. If I am meant to spend my life with someone they will appear. Like magic. I'm not saying I'm done going out and meeting people. Actually, I'm saying the opposite. What I usually do is attempt to make a relationship out of an existing friendship. That is trying to find love. Letting love find me means making myself more available. And I plan too.

Tomorrow I move into the city, and from here on out I am available. I am not attached to my phase, I am on my own, and I am going to start investing in me again. The time is now.

#1- I Am Not Fat

This morning I woke up with a hangover.

I don't usually drink heavily, but when the booze is basically free and I've put a long work week behind me I indulge, and last night I indulged. And I mixed

. I had a margarita, wine, another margarita, beer... At one point I think I was drinking all three at once. Yikes. And this morning I woke up with a hangover. Surprise surprise.

I got up, I took a shower, I did something with my hair involving a lot of pins in an attempt to tame it, and then... I got dressed.

I'm 5'8.5" and I wear a size 14 (or 32) jean. I'm not a twig. In fact, technically I am overweight. For my height I should weigh about 15 pounds less than I do, an

d that's been true for a while now. I would love to say tha

t I have always been comfortable with my body, that I have cherished my curves. But that isn't true. For as long as I can remember I have had

slight to major insecurities about my size. However, in the last couple years I began to really see my body as something to be desired, and appreciated the uniqueness of it. And that feeling lasted...

Until today.

This morning I pulled on a pair of size 14 jeans and I could bar

ely get them closed. Denim was cutting into my hips, flesh spilling over the side, and suddenly I was a 13 year-old girl staring at her rolls in the mirror. I thought back to all the booze I'd had at the party last night, and all the booze I had had at parties for

the last seven years of my life. I thought about the cheeseburgers and fries (my favorite foods) and the pizzas and the countless Jimmy Johns sandwiches. I freaked out. Immediately I made a plan:

1. Take my parents' dog for a long walk, and just walk and walk and walk until I was too tired to keep walking, and then, because I would have no choice, walk all the way back.
2. Go to Marshall's and buy 'fat clothes' that are baggy yet trendy. Layering is in, right?
3. Go to the grocery store and buy Slim Fast shakes. I used them as a substitute for food for a little while in college and even though they didn't really work I still felt like it was the answer.

Not necessarily in that order.

I got through the first two steps of my plan; the dog has had a nice long walk, and I now own a new 'fat clothes' fall wardrobe. But #3 was where it all went to shit.

I realized it's Sunday and the grocery store was going to be a mess. I hate standing in lines. So I went to Walgreen's. Fact: Walgreen's does not carry Slim Fast products. At least, not the one I went too.

But I am so happy they don't.

I left the store with a box of Special K Red Berries and a bottle of juice, and on my drive home I finally had a moment to breathe, and I thought... What the fuck am I doing?

I am not fat.

I gained a little weight this summer. So what? It's not the end

of the world, and it's not something I should be so ashamed or scared of. I can lose it again. I can watch what I eat, I can stay on my feet and I can figure it out. I don't need to drink chalky milkshakes and wear over sized sweaters all year. I just need to be aware that my current diet is not exactly healthy; a huge sandwich for every meal of the

day is not beneficial. I love beer, but excessive amounts will give me a headache and pudge.

Basically, I need to cut back and work out, but m

ostly I need to remember that no matter what I look like on the outside, I am still me. No one can change that. Especially not Jimmy John.

Another thing to remember... Jeans shrink in the wash.