A page in my teenage diary

While doing a major cleaning overhaul I stumbled on one of my journals in 1995. Lemme tell you, it's hilarious. So, my dear friends, let's take a little trip to the past.

Forget Facebook and the iPad. Remember the time that Gangsta's Paradise by Coolio was the shiznit? And the buzz all over VH1 was the tragic end of Kurt Cobain? All right, now you're ready for Russo's diary. *Please note nothing has been changed, I'm typing this as is-

"Peter and Jenn got married on Days of Our Lives. I want a love like they share. I want a nice sweet man like Peter. Nah, I think I want a guy like Stone on General Hospital. He's like, leather-jacket-hottness but Stone dies. Yeah, I'll stick with Peter. I wanna nice sweet guy like Peter."

First off, what the freak. When was I such a ditzy girl? Let's be honest, I have had a few Peter's . And they are remarkable. The kind of love that sticks with you forever because they changed you for the better. I could never bag on the sweet guys in my life.

So, let's talk about the Stone's instead. First, there was the drug dealer who's feet smelled like formeldahyde, (he worked at a mortuary.) Lovely choice-yeah, right.

And then there was the painter who had a badger taxidermy mounted on his kitchen wall. Lemme tell you, there was no way I was going to makeout with him. The dude was hott but not hott enough to own taxidermy and get away with it.

Yep, I seemed to gravate toward men with power. Must be why I am have a mad-crush on Mr. Donald Trump. Hey, don't knock it, the Trump-ster is a divine kisser (in my dreams)

Let's face it, sometimes life doesn't go as we planned. The dreams that you had as a 15 year old shift. And that's okay because what if we have something even better. And I'm not talking about relationships.

The Peter's, Stone's or even Mr. Trump's are fantastic but they aren't what's important. What matters is you. The fantastic future that awaits you because you are taking a chance on your dream.

No matter what life throws at you, don't ever give up on what you want.

How not to wear a hair piece

I have learned a valuable lesson today-gym and hairpieces don't mix.

Okay, so first off, I am not a fan of my hair. Seriously, when wet my hair resembles a poodle on steroids. It's frizzy bad. So, I elect to wear extensions-pays to have a hair stylist as a friend.

Today, I tried something new-I decided to wear my hairpiece to the gym. Not smart, at all. I bet you're wondering how I am going to tie this story in with chasing your dream- Just wait. I have to admit my uber embarrassing moment first.

Okay, on a day that is colder than a penguins arm pit, I strolled into the gym and play a wicked game of tennis. Next stop, the sauna where Mr. Hott Stuff tennis instructor sits down across from me. We banter for a minute. I fluff my hair piece, all is good in the hood.

I stroll out to the parking lot- Mr. Hott Stuff is glancing at me on a treadmill. I wave (stupid, I know, but who said I'm couth) I feel a cool breeze on my head. My hair piece has fallen from my tight bun and on to the concrete. The ball of hair is lying on the ground, like a dead animal

By this time, Mr. Hott Stuff is doubling over with laughter. No joke, he has to stop working out on the treadmill because tears are rolling down his cheeks

I glance down once again at the hair piece and curse. I have two choices.

Number One- keep walking. Pretend like the hair piece really isn't mine. In doing so, keep the phone number of the Mr. Hott Stuff with dimples.

Number Two-bend down and pick up the hair piece. Thus admitting that I am imperfect and in need of fake hair. Which Mr. Hott Stuff, so can't deal with.

I stare at the guys abs, knowing full and well, a guy who looks like Conan the Barbarian is rare but a hair piece is super expensive. So, I sacrificed my pride and bent down to snag the hair piece. Never heard from dude. Nor did I call him.

Lesson learned, fake hair while working out is never good. Neither is trying to accomplish a dream without knowing the industry.

I should have taken the time to research synthetic hair but instead, I just went for it. And the cost was a super hott guy (with probably, a small . . . ego to match his steroid use)

Even so, my lack of research halted my progression. Don't let that happen when chasing a dream or a hottie.

Revenge-Is it worth it?

March Challenge of the Month: Green

What a vast subject. I could really take the topic of green anywhere. Money, leafy hash. Nah, those are obvious choices. How about we go backward in time to a spot in my life where I was clearly a wreck.

Lets talk about grass and my revenge.

Back story: I had 2 surgeries in a 9 month period. This moment in time was my downfall. I was a depressed, angry lil tart. I had met the hunkiest fireman. This dude's biceps were bigger than my head. We had a torrid relationship. I mean that much passion is bound to make anyone combust.

And boy, did we ever combust. Here's the dirt, I found out hunky fireman was cheating on me. A normal person would've moved on with their life. At the time, I wasn't normal. For the 4 months we dated, I was in the worst pain ever. No joke, I was immobilized. Every day I cried and took lortab. Dark doesn't even describe that time period.

So, upon hearing that the fireman cheated on me, I decided to write my initials on his lawn . . . with gasoline.

I'm sure you know where this is heading. You better believe I struck a match and let the front yard burn. Like I said, I was an angry lil tart.

Nowadays, I am subdued. I have learned to manage the pain-it's always there. An ever-present reminder of where my life can head if I lose track of my goals.

So, you see, dear reader, life isn't always going to go as planned. There will be sorrow beyond that which you can ever imagine. Nonetheless, there will also be an immense amount of joy.

I am on this path all because of the darkest time in my life. If I hadn't gone through the worst pain ever, I wouldn't have this journey of pursuing my dream. I wouldn't know my writer friends. And I most certainly would not know you, our brave readers/friends.

P.S.- Funny enough, Mr. Fireman is now one of my closest friends. He constantly gives me crap about burning down his lawn.

P.P.S-Since we're discussing green this month check out my garden class project. The bud of my Amarlyis is beginning to bloom.

ICY HOT and tears do not mix

I am learning, when chasing a dream you have to know your limitations. Sometimes a skill is just out of your range. Doesn't mean you can't acquire that said skill with hard work, it just takes time to get where you want to be.

It's 3am, I should be sleeping but instead I'm riddled with a sharp pain in my shoulders. A few days ago, I helped my parent's move out of my childhood home and into a condo. I should have helped my sister organize the new kitchen but nooo, I had to prove that I had the strength of Xena the warrior Princess. I'm paying the price of my ego.

On a more random note, check out these shoes from 1999 that I found in the small garage. I'm 6'2, all leg, so, you can tell how freaking tall I was in these babies. I wore my 3inch wooden platforms religiously.

Check out the cat, Bebe who's poking her head around the bend. S'up Kitty.

This year has been full of changes. My parents moving and my Uncle is really sick. Mom says he's probably going to pass away soon. I'm realizing that life never stays the same. The trick is to embrace the change. Roll with the punches, if you will.

And if those lessons are not learned, at least remember to chuck your ego out the door when seizing your dream.

*We are pleased to announce that a special someone will guest post on Monday. You won't want to miss that day.

Dear St. Valentine: Shut up.

February challenge: V-Day Horrors

There are certain things you should not say to someone you are romantically involved with-
Please note that sadly, I have uttered each line to a lover.

1-Before I kiss you, I have to ask, do you have herpes?
2-You must have a small . . . ego because you sure do overcompensate.
3- Sorry, Darlin' but you are officially one of those crushes who have been crushed.


My mouth gets me into trouble, which is why I don't celebrate Valentines.
Let's see, worst gift ever? A relish serving tray from 1978. Seriously, I wasn't even born when this gift was made. Plus, the gift was stolen from the miserable meathead's mother.
Why put up with this horrid gift? Three words, animalistic makeout sessions.

Best Valentine's gift ever would have to be from my dearest devilish dude-Sorry, ladies, he's gay. Every year, Jameses buys and frames a printed portrait for me to inspire my writing, or so he says.

Here's hoping everyone has a gaggingly perfect February. And if not, I have serving tray you can re gift. C'mon, I know you want it.

The Gnome Slayers are Willing to Concede

. . . that Gnomes aren't all bad.

Sara B Larson, Guest Blogger

We're pleased to announce that Sara B. Larson is going to guest post for us tomorrow. She's a writer who's represented by Hannah Brown Gordon at Foundry Literary + Media.

Sara's incredibly gifted and kind. Not to mention a fantastic writer. Check out her blog, she'll inspire you. http://sarablarson.blogspot.com/