Sprinkles.

I have a new, well somewhat new, addiction.

Sprinkles Cupcakes.

The single best $3 cupcake you will ever have in your life ever ever.

Walking into the bakery feels like you're walking into Beverly Hills. That's because the first Sprinkles was opened in the Hills. They expanded and several years ago and opened one on Preston.

Oprah featured them on her "favorite things" show several years ago and I thought it was insanity. $3 for ONE CUPCAKE? She said that everyone should have it once in their life.

It wasn't until I went that first time and ordered a signature red velvet cupcake that I fell in love. That bite was delicious. You have to savor every single bite. These cupcakes aren't meant to be eaten with your bare hands. A fork is required for the full indulgence.

It's a little piece of heaven. (Especially the red velvet and the peanut butter cupcakes!)

Let's just say, it's a good thing that Sprinkles isn't just down the street from my apartment. Or else I'd way 500lbs.

Phases.

During every phase of life, there are things that happen to every person. These are the things we talk about.

In the single age years (1-9), it's losing teeth. It's getting on the honor roll. It's collecting rolly polleys in a sand bucket.

In the preteen/early teen years (10-14), it's finding the courage to talk to that boy you have a crush on. It's getting on braces. It's making the team.

In the teen years (15-19), it's your first real date. It's getting your driver's license. It's your first love. It's becoming the age of majority and getting to vote.

Then there's the 20s. Yup, that's me. I'm in this phase and it seems anything is fair game. A lot of things are "supposed" to happen in your 20s:

Your first apartment. Turning 21. Graduating and scoring a great job. Finding "the one." Getting engaged. Getting married. Having babies.

Gag. me. now.

Maybe I'm a bit bitter that I've completed only one of the those tasks. But here's my thing, EVERY SINGLE PERSON is getting engaged, getting married and having babies. Every time I turn around there's another diamond ring profile picture. And honestly, I'm pretty tired of having it shoved in my face.

Yes, you are engaged. Yes, you are a newlywed. Yes, you've landed the perfect job. Please.

(On my side note, my current annoyance is when people use facebook as a way to "flaunt" their lives. If you're happy, be happy. But if you're trying to make your life look superior to others, chances are you are spending more time making your profile look that way than you actually are living happily.)

I guess this 20s phase is better than the alternative. The older we get, the bleaker it gets. I'm not ready to hear about my friend's kids going to college. Or my best friend hitting menopause. Or people from my high school class dying of old age. So I guess I'm stuck here. In my 20s. Watching happiness unfold at every corner.

I'm a twenty-something. Leave me alone.

Lazy.

This is for the random guy I always see but never meet.

Everyone has lazy days, yes? Sometimes even a lazy week. Well, I've been having a lazy SEMESTER. Partly because I've been sick for precisely 50 percent of it.

A lazy day usually entails this:

Set alarm for last minute possible.

Wake up.

Pee.

Change clothes.

Brush teeth.

Leave.

This doesn't exactly leave time for the beautification process.

(Sidenote: If my brother is reading this right now, he will say, "Shea you look pretty without makeup on!" However, on various occasions he's been embarrassed to go to the mall with me when I'm wearing nike shorts and a ponytail with no makeup. This is partly because everyone always thinks we're dating. But I digress.)

On those days I leave the house in jeans and a T-shirt with no makeup, I'm exhausted and just want to get class over. But a lot of times, I see this one person who is always "Hollistered" out. Then he looks me over and most likely rolls his eyes behind his oh-so-fashionable sunglasses and deems me not suitable for society.

But to you I say...seriously? Just because you think you're the hottest thing to walk this earth doesn't mean I should wear my prom dress to class. (As another note: PLEASE do not wear heels to class. Honestly.)

Perhaps I'm grungy because I had strep and had thrown up six hours before on the previous day. Did you think about that?

Maybe I sound witchy here. But it's my personal blog here where I'm allowed to complain within reason.

What gets me though is that I actually LET those imaginary looks get to me. (because they are indeed imaginary. I've never actually witnessed a dirty look.) But it shouldn't get to me. I am who I am. And if I meet my future husband on a lazy day, I'll put on sunglasses and hide behind a tree.

Okay, not really. But it wouldn't matter.

So to the transport to the dark basement which is the journalism world, I feel like I'm competing in Miss America. But then I arrive at the GAB and remember that every other journalist is exhausted and only lives from story to story too. I'm not alone in this.

The search begins.

For the past several days, I have been inhaling all the information I can get.

I've been looking on blogs, forums, job search sites, twitter...everywhere. And I have learned so much about the industry I am wanting to get into. Twitter has been insanely helpful. You can follow all sorts of useful sources, job engines, professionals in the industry.

I've found these particular websites to be the best:

mediabistro.com

publisherslunch.com

bookjobs.com

mashable.com

ed2010.com

These places are a wealth of information. They are full of blogs and advice. I literally couldn't sleep last night I was so consumed with reading them.

Maybe I'm a naive college student, but I have faith that I will land a great internship this summer and great job after graduation. I can't wait to be immersed into that world of publishing--whether it's book, magazine or anything. Yeah, I'm going to start as a free labor, working slave. I'll be sorting mail, running errands and making copies, but that's where you start.

I can't wait. I can't wait. I can't wait.

I really can see past gradation, finally. I can see myself as a happy working woman.

Some of the options are a bit frightening: HarperCollins and ASME both offer summer internships in New York. How crazy (awesome) would that be?

There also some others that I have set as goals that are local: D Magazine, BenBella Books.

Ay yi yi. I feel like a 6-year-old little girl who is dreaming about when she grows up. The sky is the limit. I can do it.

Journalist?

I've known for a while now that I was not cut out to be a journalist.

I'm not the one who pushes through crowds and steps on toes to get interviews. I don't chase people down. I don't like hurting people's feelings. Death and destruction really aren't my thing. Plus, picturing my future as writing for a court or transportation beat makes me want to throw up.

I like to write the feel good stories. The one about the Halloween festival for kids or the new dance class on campus.

Most importantly, I don't particularly have this intense burning desire to inform the public. That's what all the journalists say, right? They want the public to know all sides of a story so they can make informed opinions and actions.

Last year when I figured this out I thought that the answer was to run around the university catalog and look for a new major...huge mistake. A friend of mine knocked some sense into me and encouraged me that journalism majors don't have to be journalists. So I coasted on that for a while until finally it hit me.

I LOVE BOOKS. Love love love love love.

I love the written word. I love stories. I love grammar. All these things are the makings of a journalist, but it turns out I love BOOKS not the news.

So my newfound dream is to work for a book publishing company. I haven't been excited about my future for quite a while now. And the fervor is back. Hours spent researching the career. Reading everything I can get my hands on.

When I was younger, I wouldn't read anything besides the Babysitter's Club...until the Read-Up program at my private school. I had to read other books to get points and a good grade. So in came Mrs. Piggle Wiggle, Poppy, Number the Stars. This is when I learned to love reading.

I would kill to work in that pre-teen division of publishing. I want every person to love reading. (It keeps you learning long after you're done with school.) And those formative years spent reading the Boxcar Children and Judy Blume are what ignite the passion for reading.

I'm excited again. And it's never felt better.

Lately.

Lately, my recent past has been making a major comeback.

In the past few weeks, it seems everything and everyone I've ever known, for at least the last three years, but am no longer in contact with is showing up. It's kind of freaking me out. I mean, have I come full circle already? Back to the same people and things?

Old friends who I never talk to anymore randomly get a hold of me and want to talk. Or just want to know what's up. Or want to tell me something arbitrary. What's up with that?

Sometimes these instances are fine...even welcomed. Others just bring up feelings I don't feel like confronting.

This year I kind of decided to leave it all behind. There's a completely new personality to Phi Lamb. I live in an apartment. I'm actually classified as a journalism major. New, great things are happening.

But these reappearances are really throwing me for a loop. It just kind of throws me back. It's like the universe is trying to stop me from moving forward with my life. There's no sense in reminiscing; it doesn't do anyone any good. No one wishes for old "crushes" to magically appear. No one wishes for friends who left you in the dust to come knock down your door.

Maybe this is a little emo and a little vague, but this is my own therapeutic way of getting out things. And plus, only like two people read this anyway, right?

Weddings.

I've never been THAT girl.

The girl who's always dreamed of her wedding. Picked out bridesmaid dress colors. Looked at engagement rings. Drooled over wedding dresses and veils. Envisioned the flowers and candles.

But somehow, (and I blame Platinum Weddings on WE) I have become her!

I'm sort of ashamed to say that one of my favorite pastimes at Walmart is flipping through bridal magazines. My mom and I love to look at a page of diamond rings and guess the other's favorite. I looove looking at wedding dresses. I love high fashion in general, but wedding dresses are just so romantic, delicate and personal. They are like prom dresses to the tenth power.

Another reason I've become this way is because EVERYONE is getting married and having babies right now. And I mean EVERYONE. Some way too young, but that's a subject for a different blog. While all these people are getting married, I am attending their weddings...enjoying, critiquing and taking notes.

But why do I blame Platinum Weddings on WE? Because they show every tiny little detail of a $1 million wedding. SO much of it is insane. But it's always gorgeous. Every center piece is decadent. The aisle is lined with rose petals. And the couples are always perfect. (A far cry from Bridezillas, which I can also get sucked into on occasion...eeps)

I don't have a boyfriend. I'm not even dating; but I love picturing that wedding day. All that's missing is that perfect guy. (Don't worry, I will NOT being going off a single girl tangent.) Your wedding day is a day of expressing your style in every aspect. It's interior design and fashion crammed into one. And the result is beautiful.

I have a blog now...

I'm a journalism major.

"You must blog!" the professors have told me over and over. So now I do. Apparently it's the journalistic thing to do. (Along with having a Twitter account so we journalists can follow important people like Anderson Cooper and organizations like NPR.)

How often will I actually feel inspired or touched or annoyed enough to write something? Who knows.

Honestly though, I'm always writing in my head. I'm upset, happy or confused about something and I mentally start composing my rant, my story or my lament...hoping by writing this someone will understand me better. I never end up posting those. They end up stored away in my brain with the thousands of other things I have written in my lifetime.

So maybe this is my chance to be real. To be frustrated with the 288 construction or with another yet grammar assignment. (Which I should be completing now.) To be funny maybe. To practice writing. Apparently the more you do it, the better you get. Who knew?

P.S. This blogging business really takes me back to middle school and the age of Xanga.

That is all.

-Shea