Could I Have Accidentally Viewed Illegal Porn and Not Remember?

I'm not sure many of you could ask yourself the above question with a straight face, but last week, I encountered this very dilemma. You see, a strange thing happened to me at work the other day. Here I was, minding my own business (which may have been the problem, since I technically should have been answering work emails or something), chatting with a co-worker, about of all things...olive oil.
So, we are having this conversation and I told her I'd show her the website I had ordered some bottles off of and I did a Google search. The website comes up in the search and I click on the link. Up pops this pretty little website, all purple and shit, followed by a totally legit looking pop-up screen that says that a Trojan virus attack has been detected and I should click ok to clear.....which I did. Two seconds later, another pop-up appears saying the same thing but now there are 2 Trojan viruses detected. I click ok again...Big Mistake.

This appears...

Now, this picture does not do justice to the confusion and fear I felt when this screen overtook my computer. And you probably can't read everything it says so I give you the highlights:

-It starts off with the title "Internet Child Complaint Center" followed by "Department of Federal Bureau of Investigation"
-Then it starts spouting off some penal codes like "You have been illegaling viewing or distributing copyrighted content, thus infringing Article 1, Section 8, Clause B..."
-Then it says "You have been viewing or distributing illegal Pornographic content (Child porn, Zoofilia, etc.)"
-And then it basically tells me I'm going to jail.

So, a thousand things cross my mind, all while my coworker stands next to me in horror. "It was just an olive oil site. I've been in the store. Those ladies seemed normal. They told me it was BYOB (Bring Your Own Bread). Could that have been code for Bring Your Own Child Porn or Pictures of people having sex with animals? Side note - I just assumed "Zoofilia" meant people having sex with animals. I later looked it up and found out that it is in fact, Spanish, not English, for having sex with animals.

These thoughts came fast and furious, all while I'm frantically hitting the esc button to try to make it disappear to no avail. I even shut down the computer and tried to restart it but the screen came back. In the meantime, another coworker walks in my office and I'm left to explain why I am being accused of viewing porn at work.

Now, here's the best part. This coworker actually says to me, "Now wait. Do you think maybe you ran a search for your developmental psychology class on children and somehow stumbled....." And I actually start to defend myself. "No!!! No!!! I was trying to show Colleen this olive oil website. That's all." But in the back of my mind, I'm furiously running a mental catalog of everything I've ever looked at on the computer because...could she be right???

Then we notice (see photo) a drawing of a webcam and a microphone with a caption that reads "ALL ACTIVITY OF THIS COMPUTER IS BEING RECORDED USING AUDIO, VIDEO AND OTHER DEVICES".  And we actually start scanning the frame of the computer. And then Erin (my accuser) points out the computer doesn't even have a webcam or microphone. Maybe, just maybe, I've been scammed.

Then I notice that, according to the screen, if I pay the FBI some money, this will all go away (see bottom of photo). And then I start to think that I don't think the FBI would actually advertise accepting bribes.

At this point, I realize that instead of clearing the virus, I may have actually set it off, But I'm still stuck with going to tell the higher ups that I am now being watched by a line drawing of a webcam all because I wanted to show Colleen some olive oil. I've had prouder moments at work. But...not many funnier ones.

My computer was shipped out and I still don't have it back. I commandeered my part time supervisor's laptop since he's only in one day a week and he arrived today to no computer of his own. And then I had to tell him that I really wasn't looking at illegal porn. And what Zoofilia means.

Could I Write a Book?

For me, writing has always come out of living a fairly to-the-bone kind of life, just really being present to a lot of life. The writing has been really a byproduct of that. - Alice Walker

I've been writing most of my life. True story. It's a natural part of who I am; a piece of myself I've kept hidden from the outside world until the last few years. Basically, as long as I've been thinking I've been writing.

I wrote my first real "piece" in 2nd grade. It was a book (I say "book" because I not only illustrated it, but it was haphazardly bound together with some staples) titled "The Year of Two Santas". Now, I'll admit, I may have slightly plagiarized this title from a certain Christmas special that featured two brothers who reeked havoc on the weather in an attempt to ruin Christmas because Santa wanted the year off. But my idea was my own, even though it slightly resembled the dichotomy of a gift giving Santa and the gift stealing Grinch. All of this is beside the point. At the end of the day, I, a mere 7 year old writing prodigy, wrote a book about a nice Santa and a mean Santa and how they fought to the near death over how Christmas was gonna go down that year. Honestly, I'm not sure exactly, what the full story line was, but you can surmise from the title, it was brilliant.

Once my book was illustrated and bound, I was given the privilege of walking down the hall at Chadds Ford Elementary School to the kindergarten classrooms and read my story to a room full of children much, much younger than myself. I mean, they couldn't even spell yet.

And a writer was born. I continued to write throughout my youth; in cringy worthy diaries and occasional creative writing assignments. In middle school, I wrote something (what, I have no idea) that earned me a honorable mention in another "bound publication".

I've saved most of it, although lately, the thought of burning some of it (especially the diaries) has crossed my mind. Because let's face it....those diaries can contain some scary, scary shit.  The fact that I would put pen to paper and record my deepest darkest secrets of adolescence is simply put, insane. I look at my own child, nearing the tween years and wonder to myself, what if he struggles with all of those angst filled questions I did? What if he acts on those impulses and feelings like I did? Worst of all, I think, what if he found them and read them? Good thing (and bad thing) that I'm not exactly sure where they are.

I continued my love affair with writing in college, preferring papers to tests. Ask me a question and I'll write you an answer. Tell me to dissect an idea and I'm with you. Ask me to guess between 4 answers and it was a crap shoot. My senior year at Neumann College, I was one of 12 people in the Psychology program. We didn't take tests. We wrote. And I thrived. Just like a real writer, I poured myself into my papers. I really tried to figure out how the mind (not the brain) processed trauma. I actually came up with my very own theory and nearly peed my pants having to get up in front of the class to present it. My senior thesis started out with the question "Why could you beat your kid in the 1950's and it not be abuse but now it is?" and ended up being a critical analysis of what constitutes childhood historically dating back to the 1600's. I handed it in once and had it returned to me by my professor with the following feedback: "It's good enough for me but it's not good enough for you." And when my masterpiece was finally done, I let my friend John Forte read it. His feedback: "This is amazing. Not a single split infinitive." I didn't even know what a split infinitive was at the time. I'm still not 100% clear.

After college, my writing went largely dormant. Life happened. Every once in a while, I would put pen to paper but honestly, my ex-husband (not Stephen) was not very supportive of me exploring my mind so I didn't. At least not by writing. I always thought. I'm a thinker. He may have made me feel dumb for writing but he couldn't stop me from thinking. And writing for me was just thinking on paper. Going back to grad school helped get me back in a writing frame of mind but honestly, you try writing with a 2 year old yelling your name every 2 minutes. Although, I will toot my own horn for a moment and tell you that I did win $100 in a writing contest in which I was charged with explaining what Kennett Square meant to me in 500 words or less.

And then it happened. Everyone knows. My brother died (Insert shock but in reality just sarcasm). There was absolutely no other way for me to process that other than to write about it. And I did. Alot. And because I was in shock and devastated and oozing with grief, rather than hiding it in a diary or the hard drive of my computer, I hit share and let it out into the universe.

I look back on that decision (which was really more of a reflex) and think it has been as much of a blessing as a curse. On the upside, it opened the flood gates. I didn't believe I could ever get over (at least not to the extent that I have) losing my brother, or my mother. I credit hitting that share button over and over with that. That and a lot of crying and laughing. Which I must say, is a must. On the downside, it opened the flood gates. Many many times, just prior to hitting that share button, I questioned myself. Am I doing the right thing? Is this too much? Are people sick of it?

One thing I have learned about writing is that if you don't question yourself, you aren't doing it right. The other thing I've taken from all of this is that a single "like", public or even private message telling you to keep going, will, well, keep you going. And it has.

So, could I write a book? I'm not sure. Not unless Santa is involved. Then, it's a no brainer.

12 Lessons of 2012

So I did this last year (11 Lessons of 2011) and it was interesting and fun. I wasn't sure I could do it again and honestly won't know until I get started. So, here goes nothing.

12. I don't do the "balance" thing very well: I've known this for a while but it tops my list because I'm in the throws of it right now. I'm either in overdrive or laying in bed. I don't have a good grip on how to balance work, family, friends and me. I tend to push myself until my body can't go anymore and then beat myself up for not listening to all of the warning signs along the way. I lounged around all summer and felt like a slug for not prepping my classes. Then I spent the last 5 months going nonstop until I nearly cracked at the end. And the last week or so, I've just covered myself in a million covers, slept and read feeling really rundown.

11. 34 teenagers can bring you to your knees: Part of my overdrive mode of the last 5 months was teaching a college level Psychology class to a group of teenagers. Let's just say my intuition that I was not made to interact with large groups of teenagers at 7:15am was confirmed. I will say a few bad apples can ruin a bunch. And a single, thoughtful teenage boy who says thank you can make you cry.

10. If you can't laugh at the really shitty things, then your problems are way worse than mine. In all of my morose moments, I can still laugh. In fact, the more ridiculously sad or angry I am, the more I can somehow spin it in a way that I end up cracking myself up. And that, my friends, is a gift.

9. The glass can be simultaneously half full and half empty: I am a notorious cynic and at times can be incredibly pessimistic. But over the past few years, I've softened and found myself finding positive things in places I never thought possible. I guess you can call that evolution.

8. I do not like New Years Eve: Never have. Never will. I think it's dumb.

7. I love bacon : I have come to acknowledge my deep love affair with bacon. And I will tell you, the precooked microwaved kind isn't nearly as fatty as the real stuff.

6. Yes, I love my family: I'm talking about my family of origin here. We "enjoy" a complicated relationship but my mother laid the groundwork for deep love even when we want to rip each other's heads off. We often misunderstand each other, have learned that if you can't be honest with the people you've known your whole life, you will never be honest with anyone else and that we owe something (although I'm not always sure what it is) to each other. It's been hard to figure all of this out without my mother's proverbial smack in the back of the head, but it still holds true (at least for me...the rest of them can think whatever they want because my mother always said that was ok).

5. Max continues to amaze me everyday: I'm not sure that ever stops and I hope it doesn't. He keeps things in perspective, puts up with my shit, lets me yell and apologize without any long term psychological damage and just plain old cracks me up.

4. My friends mean the world to me: This is relatively new, to be brutally honest. I think for many years I was tied up in family drama, personal drama, figuring out how to be a mom, figuring out how to be a grown up. And then, I realized who stuck around, who showed up and didn't leave and who would put up with my shit. And it's a beautiful thing.

3. I love teaching: Despite my frustration outlined in #11, I absolutely love teaching. Sometimes, it totally feels like I'm faking it. Why are all of these people listening to me? But, honestly, it's because I'm quite entertaining. And I know what I'm talking about. For the most part.

2. I'm liking the 40's: Yes, they started off rough but after my 30's, I am still happy to have moved on into my 40's. There is something really freeing about your 40's (at least for me). I am way more who I am supposed to be then I ever was.

1. Yep - I still like my life: I was surprised at the end of my 2011 list to find that this is how I ended but it still rings true today. I'll be honest, my particular mood today doesn't necessarily reflect this sentiment but all in all, I am one lucky woman.

At her request....Shining a Spotlight on....Crissy

Sisters annoy, interfere, criticize.  Indulge in monumental sulks, in huffs, in snide remarks.  Borrow.  Break.  Monopolize the bathroom.  Are always underfoot.  But if catastrophe should strike, sisters are there.  Defending you against all comers.  ~Pam Brown

For the first time ever, someone has actually requested I blog about them. Of course, it is my sister, Crissy. To be more specific (and much to her dismay), my little sister. You see, I've dedicated quite a few blogs to the impact my friends have had on me, especially over the past few difficult years. But never my siblings specifically. Because, quite honestly....siblings are hard.

I say siblings are hard because I live in the real world. I lay it all out there (have you read my other blogs) for all to see. So, I recognize and embrace the complexity of my relationships with my siblings. I throw it out into the universe and let it be what it will be. This is most often met with fury from them but, oh well. We were all raised by the same woman and man, and inherited the same honest tongue. Some of us just use it more often than others.

The six of us span 16 years oldest to youngest and Crissy and I are almost 3 years apart in age. In some respects, we grew up as little sub families; Joanie and Ralph, Michael and Patti and then me and Crissy rounded it off. Our subfamilies were largely defined by our ages at the time of the death of our father (Crissy and I were 8 & 11) and our experiences as children reflected that. So, while the older kids had experienced my father's fury directly on some level, Crissy and I were more like observers at a really bad show. We saw it, knew the chaos well but we're lucky enough to never have it directed at us. Honestly, we lucked out.

I think we both thought we dodged a bullet when it came to my father but that is the beauty of youth. You can spend a large amount of time in denial before you get slapped in the face. My slap came quite a few years ahead of Crissy. I tended to be more in tune with those sorts of things at a much younger age. But, eventually we both figured it out.

So, anyway....Crissy and I spent the large majority of our youth fatherless. No need for the "awww" or "that's so sad". It was what it was. It was our reality. And you can spin it either way; a blessing or a curse. But what made our experience distinctly different than our older siblings was our mother. As dysfunctional as our parent's marriage was, our siblings enjoyed some level of an intact family that Crissy and I were not afforded. After my father died, my mother shut down. And Crissy and I were kind of on our own.

Here's where I put the HUGE disclaimer in....my mother was amazing. Anyone who has read this blog knows that. My siblings and I were blessed with a mother's mother; a woman who was truly born to mother children. And she did it well. Better than well; as I said, she was amazing. I was blessed enough to have many, many conversations with my mother over the years and prior to her death in which she was able to give me an incredible amount of insight into what she valued most in being a parent. Loyalty was demanded, respect was commanded and guilt did not exist. At least not on her part...she could give me a look and in an instant I was spilling my guts of all the lies I was trying pull over on her. My mother always said she did the best she could with the information she had at the time. And that was true.

But back to Crissy and her "spotlight". While my mother demanded loyalty, she did not demand we get along. She accepted the reality of our individual dynamics and Crissy and I enjoyed a volatile one. As small children, we simultaneously played together and beat the shit out of each other. More specifically, Crissy beat the shit out of me. Because, believe it or not, I was quite docile in my youth. Especially when facing a small child otherwise known as "Cookie Monster" or  "Gunkaberti" depending on who you talked to. I mean this is the girl who cussed my father out at age 3. No one cussed my father out. Except Gunk.
 
Our teen years proved to be even more volatile. Short story was we hated each other. Crissy was out of control in my humble opinion. I was probably out of control but just hid it a little bit better. She wore my clothes without permission to the point of me actually cutting a shirt off of her body (really I only had to cut the sleeve to make my point). She stole my car and went joyriding with her friends before she ever had a license. And she got a dog and then didn't take care of it. I have a distinct memory of tax day, a dog who had tore up her tax returns and Crissy walking out and getting in her car and driving away. While her tax return blew all over the front lawn.

It wasn't until we both got pregnant (unmarried pregnant girls....but its okay because we were like 27 and 31) that we started to relate to one another. I don't remember us even having much of a relationship between 21 and 31. But the dueling babies gave us a commonality we had never experienced before and we actually started interacting. Yes, we still fought but we started leaning on each other for the first time ever. Crissy became a mother 8 months before me. This actually worked out for the best because she is way more organized than me so she had worked out some of the kinks of the "how to's" by the time Max came along. An interesting thing about the day Max was born- my mother had recently undergone gall bladder surgery and was recovering at home. Because she couldn't drive and the doctors had told me my labor would be long (after being induced), she stayed home waiting to hear from me. I sent Stephen to work expecting not to need him until at least the next day. And then I spent the day alone, in labor. I have no idea why I didn't call anyone but I didn't. I know everyone knew I was in labor but I'm the type who's a real bitch if I'm not feeling well so maybe they subconsciously stayed away. 18 hours later I gave birth to a 9 1/2 pound baby boy via C-section. While Stephen was there, it was Crissy who walked in the room within minutes of me giving birth. It was Crissy who took me out for my first solo (meaning without Stephen) ride with Max. Crissy was the one I called day and night to make sure I was doing it right.  Crissy was the one who made me feel sane in the insanity of infancy. Our mother (you know...the mother's mother) thought we were both insane; insisting we take the crying babies out of the car seats to comfort while driving, give them rice cereal at 3 weeks and even suggested I start smoking again to lighten up!!!! On a side note, God bless those who mothered in a fearless world!

As the kids got older, Crissy and I enjoyed the reality of our relationship; a combination of arguments and understanding. We fought a lot but ultimately were there for each other. Remember...loyalty bound us in our mother's expectations. So, we honored it. Always.

Over the last 10 years, Crissy and I have enjoyed (if that's the right description) a close relationship. Mothering 3 kids born within 13 months of each other at the very least, forced it. But the cruel reality of losing our brother and mother over the last 3 1/2 years reinforced the relationship. This illuminated the unique disposition of our place in the family constellation. We were the littlest of the little sisters of our larger than life brother. We were the youngest of my mother's children and in some ways were cheated out of our mother's wisdom in how to do this parenting thing. We are orphaned parents not quite ready to parent on our own. So we look to each other to figure it out together. And argue it out along the way. It's a bit like the blind leading the blind.

The last thing I will say is this. At one point Crissy told my mother that the difference between she and I is that she values being nice over all things. And its true. She has probably raised the 2 most polite, kind kids I have ever met in my life. But my mother answered Crissy back in a way only a mother's mother can. She said "And while you value nice over all things, Carol values honesty." And that is true too. I cannot chose nice over being honest in matters of the heart. And Crissy has learned the hard way that, sometimes honesty does have to take precedence over nice. As the littlest of the little, Crissy has had to grow up in the last few years. And she has shocked and surprised all of us. And secretly made me proud.

So there, Crissy. There's your blog.

Shining a Spotlight on.....Jen

I've been doing these Shining the Spotlight blogs for over 2 years now and purposefully never "spotlighted" my friend Jen. This was mostly out of respect. Jen can be quite unassuming and I always felt like this might be an invasion of her privacy. But, on the other hand, every time I picked someone to write about, I always secretly wanted to do one on her. So, I'm throwing caution to the wind, omitting her last name, and doing it anyway. Hopefully, she won't hate me for it.

Jen and I have known each other since high school. Now, that doesn't mean we were particularly close. We just ran in the same, loosely formed circle, occasionally ending up in the same car driving down some back road in Unionville, doing things we shouldn't be doing. I remember being at her house once in high school, towering over her much younger siblings. I remember laying on the concrete, in front of a Ticketmaster, anxiously awaiting Peter Gabriel tickets (back when you actually had to wait in a line) in the freezing cold. And that's about it for high school. Off we went to college and on into our lives.

So college ends (for Jen, anyway. I like to drag things out.) and we do what any self respecting college graduate with a useless (or soon to be useless) degree does....we start working as waitresses and bartenders. And we made waayyy more money than our friends that actually went and got "real" jobs. And we partied. And we had fun. And we ate alotta cheesesteaks and pizzas. Cuz that's what you do when you work at a pizza and cheesesteak joint.

I was the bartender and Jen was the waitress. I was the bitch and Jen was the sweet girl. People loved Jen and either tolerated, hated or feared me. And then they ended up liking me. But first they had to go through those other stages. So, I think alot of people couldn't understand how Jen and I were friends. I mean, I even used to think to myself  "I'm such a bitch and she's so nice. I don't get it."

But, honestly, I think Jen just got me. I was tough exterior, and a total sap on the inside. I had been through shit and had built my armor well. She was patient with my moods, understanding of my hurt and tolerant of my crap. And a true friendship was born. You know, I'm reading this now and thinking, "Wow...I did all the taking and she did all the giving (except for the drinks. I know I gave her drinks)." And I think that's a pretty accurate assessment, as sad as it is to say. But that's fundamentally who Jen is....a giver.

I believe all relationships are built out of the roles we play in life. And sometimes, somebody lets you be who you need to be. Jen let me, and continues to let me, be who I have needed to be. With no complaint (at least not outloud) and no expectation to change. And that's a pretty admirable way to be. I have spent most of my life trying to get people to change. It has only been in very recent years that I have begun to accept people where they are in their own lives. I think Jen has always done that. At the very least, when it has come to me.

She has stood by me through every major adult high and low of my life. My college graduation, my marriage, my divorce, the birth of Max, the demise of my relationship with Stephen, the loss of my brother and mother. She has laughed with me and let me cry. She has listened to me in completely irrational breakdown moments and not told me I was crazy. She has given me the space she always knew I needed and did not step too far inside that bubble I had built around myself just so I could make it through some of the darkest days of my life. And she has seen me out on the other side of it all. And I think she still likes me.

If I could only be half the friend to Jen as she has been to me, I'd be a pretty damn good friend.

Shining a Spotlight on.....Melissa

I'm blindsiding my good friend Melissa Jarratt with her very own tribute in my on again, off again "Shining a Spotlight" series of blog posts. I reserve these posts for important people in my life who have changed and impacted me in a positive way. If you haven't been featured yet, just give it some time or....we aren't quite there yet.

I met Melissa in 1996 at....guess where....The Kennett Square Inn. I'm waiting to write one of these posts that won't use the backdrop of the Inn and it has yet to happen. Steve Warner, if you are reading this, you should feel special and impressed.

So, anyway, Melissa came to work at the Inn after giving birth to her first child Logan, who frighteningly enough is now in high school. Melissa was upbeat, positive, no nonsense and real. While I have always been no nonsense and real, upbeat and positive are not innate characteristics of mine (cynical is a better description of my demeanor). I believe at that point in time, I may have held the illustrious title of Head Waitress, which was just Steve's way of putting me in charge of the schedule and making me feel like I was doing something with my college degree.

Melissa's role at the KSI has one of sanity in an often insane, subculture-y type of restaurant world. My goal in life is to write something that truly captures the idiosyncracies of what its like to live the restaurant life (Anthony Bourdain hasn't even done it), but in the case of Melissa, she stood on the fringes of our insanity. You see, she had a normal life. She had a husband, a child and a house and functioned in the mainstream world. She just came to work at the Inn to earn some extra money. We, (the "restaurant people") were thriving in the heat of the moment drama of the fast paced lifestyle, screaming at each other over orders, dodging utensils thrown at our heads, drinking and smoking until the sun came up, sleeping all day and then doing it all over again.

But Melissa and I became friends. You can't help but like Melissa. She is about as stand up as they get. She is strong, intelligent, helpful and kind. She has strong convictions and strong morals. And she doesn't give a shit about what anyone thinks of her. And that is what I admire most about her.

I'm not exactly sure how long Melissa worked at the Inn but its 14 years later and she is still my friend. She stood by me during every one of my highs and lows of adulthood. She is the only person on the face of the earth I have ever called and asked to pray with me. Because I know Melissa's relationship with God is well established and intact. And I figured if anyone has a direct line to Heaven, it is her. (Side note...how many sentences can I end with the word her? Apparently...alot.)

I often say God gives you exactly what you need, when you need it, even if you don't recognize it at the time. For an estranged Catholic who has struggled with faith, I believe, Melissa was given to me to let me know that, yes, indeed, He is here. He is watching. And He hears me. Sometimes, I send the messages through Melissa, because I'm convinced, she may have priority status when it comes to getting in God's ear. But I'll take it however I can get it.

Why We All Need to Take a Page Out of Jimmy Fallon's Book

I decided a few weeks ago that I needed to blog about Jimmy Fallon. I have no idea why all of a sudden I'm strangely boy crazy over him but I am. I think its all a part of this journey called life and trying to figure out what is important. For me, it's increasingly become trying to find moments of pure, unadulterated laugh out loud thankfulness. And for some reason, I have found it in Jimmy Fallon.

About a month ago, somewhere, somehow I ran across a youtube video of Jimmy and The Roots singing Call Me Maybe with this young girl, Carly Rae Jensen. I'd like to start off with saying, my only exposure to the song at that point was my son singing it repetitively, to the point where he asked for a pen and paper and listened to it in his ear phones over and over so he could write down all of the words. But, anyway, somehow I ended up watching the Jimmy's version, in which the whole gang uses elementary school classroom instruments in order to create a true musical masterpiece. Here, take a look for yourself:

I'll admit, I was completely mesmerized. Not because I'm a Carly Rae groupie, but instead, because you could tell how much fun everyone was having. Some key moments: when Jimmy attempts to symbolically make the "wind blow", the guy from the Roots in the back center with the hat who cannnot hide his laughter at this ridiculous job assignment, and the man on the kazoo.

In that moment, I thought to myself...that's what I want. I want to go to work every day and love what I do. I want to get up every morning and know I'm going to laugh. I want to get up every morning and know that I can make other people laugh. And know that by laughing I will be living my life more deeply and fully. Quite philosophical for a young girl's pop song, I know....

I've watched Jimmy before, on both SNL and his own show. And I have laughed. But it never dawned on me that this guy, even though he gets up every morning to his own normalcy (good, bad and ugly), genuinely has made making people feel good his vocation, not just an occupation.

You can see it in his face (I know, I'm thinking deep and stretching it for some) every time he opens his mouth. So I started investigating and paying closer attention. And I started laughing more. I started staying up late just so he could make me laugh. I started posting all of his stuff on Facebook and titled each one "Why we need to be more like Jimmy Fallon." I want to be happy. I want to be able to try to be serious but not be able to hold in the laughter. I want to find the ridiculous in everyday life. So I'm just going to keep watching. And keep laughing.

Here are a few more of my favorite Jimmy Fallon moments. Watch them if you want to see someone who loves what they do.

http://www.wimp.com/raphistory/  Click on this link! It won't let me upload but I love it!