Day 341: Sometimes Losing is Really Winning

On Day 341, a group of work friends decided to blow off some steam over a couple of beers at the Bookhouse Pub.

I begged Amanda and her husband Stephen to come because I was not motivated to think of anything to do that I'd never done before and I knew she'd come up with something that would be highly entertaining to write and read about.

I think Amanda was upset that I'd yet to actually go out with anyone that I'd met online at Plenty of Fish.com, because she was using this "blog-fan's choice," as an opportunity to force me out of my dating shell. Her goal from the start was to find someone that I could buy a drink for or give my number to or use a cheesy pickup line on.

But my experience with meeting cool guys worthy of such tactics is that those kinds of meetings rarely happens when I (or in this case, Amanda), is looking for it. I usually encounter interesting, attractive people that I'd like to get to know better when I haven't showered, my hair is slicked back into a ponytail and my shirt has holes in it. I was coming to this bar from work, looking relatively presentable, so I knew my chances of meeting anyone worthwhile were slim to none.

And sure enough, I was right.

I would've done any of those things Amanda was suggesting, but but neither of us could really find anyone worthy of sending a drink or giving my number to. Despite her persistence with a guy that looked like former CNN television anchor Rick Sanchez, we abandoned this mission and moved on to something else. (Later I saw that he had a wedding ring on, so it obviously wasn't meant to be.)

What else can be achieved in a bar that I hadn't done before? In my almost-30 years had I done all of the inappropriate, regret-the-next day bar activities? Certainly not.

The night was starting to wind down and there were friends at my table ready to pay their checks.

"I still haven't played credit card roulette," I said out loud to the table to no one specific.

Credit card roulette involves handing the waitress a group of credit cards to choose from. Whatever card she chooses has to pay the whole tab. If I was going to make this Day 341's "thing," the rest of the group had to be on board and willing to play.

Luckily, I'd suggested we play on payday, so all of our checking accounts were in good shape for this kind of game. Timing, I continue to realize, is everything. With everyone then feeling generous (and perhaps a little tipsy), they said, "Sure!" Day 341's thing I've never done before was to play credit card roulette.

If you play the odds, which I don't because I'm not entirely sure I know what that means, then credit card roulette is really a safe bet. With eight cards in the pile, I had only a one in eight chance that my card would be chosen. Even when we decided to choose two cards to split the check (the bill was significantly higher thanks to some fancy, expensive tiki drinks, commemorative glasses included), the odds were still in my favor.

That's the thing about credit card roulette: if your card is the one chosen, you must pay for everyone's purchases, regardless of how ridiculous they seem (Tiki glasses? In a beer bar?).

I digress.

By splitting the check between two people, the odds moved to one in four. There was a 75 percent chance that I would not have to pay for my (or anyone else's) drinks. I like those odds.

But with any gamble, there is always a chance you could lose. Or win. Here's something I'm still not clear on--if my card got pulled and I had to pay, does that mean I "won" credit card roulette, or did I "lose?" Being chosen makes it feel like I'm a winner, but paying for everyone makes me feel like a loser.

Everyone laid their cards face down on the table. When the waitress returned, we explained to her what we were doing and she returned with the bill and two pint glasses. She gathered the cards and put them in one of the glasses, turned the other glass upside down to cover them and then shook wildly, mixing up the cards.

She reached her hand into the glass and pulled her first card.

"Devon Sayers," she said, unsure of how to pronounce his last name.

The whole table, except for Devon, erupted into thunderous applause and shouting.

I love credit card roulette!

She covered the remaining seven cards with the glass and shook again, drawing another card from the pile.

"Carolyn Cremen," she announced.

Again, more applause and shouting, at least from the six of us whose cards weren't picked.

Carolyn and Devon took their loss (or win) in stride, and happily posed for pictures while signing their checks. I posed for a picture with Katy, happy that my beers were paid for and my checking account remained untouched for another night.

I'm not quite sure how I would've felt if it was me who had to pay, but from where I was sitting, credit card roulette is a great game.

Losing never felt so good.

Day 307: Quick! Do Something Young and Awesome!

Day 307 was a Saturday, and the same day as my friend Katy's birthday celebration, so after spending the day at my landlord's pool reading (no TV for me), I planned to make the thing I've never done before another "birthday girl's choice."

Katy said I had to swim in the fountain in front of her house.

"No, I'm not doing that," I said. "I'm wearing a nice shirt."

But I will celebrate your birthday as if it was my own. Because that's what good friends do.

Starting, of course, at the Nook, where I shared my first fish bowl beverage with at least eight other people, six of whom I really didn't know.

One of whom is now my worst enemy. She was blonde and cute and young, three traits I despise in other women. My friend Jeff introduced me to her and said, "This is Awesome Girl! She went to Georgia! She was in your sorority!"

"Oh yeah?," I said.

She was super sweet, and told me that she had just graduated in May. She was adorable. I was happy that she seemed normal and cool; clearly she was representing my Alma mater and my sorority well.

Then she told me she was absolutely "freaking" because she was just about to turn 24. Twenty-freaking-four.

Then I decided that I hated her.

How do I remember college so well when it was so long ago? Was I ever as cute as this girl? Am I still now?

"Quick, Stephanie! Do something that makes you feel young and awesome," I must've told myself later when I remembered my conversation with the younger version of myself.

Katy suggested dancing on a bar.

"Yes!" I said. I've always wanted to do it. I dance everywhere I go. I can't believe I haven't done this yet.

Katy grabbed my arm, and we marched up to the bar. Before I could muster the nerve to crawl up on the bar, Katy was asking the bartender if we could.

The bartender didn't waste anytime with her answer.

"No. Absolutely not."

Katy turned to me, and shrugged her shoulders. "I'm sorry," she said. She really felt badly, but I wasn't really that surprised.

"You can't ask a bartender if you can dance on their bar," I said. "You just have to do it."

Not to be defeated, when we went to Smith's Olde Bar, Katy modified her desire to dance on a bar, and instead climbed up on a booth to dance. I joined her without hesitation. We laughed and danced, but I couldn't help but remember thinking that dancing on a bar always looked like fun. And the people doing it looked young and carefree.

Only I didn't feel young or carefree. I felt like an idiot.

I climbed down and snapped back into reality.

Later, Justin suggested that I play a round of Buck Hunter as Day 307's thing I've never done before. And before long, he shoved a gun into my hands, and I did.

And I played a mean round of Buck Hunter, a game much like Duck Hunt on Nintendo, only with a larger gun and cartoon deer instead of ducks. I wasn't very good, but I had a good time shooting all over the screen. If memory serves, and it was very late that night so it probably doesn't, I don't think I killed a single deer. But I made a mental note to tell my hunter friend John, who had taken me hunting back in December that this was the kind of hunting I could get into. Loud, fast, no loss of life and no blood.

So Katy's birthday party turned into a mini-celebration for me. A celebration that I'm not 24. I can't play video games and I have no business dancing on bars. Sometimes celebrating hurts.

Day 228: Line 'em Up, Take 'em Down

The morning of Day 228, I woke up with a better attitude than I had gone to bed with.

But after the second round of Multi Max and Carrot juices, I sent Katy a text message.

"I don't think I can do it," it said. "The fast. It's disgusting. I want to cry it's so bad."

I don't like to think of myself as a drama queen, but I once told Katy that I was so tired that I was pretty sure I had mono, so I pictured her on the other end of that text message laughing and shaking her head at my theatrics, certain the first day of the juice cleanse couldn't have been so bad.

And to be honest, before trying it myself, I would’ve thought the same thing. But with just one day down, and still two more to go, I doubted my ability to make it out alive.

Not eating solids wasn't the problem. As I told everyone that would still talk to me despite my sour attitude, I would’ve rather not eaten at all than had to have endured the taste of the juices. To me, they were that bad.

They were not, as Arden's Garden guy said, "A little weird." They were terrible.

I got through the first few rounds at home and went to work, just as I'd done the day before. Lunch (Apple Juice) was delicious as always, and gave me a small sliver of hope.

A few hours later, when facing my nemesis—the mid-afternoon Multi Max snack, I decided to get creative.

Arden's Garden doesn't care how I'm drinking the drinks, just that I'm drinking them. Right?
So I went to my company's break room and gathered up handful of water cups and went back to my desk.

Day 228’s thing I’ve never done before was to take shots at work.

Wait, didn’t I just say that I wasn’t a drama queen? I realize all evidence is pointing to the contrary, but at that moment, I believed that drinking these juices hard liquor style was the only way.

Right before getting started with this utterly ridiculous, but seemingly necessary approach, my friend and co-worker Devon turned the corner to see me sitting behind my desk, with a stack of Dixie cups lined up in front of me, and one in my hand, one fourth full.

"What are you doing?," he asked, sounding both disgusted and amused.

I looked at him, pleading with my eyes for him to understand, and said, "I'm shooting these horrific juices. I have to."

Before I could wait to hear his response, which he was already wearing all over this face, I shoved my camera in his hands and said, “Here. Take pictures.”

And he did.

The experience was sad on many levels. Looking into the bottom of those cups was like looking into the barrel of this horrible decision and realizing I could fail, or that maybe I’d already failed. I felt sad that I was this depressed about drinking juice instead of eating real food and sad that this cleanse hadn’t really rid me of anything except for my will to live.

And really sad that I’d always wanted to take shots at my desk. Just not like this.

Once again, I never made it to Salad in a Glass and I went to bed almost immediately when I got home, knowing that I couldn’t be awake in my house with grapes and not have a complete meltdown.

I fell asleep fast, thankful Day 2 was done, and that I only had 24 more hours to go.

Day 192: Thanks a LOT

Of the many things I have to thank my mother for growing up, her forcing my brother and me to write thank-you notes is at the top of the list.

While all of our friends in the neighborhood were out and about the days after Christmas showing off their new toys and new clothes, Jeff and I had to stay inside until all of our thank-you notes were written.

She had but few rules in our house, but she was a stickler for appreciation and thanks to her, I have grown up to be an appreciative adult. In fact, one of my former bosses actually told me that one of the things that impressed him most about me was the fact that after our interview, I sent him a hand-written thank-you note, a practice that has seemingly fallen by the wayside now that email is so popular.

Since I was physically able to write, I have written countless thank-you notes over the years for gifts I've received. But never had I written someone else's thank you notes. Until Day 192, when I offered to help my friends Amanda and Stephen write their thank you notes for their wedding gifts as the thing I've never done before.

Stephen and Amanda were married back in February. Their wedding was a part of this blog, as it was the first wedding I'd ever been to for a co-worker. Like most newlyweds trying to enjoy their new lives together as husband and wife, they've been bombarded with gifts, and therefore also bombarded with thank-you notes still left to write.

I haven't yet purchased their gift, but I figured what better way to celebrate their union than to assist them in their thanks. Little do they know, this is my wedding gift to them: another mention in the blog and 10 less thank yous that they have to write.

We agreed to meet at the Bookstore Pub for some drinks and to tackle this task. Great bar, great food, but possibly one of the most poorly lit establishments that I could've picked, making it extremely difficult to write and see anything.

Like every organized bride, Amanda had a detailed list of all of her wedding guests. Next to each person's name was a description of the gift they'd bought.

She gave me a stack of cards and a list of people she wanted me to work on notes for, all of whom I already knew. Apparently she was willing to take my help, but not if it meant I would be writing possibly inappropriate thanks to her distant cousins.

I can't blame her. Her plan made sense.

"Now can I write whatever I want?" I asked her.

"Sure," she said, cheerfully, obviously just relieved to have some help.

The possibilities were endless and since I knew everyone that I was writing to, I planned on pushing the limit as much as possible. But I promised to share what I was thinking about writing with Amanda and Stephen before actually committing to it on paper.

But as I quickly learned, they were pretty open to whatever, so I went for it, starting with Justin.

Dear Justin,
Thank you so much for your very generous gift. We took your check, cashed it and bought one hundred MDA Shamrocks at Kroger, in your name. All for the kids. We're really trying to be more charitable as a married couple, and your gift is helping us to do that.

"Perfect," Amanda said.

True, Stephen and Amanda actually spent Justin's wedding gift money on cocktails in Belize on their honeymoon, but this just sounded better.


I continued.

Dear Jackie & Matt,
Thank you for the silverware saver. It will definitely preserve our new silverware for years to come and we truly appreciate it. We also hope it will keep all of our illegal stuff hidden should anyone try and find it. Just kidding, Officer Matt! Thanks so much for coming out to the wedding. It was great having you guys there.

We almost nixed this one, since Matt was in the process of becoming a police officer, but he and Jackie have a sense of humor so we went for it.

Dear Jessica and Andrew,
Thank you so much for the Panini press/sandwich griddle. We will use it to make delicious sandwiches often. We also used it to brand "Ws" into our backsides, because sometimes rings aren't enough to say, "This union is legit." Thanks so much for coming out to the wedding. It meant a lot to have you there.

Anyone that gave money for a gift would obviously be subjected to the wilds of my imagination. My often inappropriate, sometimes offensive, imagination.

Dear Sara and Keith,
Thanks for the generous wedding gift. Thanks to you, Stephen has been "making it rain" for several weeks now. Your presence at the wedding meant so much to us both, and made the day so much fun. Can't wait to hang out with you guys as a married couple!

Mo was next, and though on one hand he would be easy because he would be least offended by my antics, the possibilities with him were endless, making it also difficult.

Dear Mo,
Thanks so much for making our wedding so memorable. Your performance with the pickles and the gummy bears was unforgettable. Thanks also for very extremely generous gift. We immediately cashed your check, threw the money on the floor, and, well, you know…

Dear Mayra and Devon,
Thank you for the very generous wedding present. We took the money and purchased a brand new tiara for [our cat] Coco Chanel. Everyone deserves to feel as special as we did on our wedding day, after all. It meant so much to have you there.

Those who sent actual presents were not exempt from this little exercise, though.

Dear Jill and Bryan,
It was so nice of you both to make an effort to come to our wedding. It made the day so special to have all of our work friends there. Thank you also for the wine chiller and saver. We have already put the gift to good use. In fact, we're drunk right now writing these notes of thanks.

Dear David and Sally,
Thanks so much for coming to the wedding. It meant so much that you made an effort to be there. And thanks for the cheese knives. I'm sure we will get a lot of use out of them when we have visitors at our house. Thank you, most of all for allowing me an opportunity to say, "I can't wait to cut the cheese."

Even those who hadn’t yet sent gifts got notes.

Dear Anna Rhett and Robert,
Thank you so much for coming to the wedding. Even though you haven't yet bought us a gift, we know that when you do we're going to love it. (Editor’s note: Anna Rhett and Robert have since sent a gift, so an appropriate addendum will have to be added to their note).

Amanda promised me she really is going to send the ones that I wrote to their intended recipient, though the fact that she hasn't done so already makes me a little nervous. She claims she is waiting until she's done with all of her thank-you notes before sending them all at once. We'll see about that. If I find out my notes weren't used I will be very sad that my creativity went to waste and that I didn't really help her the way I intended to.

But who knew, after years of griping to my mom about thank-you notes that writing them for someone else's gifts that I will never get to use myself, could be so much fun?

I should offer my note-writing services to others.

Day 146: Workplace Romance

Wedding Tour in 2010 is underway.

Yes, like a music group making multiple city stops, my friend Momo and I call our yearly treks from showers to bachelorette parties to engagement parties, "Wedding Tour."

Next stop on the 2010 tour: Amanda and Stephen.

After having attended, crashed or been in 60+ weddings over the years, what could their wedding possibly offer me that is something that I've never done before?

Day 146's thing I've never done before was to attend a wedding of a co-worker. Two co-workers, in this case.

I suppose a wedding is a wedding, regardless of who is getting married, and this isn't terribly monumental in any way. And it's not.

But when I think about Stephen and Amanda starting their relationship that eventually led to their marriage, I think it's pretty cool that I knew them both, separately, when they started dating.

I remember their relationship, like most office romances, was veiled in secrecy when it first began. Not in a weird, "we're ashamed of ourselves" kind of way, more of a, "trying to maintain some level of professionalism at the office" kind of way. When I found out they were dating, I did so after stalking facebook photos of the two of them together wondering what was going on. I confirmed their relationship from another colleague who told me in confidence like the news was insider information.

I can't blame them for wanting to keep their budding romance a secret, as when I think about office romances, I always think of them creating awkward scenarios for all parties involved. The phrase, "Don't shit where you eat," comes to mind. Not a classy, or pleasant thought, I know. But sadly, when I think of relationships in the workplace, I think not of the grand possibility of it working out like it has for Stephen and Amanda, I think instead of the bitter end.

Plus, despite working with a lot of great dateable people, I like to keep my work life and my outside work life, separate. I think it's just the whole world's colliding thing. When my personal life is a disaster, I seek refuge at work with my co-workers. The merging of the two could have dire consequences.

I don't have any hard and fast rules about not dating someone that I work with. I mean I spend a lot of time at work, so the potential to meet someone there is certainly high. So far it hasn't really come up, but I'd consider all workplace dating on a case by case basis and I would tread cautiously if the opportunity ever presented itself.

After all, Amanda and Stephen have proven that finding love at work can really pay off. According to Amanda, they've never really had a fight. I find this fact both adorable and annoying all at the same time.

They ride to work together everyday, which is also adorable and annoying, but environmentally friendly too. I have to think their union is cost effective for the company as far as health insurance, though I'm not sure how. And they take their dinner breaks at the same time, which is great for them, but doesn't really affect any of us or the environment that I can tell.

So maybe love in the workplace is a good thing?

It's been fun for me. I've personally enjoyed navigating their relationship from dating, to seriously dating, to taking trips to meet each other's out of town friends, to taking trips out of the country, to waiting for the engagement, to the engagement and to the wedding planning, all evidence that I need to get a life.

And Amanda and Stephen's love affair became an opportunity for all of my seemingly useless Atlanta wedding knowledge to become not-so-useless.

Amanda sought my advice on a wedding venue almost immediately, as I am now a professional wedding participant and attender. In fact, having just gone to a wedding at Roswell's Ivy Hall, I suggested it as a location for her nuptials and after she checked it out, she booked it.

The next months included decisions about the food, the cake, a band, her hairstyle. Obviously she made all of the decisions on them, but I felt honored to have been included in the discussion, which was often just an affirmation of what she had already decided.

Even as a bridesmaid in other weddings, I had never been involved in so many of the decisions surrounding a wedding ceremony as I was with this one.

I even offered to get ordained so that I could perform their wedding ceremony, an idea that Amanda miraculously considered for a hot second, but then decided against. She said she would've laughed the whole time if it was me up there, asking them to recite their vows. But as I told Amanda, I know I'm a little ridiculous and silly sometimes, a wedding is serious business and I wouldn't have made it into a joke. So if anyone out there is in need of an officiant, I'm happy to do the work required to marry you. I'm serious. Think about it.

My involvement, or at least my firsthand knowledge of all of Amanda and Stephen's wedding plans made me wonder about all of the weddings that I've been in over the years. Several of them I knew nothing about prior to showing up in my bridesmaid's dress to walk down the aisle. For this, I'd like to apologize to all of those brides who I've let down over the years. I think I failed at my job as a bridesmaid, and I'm sorry that your co-workers, who may or may not have even been invited to the wedding, likely had to do all of the work that I should've done.

When the day finally arrived, I rode up to the wedding with Emily and we met some of our group at a nearby bar beforehand, which was completely unnecessary. I'm often accused of being anti-social when it comes to outside of work gatherings, though, so I didn't want to not participate.

When we arrived at the wedding, which was beautiful, I looked around at all of us, our big dysfunctional workplace family all dressed up, and I couldn't help but laugh.

I laughed a lot during the ceremony, in fact, which is what I do when moments get serious and laughing is inappropriate (not really making a strong case to become an officiant, but I am who I am). I'm sure those sitting around me who were able to keep their composure during a 15 minute ceremony were thinking to themselves, "Who's this jerk?"

The same question was probably asked again when two of our colleagues came in late and were forced to loudly shuffle across the wooden floor, sounding like two elephants trying to find a seat in church.

And once more when we started stuffing gummy bears from the candy bar into clear liquor drinks, and then spilling them on the floor (for the record that wasn't me, but I was guilty by association).

I imagine the questions, "Who is that?," "What are they doing?," "Why are they acting like that?" was asked by Amanda and Stephen's friends and family several times throughout the night.

Just like every other wedding I go to lately, someone, this time another colleague, tried to set me up with the only other single person at the party. Not because we have anything in common, but because we're both unattached.

As far as the actual nuptials go, this wedding was just like all of the others I've attended. All of my friends acting like jackasses, and a lot of people asking me why I'm not married. Par for the course.

I truly was honored to have been around when this romance started, to have been included in the wedding planning, and most of all, to watch Amanda and Stephen begin their lives together as a married couple.

Yea for them making a workplace romance work. Congratulations you crazy kids!

Day 100: High-Five Celebration

Day 100.

I've been doing this for 100 days? Not to sound trite, but I'm truly surprised that I've made it to 100 days. Honestly, I'm a little freaked out knowing that I'm 100 days down, just 265 to go. 265 days till the big 3-0. Let's hope time passes slowly.

The first 100 days of any President's term is always heavily scrutinized. I feel it only appropriate to scrutinize my own 100 days with as much intensity.

So let's take a look back at some of the high and low lights of my last 100 days, shall we?

We'll start with the not-so-great:

Day 5, Eating beets. I later learned that beets can be okay, but this first go round was not a positive experience. It did bond fellow blogger Julie of http://www.julieversusvegetables.wordpress.com/ for life, however. Maybe it wasn't all bad.

Day 23, I listened to entire Nickelback album. Definitely a low light for me, because that band and that album sucks. This entry was quite a hit with blog readers, however, and inspired a lot of comments. I love blog comments.

Day 31, the Haunted House was terrifying. Plus, we fell. We freaking fell.

The highs have definitely outweighed the lows. Here are some of my favorites:

Day 14, I wouldn't say my skills on the banjo were a highlight, but learning to play made for a very fun day and the video is hilarious.

Day 53, I'm not sure if I'd call the experience at Dating in the Dark a "highlight," but the hilarity that ensued is enough to sustain me for a while.

Day 90, jumping into the cold lake that my parents live on for a polar bear plunge was empowering and so far, seems to be a crowd favorite.

All these activities, plus I went to Palm Springs, Yosemite, San Francisco, Boston and New York, too. I've done a lot in 100 days. And I still have more adventures ahead.

Unfortunately, I confess, Day 100 snuck up on me. Despite my lack of planning for this milestone, however, I wanted to try and make it special.

My former boss Ben emailed me when the blog first started and asked me what I was planning on doing for Days 100, 200, 300 and the finale. I hadn't, at that time, thought that I would treat these days any differently from the rest.

But when I learned it was approaching, I emailed Ben, and asked for his help.

He suggested I get a tattoo. I don't currently have a tattoo, and I'm not opposed to them, but my mom would go from #1 fan to non-supporter of this blog in .5 seconds if I got a tattoo, so I decided against this. Plus, I told Ben, I can't think of anything I'd want to stamp on my body forever.

"What about 'Project 29 to 30'?" he said.

Um, no. The day I get the name of my blog tattooed on my body is the day it will be evident to all that I've given up.

He also suggested a meeting with a life insurance agent, something he had recently done himself. He said talking about his death so openly and honestly to a complete stranger was odd. Ben said the best part of this meeting was the exercise where you audited the monetary value of your life in order to know how much you needed to die. This sounded interesting, but also depressing. I'm not sure I want to know the value of my life according to an insurance agent.

When it was said and done, I ended up coming up with the idea for Day 100 all by myself. I decided to give 100 high-fives as the thing I've never done before.

"Fun!" my friend Lauren said enthusiastically, when I told her what I was planning to do to celebrate this momentous occasion. Then she followed up with, "But what about the swine flu?"

Whoa, way to suck the fun out of a high-five. Is this what everyone thinks about when they go up to give the universal congratulatory greeting? How depressing.

Lauren was not the only one who was conflicted about this idea. The plan was met with mixed reviews. Several people looked at me like I was nuts, but that was to be expected. A handful looked at me like they had just smelled something bad. Something about the thought of me making hand-to-hand contact with complete strangers grossed them out, I guess. I'm not a germaphobe at all, so it didn't occur to me that this project was anything less than awesome.

I didn't consider the health risks of multiple high-fives, and pardon me while I step on my fun soapbox for a moment, but I'd like to think I'm a happier person because of it. My hands may be dirty, but I'm living large and hand-sanitizer free. When I think "high-five" I don't think spreading germs, I think spreading joy. Besides, I got the swine flu shot, so I'm safe.

My colleague Devon agreed to come with me on my mission. Not willingly, I had to persuade him. I really needed a witness to be with me for the main event, and someone to count the high-fives. I also needed him to vouch for me in case anyone became suspicious of some crazy girl roaming the streets of downtown Atlanta asking people to slap her hand.

One of the greatest things about Devon is that he attacks assignments with gusto, even when he is forced to participate in them. He bought a counter (like the kind that bouncers use to count the number of people entering a bar) to make sure he counted each high-five fairly. While this may have been a little excessive, the counter has been one of the best purchases ever made for the office. We count a lot of things now, like how many times the same creepy person walks by our desks, and how many times overeager colleagues call us for stupid reasons.

We met at our office building, and then took off downtown to start high-fiving. Devon cursed me for choosing one of the coldest days of the year to complete this task. I admit, the planning could’ve been better. It was freezing.

The challenge was slow-moving at first. The initial approach for a high-five with a perfect stranger is, on all accounts, awkward. But after the first five or six were out of the way, I got into a groove. Pretty soon, I stopped feeling timid about it and just starting going for it.

Most people I approached were confused at first. Some people laughed at me and kept walking. I decided to combine the high-five with a "Happy New Year" greeting. "Happy New Year! High-five!" turned out to be way more effective than just running up to people with my hand in their face.

Because of the cold, there weren’t a lot of people out mid-morning on a Tuesday. I understood, but it was still disappointing, not to mention concerning. What if I couldn’t get 100 people before I had to go to work? Would I have to continue the high-fiving into the evening after work was over?

Of those that were out and about, many refused to take their hands out of their pockets because of the cold and intense wind whipping around. Or maybe they, like the naysayers I had told earlier, were afraid I was crazy, or had the swine flu.

There were several homeless people who seemed caught off guard that I was approaching them before they had an opportunity to approach me. Eventually I stopped slapping the homeless high-fives only because every time I did they would ask if I had any spare change. I truly had no money in my pockets to give them. I felt badly that they helped me with my goal for the day, and I couldn’t help them with theirs.

Periodically Devon would throw out challenges and offer bonuses if I completed them. When some high school basketball players in warm-up suits passed us on the street, he said he'd give me some extra points if I got the entire team. I ran up to them, weaved in and out of the pods they were walking in and slapped each one of them a high-five. And then I found out the rest of the team was still inside eating lunch. D'oh!

I went to Underground Atlanta in an effort to high-five a lot of people at once. But when I took my hand out of pocket to try and high-five a man at a kiosk selling airbrushed license plates, he cowered in the corner like I had just taken a gun out of my coat. Even when I said, "It's just a high-five," he still refused to play.

The award for best executed high-five came at the hands of a gentleman walking towards me on the street. We were walking at about the same pace, he was on my left. As we drew closer to pass one another, I said, "Happy New Year, high-five!" He raised his hand, and I raised mine and without missing a beat or breaking our stride, we connected in he air. It was flawless.

Devon offered extra points if I went into an old school barber shop and got everyone inside. I hesitated on this one. There was something about going into a person's place of business that felt a little more forward then even I wanted to go. I was intimidated, but I went in anyway, slapping five with about ten gentlemen, including those who were giving and receiving haircuts. Each one of these men deserves an award for "most shocked" by the insane person giving high-fives.

Now, I knew going in that I could've knocked out 100 high-fives on two floors of my office building, so I set a rule ahead of time that high-fiving co-workers was not an option.

Midway through the challenge, Devon took my already established rule one step further and said I couldn't even slap high-fives inside the food court atrium at the ground level of our building. That was a dirty trick, because when we took a break to escape the cold inside, the place was crawling with people, most of whom I did not know.

Inside, Mo gave me a high-five (that didn't count) and hooked us up with hot chocolate. It energized me to finish the job.

We walked across the street where a Christian kids conference was going on. This was crucial for me, as time was starting to tick. Plus, I thought, if Christians won't give out high-fives, then I might as well just quit.

Hitting a large group of people at once was key, I learned. As long as one person in a group was willing to high-five me back, chances are others would to. A couple of youth groups walking back to their church vans and I quickly closed in on my goal.

I completed my 100th high-five on the corner of Marietta Street and Centennial Olympic Boulevard on a group of guys in town for a building convention. They were headed to lunch and likely assumed that I was out on lunch break from a group home. But I didn't care.

I gave 100 high-fives on Day 100. 103 to be exact.

What's unfortunate about this task is that I don't actually have any pictures of myself high-fiving anyone. You can thank super diligent counter Devon for that. He was too busy making sure there was 100 percent accuracy on the counting, that he wouldn’t be bothered by taking pictures. I guess that's why I hired him for the job.

I have no idea when Day 200 or 300 will fall, but if you have any suggestions for what you think I should do those days, please let me know. And if a random person the street wants to give you a high-five, give her a high-five right back. Swine flu or not, she may be celebrating a blog milestone and in need your support.

Happy 100 Days!

Day 32: This is It

Following the exciting and terrifying experience at Netherworld, I needed something a little more cheery to follow. I was leaving town the following day and should have been packing, but I decided instead to make Day 32's thing I've never done before to go see the Michael Jackson documentary, This is It, on opening night.

After his death over the summer, the producers of Jackson's stage show edited together all of the rehearsal footage to create This is It. The film begins at his bizarre concert announcement in London and takes viewers to dancer auditions and and then on to rehearsals at the Staples center in Los Angeles.

The film gave me an idea of what an amazing production these last shows were going to be and how much time and detail had been put into making them that way. Jackson is an obvious perfectionist who was involved with every element of the show. The choreography, the lights, the musicians and dancers, and the awesome music that I have been a fan of since I was a child--it was all flawless.

The entire time I was watching the movie, I couldn't help but think about the dancers and musicians that were going to be a part of these last shows. What a roller coaster of emotions they've had this year. First auditioning and getting picked to perform with the King of Pop must have been the most exciting, unbelievable experience of any of their young lives. And then to lose their leader and friend in such a tragic and untimely fashion and never getting to see that dream come to fruition--it had to have been devastating.

My friend Devon, who kindly, and perhaps foolishly agreed to accompany me to this movie, got a little nervous when I told him I was going to need to sit on the end of the row so that I could get up and dance if the mood hit me.

"Oh God," he said, "Really?"

"Yes," I responded, "Really! It's Michael!"

I never got up to dance, but I watched this film on the edge of my seat with stars in my eyes like a little kid watching a cartoon. It made me want to dance. And sing. It also made me sad. Sad that this man so capable of lighting up a stage and bringing an audience to their feet was taken too soon.

The movie also got me excited for my own music adventure which kicked off on Thursday, and made me even more hopeful that Phish might choose Thriller as their Halloween costume on Saturday night.

I'm so glad that I was able to see This is It the night that it opened. But I admit I was a little disappointed with the turnout at my theatre. Devon pointed out to me that it was 11pm on a Wednesday night. I didn't care. This is Michael Jackson. This is it!

He was, is and will always be the King of Pop.