Day 74: Strawberry Fields and Friends Forever

Thanks to the cold sake, the brown liquor mixed drinks and whatever else, Thursday started out a bit painful.

Nothing that the cold city air can't fix, though. And I was determined not to waste my time feeling sorry for myself. I was in New York! On vacation!

Like usual during all of these trips, Day 74 was a day full of things I'd never done before, include take a walk in Strawberry Fields, see the butterfly exhibit at the Natural History Museum and almost get stood up for dinner by someone I'd never met.

Strawberry Fields is a landscaped area of Central Park between 71st and 74th streets. It was named Strawberry Fields after late Beatle John Lennon, who was shot and killed in front of his apartment building at72nd and Central Park West. The area includes an Imagine mosaic and a Garden of Peace. I'm a Beatles fan, and a music fan in general, so I was glad I got to see this spot. It was lovely. And peaceful.

After grabbing some lunch at the Shake Shack, I walked to the Museum of Natural History and decided to go to the highly recommended Butterfly Conservatory. The exhibit is inside a greenhouse of sorts with more than 500 butterflies flying all around. Very cool. A butterfly landed on my hand while I was inside and stayed there for several minutes. I probably would've enjoyed it more if it wasn't so hot in there, but it was like stepping into the rainforest, and I was wearing a winter coat. Butterflies like things warm, I guess.

I walked by the famous Beacon Theatre, and decided that I must see the Allman Brothers there before I die. Maybe this year for the blog? Unfortunately the only acts that were playing there close to when I was visiting were Il Divo and the Jonas Brothers.

I milled around Columbus Avenue, grabbed a hot cider at the Magnolia Bakery (not the Magnolia Bakery, the second one), and walked up the Upper West side until it was time to meet a friend for dinner.

The friend was Gideon, and he and I met in 2008. We were employees of companies who worked closely together, so Gideon and I spoke daily about work. Just like any co-worker, we got to know each other on a personal level as well. I don't talk to some of my best friends everyday, but I spoke to Gideon at least once, often two or three times everyday for an entire year.

He knew about my family, my friends, when I was happy, when I was sad, and I knew about his. He became, over time, like my long-distance work husband. He talked me through breakups and when his mother died, I ached for him and his family as if I'd known her, and him, my whole life.

But I'd never even laid eyes on him. Not in person, anyway.

So of all the people that I wanted to see when I was in New York, Gideon was definitely one of the names at the top of the list. We exchanged emails ahead of my visit and we arranged to meet at a restaurant in Harlem near where he lived. I showed up there at 7:30pm, told the hostess I was meeting someone, possibly two people, took a seat, and waited.

At 7:45pm, he still hadn't showed up yet. I'm habitually late (not something I'm proud of), so I didn't think anything of it. I emailed a mutual friend of ours back in Atlanta.

"At what time," I wrote, "do I give up on Gideon and conclude that he's not coming."

"Gideon's a no show?" Devon responded. "That doesn't sound him."

I emailed Mountain Man, "I think Day 74's thing I've never done before might be 'get stood up.'"

The wait staff was starting to feel badly for me. They kept coming to my table and asking me if they could bring me anything. Finally I ordered a beer, still keeping the faith that he would arrive. I wondered if they thought I was on a first date or something. I guess I kind of was, only Gideon is engaged and getting married this summer. Plus our relationship was never like that. We were friends, like brother and sister.

8pm rolled around and I tracked down Gideon's number and left him a message. Then I texted him. I refused to believe that he wouldn't show up. It just wasn't like the Gideon that I knew. I've been wrong about people before, but this one had me stumped.

Finally, at 8:15pm, I started to get worried that maybe something happened to him. But I decided I had occupied this table long enough. I paid my check and left.

Walking back to the subway, I was really bummed. Aside from not wanting to get stood up, I really wanted to meet my friend Gideon. While I was waiting for the train, I checked my blackberry and to my surprise, he had emailed me.

"Did you stand me up?" was all it said.

I thought he was jacking with me.

"What?! I was just there? Are you there?"

He told me to come back, and I did. Turns out he had been sitting at the bar for 45 minutes on the first floor, while I was sitting at a table on the second floor. I'm not quite sure how the hostess didn't make that connection considering we both told her we were meeting another person, but at that point, it didn't really matter.

It was Gideon! In person! We had a really good time catching up and esentially picked up right where we left off the last time we talked. Gideon's a teacher now, getting married this summer, so a lot has changed since we met. But he's still the dear friend that I met on the phone two years ago. Still giving me advice, still making me laugh.

After Gideon and I separated, I picked up Elise at work and we headed to one of her favorite spots, 10 Degrees. 10 Degrees is a mellow little wine bar in the East Village. Elise, like Gideon, is a friend that I met at work. She and I actually started our careers in the same entry-level way and have supported each other through several moves in our company. Though I was sad when she left Atlanta for New York, the move has been great for her. She loves the city and is, no surprise, kicking ass at her job.

Another successful New York night down. I love this city!

Day 73: Empire State of Mind

Missing old friends, with plenty of vacation to burn, I decided to make Day 73's thing I've never done before to travel to New York during Christmas time.

The nature of my job is that I work with lots of people over the phone and through email, so coming to New York and seeing my former Atlanta colleague and friend Elise, meant that I was also getting to meet and see some of my own New York colleagues as well.

Most of the time, these meetings are awesome.

Sometimes, though, it's awkward. Like when someone smiles and shakes your hand as you tell them your name and you watch as the name recognition falls on their face. Their smile fades as they say, "Stephanie? Oh right...I recognize your name from all of your emails."

This is not a compliment and I never know quite how to respond. Usually I say something like, "Yep. That's me. The one behind all of the emails. I swear I'm a nice person."

I did get to meet a lot of very nice people that I've been working with over the phone (and through email) and it was a treat. I was also reunited with those who I hadn't seen in months.

But the trip wasn't about work. It was a chance to get away from work. I'd been to New York several times as a tourist and for a job interview, so this was my opportunity to see the city, holiday style.

I was not disappointed. There's just something about a big city that gets to me. And not just New York. Boston...San Francisco...Chicago. Give me reliable public transportation and decent weather to walk in and I'll fall in love with any city.

New York is the premier big city, and enjoying it during the holidays was super fun. The cold air, the window displays, the super stressed shoppers and cheesy holiday tourists. Awesome!

My plan for night one was to meet my friend Julian for a few drinks while I waited for Elise to get off work.

A few drinks with Julian turned into dinner at Momofuku, followed by more drinks in the East Village.

Momofuku was such a stereotypical New York City restaurant to me. Loud, dark, and busy (even on a Wednesday). Fortunately we didn’t wait too long. They seated us across from each other at a long high top table crowded with other couples. We sat on bar stools and began our feast that included oysters, steamed pork buns, and duck (I think. It was dark in there.).

I drank cold sake, too, which was a first. I always thought sake was served warm.

After dinner, Julian walked us to what I assumed was a hot dog restaurant. “Crif Dogs” was on the awning outside. I was terribly confused, as I had just eaten a pretty awesome (and expensive) dinner. The last thing I wanted was a hot dog.

I started to question things when Julian shot me a look like, "Trust me, I'm from here."

I couldn't argue with that, plus I just drank a half a bottle of sake, so I had no choice but to trust him. When we got inside, Julian poked his head into a phone booth inside the restaurant and told a woman we were a party of two. She said the wait was an hour.

Come again?

“Where the hell are we,” I thought to myself. I've certainly waited for tables at restaurants and I've waited in lines outside bars, but I've never put my name on a list to be given a wait time from a hostess at a cocktail bar.

But this, I soon learned, was no ordinary cocktail bar. This was PDT (Please Don’t Tell). An aptly named fancy speakeasy hiding inside a hot dog restaurant. So secretive. So exclusive. So annoying that we had to wait an hour to get in.

Though the wait was off-putting, I actually enjoyed the fact that this place keeps the number of people inside to a minimum to create a certain mellow atmosphere for its patrons. Perhaps the name meant, “Please don’t tell the tourists, we want to keep this a secret.” That’s what it felt like.

It also could’ve meant, "Please don’t tell anyone that we only serve mixed drinks with dark liquor." Yikes.

It certainly meant, “Please don’t talk,” at least not loudly. I think the bartender shushed me at least four times.

It definitely also meant, "Please don't take pictures. We don't want you to have any recollection of this night."

Looking back on it, PDT could’ve been named that for other reasons.

Please don’t tell the friendly gay couple sitting next to us that Julian and I are not a couple like they thought. I think they’d be really disappointed.

Please don’t tell my parents that there are parts of this night that are a little fuzzy.

Please don’t tell anyone that even though I had just eaten, I secretly wanted a hot dog.

By the time Elise met up with us, we had been going strong since happy hour. She probably wished PDT meant, "Please don’t tell me to come meet you if you’re acting this ridiculous." Not a fun scene to walk into when you've been at work all night, and I apologized profusely to her the next day.

I'm not sure the lights of New York were inspiring me that night like they do Alicia Keyes, but my trip to New York was off to a great start.

Day 71-72: Gingerbread Drop Off

After visiting the Christmas Tree farm, I was feeling the Christmas spirit. I decided to channel that jolly attitude into a holiday baking challenge. I didn't know it then, but this day ended up kicking off an entire month of me making holiday foods that I'd never made before.

Day 71's thing I've never done before was to make gingerbread. Day 72's thing I've never done before was to deliver it to my neighborhood fire station.

I'm combining these blog entries, because really what is there to say about gingerbread?

Like usual with food challenges, I did have to go to the store to pick up the ingredients. I needed eggs and this would be my first experience with molasses. Oh, and ginger, of course. Makes sense and seems obvious, right? Only I got home from the store and realized that that I forgot it. Genius, I know. I'm all for substituting and making do with what I have in my cabinets, but since "ginger" was actually in the name of the recipe, I figured I needed to go back to buy it.

So I did.

Baking the gingerbread was pretty uneventful after the whole ginger episode. I'm pretty grossed out by molasses, but I understand where the idiom, "slow as molasses in January" comes from now. According to the Internet searches I did, molasses is just a form of sugar. Maybe so, but sugar doesn't scare me like molasses does. It's weird.

When I finally executed the recipe, I was a little disappointed in the results. The bread was okay, but the best part was the cream cheese frosting the recipe called for. Not so disappointed that I didn't follow through on my plan to drop the gingerbread off at my local fire station the next day, however.

I shared my plan with a friend and he said, "That's weird. I'm embarrassed for you."

Besides food envy, my second biggest fear in life is someone being embarrassed for me. I embarrass myself daily, so I'd rather not have someone else suffer those emotion on my behalf. I hated that this guy thought this idea was this bad. He clarified that he felt like it was something an older person would do. Like an 80-year old grandma, maybe?

I did not come up with the fire station drop off on my own. I read it in a holiday book that suggested dropping off bread or cookies at the local police and fire departments as a nice way to thank the volunteers for the work that they do for us.

Another friend teased, "Is this just your way of trying to meet firefighters?" And my answer to that is a resounding, "NO."

I had no makeup on and was wearing workout clothes, I was not in search of dates, I was truly on a mission to deliver baked goods. That's it. Plus, if you must know, I'm not really into firemen.

Turns out, dropping off baked goods was not at easy as I thought it would be.

I walked over to the fire station and expected the garage doors to be open like they are every time I drive by there. But the whole place looked like a ghost town. I wondered if they'd been called to a fire.

I tried to go through the side door, but it was locked, so I rang the bell and waited.

And waited some more.

I considered just leaving them outside the door, but it had started to rain and I thought this disappointing gingerbread would be disgusting if it also turned soggy. And then a fireman opened the door.

And suddenly I got nervous. What is it with me and doing nice things for other people and acting so weirdly about it?

I said something completely lame like, "Uh...I'm Stephanie and I live in the neighborhood and I just wanted to say thanks for all you do...and uh...drop this off."

And then I shoved the gingerbread into his hands like a moron.

He smiled at me and politely said, "I think you guys are trying to kill us. But thank you!"

Apparently there had been other goodies dropped off there by other friendly neighbors. Soon our volunteer firefighters are going to be fatty firemen.

"Well," I stammered, "Merry Christmas!"

And then I turned around and walked to my car. And that was it. And I again made the decision that I had to start doing nice things for people more often so that I would stop acting like such a freak about it.

Day 70: A Charlie Brown Christmas Tree Farm

My cousin David has been a supporter of the blog since he found out about it and he suggested a long time ago that when Christmastime rolled around, I should go to a Christmas tree farm and cut down my own tree.

I wasn't sure if metro Atlanta had such farms, but I liked the idea and it's holiday potential, so I filed it away and vowed to make it happen.

David wrote in his Christmas card to me that he was considering his own Project 39 to 40 for his own big birthday this year, and I haven't told him yet, but I'm completely supportive. David has young kids, so the possibilities are endless. Write emails in Haiku for an entire day (I'm considering this one myself)? Drive the girls' carpool blaring gansta rap? Organize a neighborhood talent show and make yourself a part of the act?

David, if you're reading, I totally think you should give your own project a go. Call me and we can discuss more ideas, but please make "embarass your kids," something that you do at least weekly.

I digress. In honor of the holiday season and David's suggestion, Day 70's thing I'd never done before was to go to a Christmas Tree farm.

Like pumpkin patches, Christmas Tree farms do exist near the city, but it's a little bit of a haul to get to one. I did some research from the comfort of my own bed on Sunday morning. There were many to choose from, but for a variety of reasons, including they were open on Sundays, I chose Thompson's Tree Farm.

I hadn't told Lisa, fearful that if I did she wouldn't come with me, but I went out to this farm not entirely sure I was going to cut down and purchase a tree. I live alone, and just wasn't sure I wanted to deal with the hassle and the expense of a tree if only I was going to see it.

I realize that totally sounds single-girl depressing. I truly don't mean to sound that way, I definitely didn't feel that way. My reasons for not wanting to buy a Christmas tree are really the same reasons why I don't have a pet. I travel a lot, I stay out late, there are many weeks when my house is just where I sleep and shower. I wasn't a Scrooge, I was just trying to be realistic.

After a few wrong turns, we headed down a street a neighborhood. I was convinced I was still going the wrong way, but then I saw the sign for Thompson's Tree Farm. I pulled into the driveway of a lovely white house where a teenager wearing an orange safety vest instructed me to park on the grass to the left.

I assumed that the Christmas Tree farm would be a lot like the pumpkin patch I visited in October. But this farm was definitely smaller and I could tell right away that there weren't nearly as many people there.

We walked towards a building next to the driveway looking confused (because we were). One of the farm employees recognized we were not familiar with the operation and he explained that we could take a saw with us out to the farm and cut down our own tree, or they would do it for us. Lisa and I told him we wanted to take a look first and that we'd come back when we found the one we wanted.

Before we headed out to the farm, Lisa asked where the restroom was and the guy responded, "just head into the garage..." It was then that it occured to me that this is where the Thompson's live! We were literally standing in their driveway. I realize Christmas trees are the Thompson family's livelihood, but I couldn't help but feel sorry for any family member that might've just wanted to "hang out." So much for lounging around the house in pajama pants and a sweatshirt dozing in and out of Sunday afternoon football. The driveway and house were crawling with people. No lazy Sundays in this household. It was time to sell some trees!

This garage had card tables set up inside with a variety of crafts for sale. In the back, there was complimentary cider and hot chocolate. I fought the urge to go straight for the refreshments. We instead made our way towards the trees that were in perfectly symmetrical rows lined up behind the pool in the backyard of the house.

As we're walking, Lisa suddenly exclaimed excitedly, "Look! They have goats!"

She took off to the left towards a fenced in area of the yard where there were about dozen goats milling about.

"Goats really like me," Lisa said matter of factly.

Lisa grew up in Atlanta, so I considered this briefly. I wondered how many goats she had encountered in her young life to make such a statement. She went on to explain how she had made such a connection with goats, but I checked out of the conversation, thinking of my own encounter with a goat.

When I was little, a goat got loose on my family's farm in Ohio and he chased my cousin Susan and me onto the top of my dad's car. I'm sure the goat was just trotting around doing no harm, but I was so young and the goat was so much bigger than me, I was scared out of my mind. I've hated goats since that day. But I love goat cheese.

The goats were not giving Lisa the attention she sought, so we moved on. I had already decided at that point that I was not going to get a tree, but I enjoyed watching the other families pick theirs out and sawing them down. I also saw a few trees that were tagged, and presumably already sold. Some of them were over $100! I had no idea Christmas trees were so expensive. I made the right decision to not get one.

I did feel badly that we had just cruised the farm without contributing back to it, so I decided to take a look at the crafts in the garage and possibly purchase one of those. The only thing I found in the craft garage worth taking, however, was the complimentary cider.

We snapped a picture in a sled and started making our way back to the car when Lisa stopped suddenly. I watched her take a couple of dollars out of her purse and stuff it into a can next to the garage where the farm was taking donations.

"Just a little something for the goats," she said.

Ahh, of course.

Our friend Kyle called as we were making our way back.

"What are you doing?" she asked me.

"Oh Lisa and I are just returning from a Christmas tree farm," I responded, laughing.

"Why did you go there?" she asked, "Why didn't you go get a facial or something? That's something you haven't done before, right?"

"Uh..uh...," I was searching. I could not think of one, other than “It’s for the blog.” And that reason is tired.

Christmas Tree Farms, like pumpkin patches, are probably better suited for families, or at least those actually intending to get a Christmas tree.

I went to the Thompson Christmas Tree Farm and all I got was a picture in a sled and a free cup of cider.

Day 69: Big Boys Do Cry

Day 69 was the day of the SEC Championship, which I watched at a bar with a large group of my friends.

Possibility for fun, embarrassment, and something I've never done before: extremely high.

Only as the game went on, nothing was really presenting itself. And soon it became clear that Florida was not going to win this game.

I hate to do it for all my Florida fans, but I have to say Day 69's thing I'd never done before was see a grown man cry over a football game. That grown man was Tim Tebow.

The second I saw it, I had to look away. I hate seeing men cry and I hated everyone at the bar loving that Tebow was crying. I am a Georgia Bulldog all the way, so I'm supposed to hate Florida, which I do. But I don't care what team you pull for, you cannot deny that Tebow is a stand up, classy guy. And he's so damn good. I've tried to find reasons to hate him, but I haven't found any.

Seeing him cry did not sit well with me.

"Well, if you feel that badly about it, maybe you should make out with a Florida fan and cheer them up," one of my friends said to me.

Get serious. I felt badly, but not that badly.

Among our conversations that night was the Tebow effect. Someone told me that the Bible verse he wears in the paint under his eyes is often the number one item searched on Google the Sunday after he plays. So in addition to seeing him cry, I also joined thousands of other football fans and looked up the Bible verse Tebow wore that day.

John 16:33 says, I have told you all this so that you may have peace in me. Here on earth you will have many trials and sorrows. But take heart because I have overcome the world.

I'm certainly in no position to teach any Sunday school lesson, but I like the idea that someone is bringing peace into this very unpredictable, chaotic world.

Day 68: Silent in the Morning

I've used a lot of excuses to get out of exercising (inclement weather, no clean sports bras, Keeping up with the Kardashians is on), but an uncharged or malfunctioning iPod is probably my most favorite and overused excuse.

My iPod has four running playlists all carefully and purposefully designed to get me out the door and keep me running when I really don't feel like it. The songs pump me up, inspire me to run faster and longer, and just make the whole experience more enjoyable.

Without my iPod, without my friends (Michael Jackson, Jay-Z, Flo Rida) there to cheer me on with their melodies and lyrics, I'd prefer not to even go. If there's no music, it's as if God is saying, "better take it easy, today, Steph."

Well, Friday I decided to attempt my 5.5 mile run without the help of my friends, because Day 68's thing I've never done before was to run without music.

I took off down the street feeling naked without my headphones. But the first couple of miles were fine. I was enjoying the sunny, brisk weather and paying attention to things that are usually drowned out by the music. Birds chirping, dogs barking, my feet crunching the fall leaves and the pavement.

Once I reached the midway point, though, I stopped hearing the sounds of nature and started to hear another soundtrack. My mind is in constant overdrive, and without music to pay attention to, the only sounds I could hear were my thoughts, all of them, playing over and over in my head.

I thought about everything. Evvvvvverything. The ideas ranged from completely bizarre, like fantasizing about quitting my job to sail around the world, to downright crazy, analyzing conversations I'd had with people a week before. I made mental lists of bills I needed to pay, friends I want to catch up with, ideas for the blog. I admit it was nice to have my wheels turning when I was up and moving around and not when I was lying in bed ready to go to sleep. But I decided that if I plan on making this experiment a regular thing, I was going to need to bring a piece of paper and a pen.

The parts of the run that I find particularly difficult were made extra difficult without music because I could hear my labored breath and feel every muscle in my body. Plus, I didn't have my girl Rihanna telling me to "Please Don't Stop the Music." I was all on my own.

I made it home and was surprised to find that the run took more or less the same amount of time it does when I run with music. It definitely felt like it was longer.

I was pretty proud of myself, so I shared what I had done with some of my runner friends. They weren't not impressed. Apparently a lot of people run without music.

I'm not sure I'm going to make running with only my thoughts as a soundtrack a regular thing, but successful completion of this experiment means I have lost another excuse to not exercise.

Damn!

GUEST BLOGGER

For Day 103, I became a guest blogger for my former colleague, Gary Bender. Stop judging that I'm that far behind in writing.

I feel the need to share it now, since it's timely.

Check it out: http://www.csnwashington.com/pages/gary_blog

Day 67: MERRY CHRISTMAS FROM ATLANTA!!!!!

One of my favorite things about the holidays is receiving Christmas cards from my families and friends.

I love getting pictures of their kids and seeing how much everyone has changed over the last year. I'm especially a fan of the Christmas letter that recounts all the happenings of the year. We went to Europe, Sally graduated from nursing school, we and our kids are far more successful than you and yours. HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!!!!!!!!!!

I love my life and I do cool stuff, but I'm not sure a list of the concerts I'd been to, the trips I've taken and the weddings I was in were necessarily Christmas card worthy. Plus, I have a blog. If those people want to read about my happenings, they can just log on here and check it out.

I opted for simply a card with a photograph. Of myself. Solo.

Day 67's thing I've never done before was design, and send, my own Christmas card.

Finding the perfect picture was a challenge. Finding a picture of me by myself that didn't look completely crazy wasn't easy. I even dragged Mo across the street from our office to snap a picture with the lights at Centennial Olympic Park. But this picture by the trash can was the best one we took and I really didn't want my Christmas card picture to be taken next to a trash receptacle.

As much as I wanted this little project to be a surprise to everyone that would receive it, I had to consult Elizabeth for help.

Here were some of the options:

Christmas makes me want to jump up and down. Hope your holidays defy gravity!

This picture was taken in Palm Springs after I sunk a putt at PGA West golf course. I love this picture because I was so happy that day and when I look at it, I feel joyful. But as Elizabeth pointed out, all of the blog readers have seen it before.

I could do better.

Hope you're new year is full of open bars and cover bands. No more lazy eyes in 2010!

This was the one Elizabeth voted for.

This picture was taken at a wedding after-party and for a Christmas card, I just felt like it was a little much. Like I was trying to hard to prove that I have fun. And I dress up. Plus, it was very late when this picture was taken. Very late.

Not the one.

Is that the holidays I hear? Or is that just freedom ringing? Merry Christmas!

This was almost the one.

That's the Liberty Bell in Philadelphia. I found it to be completely underwhelming.

I needed a picture that would highlight the adventures of the year, show my fun side, and one where I didn't look completely hideous. I wondered if this is the process families also use in choosing their Christmas card photograph. Adventure, check! Fun, check! Not hideous, check!

And, drumroll please..

Here is the finished product!

Hope your holiday received two big thumbs up! And all the best in 2010. Love, Stephanie

Day 66: Book Club Delinquency

Day 66's thing that I've never done before was to go to book club without reading or knowing the title of the book.

I know. Lamest. Blog Entry. Ever.

For most people, book clubs are meant to be for fun; reading, or not reading, is completely optional.

Not this book club. My friend Shelley started it and she is no joke. After our first meeting, she paid attention to who read and who didn't, and when it came time for the second meeting, those who didn't bother reading did not get invited back. My weekday social interactions are lame as it is. Getting uninvited to book club just might send me over the edge.

Luckily I also arrived late to the gathering, and all of the book discussion had changed to conversations about Christmas and cleaning ladies. I remain safe for another month.

When it's my turn to suggest reading material for the club, I think I may suggest, "Project 29 to 30" and see what everyone says.

Day 65: Civic Duty

On Day 65, the thing I had never done before was vote in Atlanta's special election for Mayor.

Definitely not the first time I've ever voted, but the first time I came back to vote after Election day.

Not very exciting, but I did my civic duty and let my voice be heard.

I think I was in denial for a while that I was actually a city of Atlanta, but this is where I work, where I play and where I pay taxes. It made sense that I should take a stand about who represents me as mayor. It's on the local level, I believe, that decisions made really have the potential to affect me.

The mayoral race between Mary Norwood and Kasim Reed was hotly contested. After the runoff, less than a thousand votes separated the two candidates, forcing a recount. Kasim Reed was eventually declared the winner.

I never feel more proud to be an American than when exercising my right to vote. I wish more than just 22% of registered Atlanta voters had joined me.