This can only mean one thing...

'Nanners + cupcakes = 'nannercakes.

It's basic math, people. This coming from someone who chose their major because the only math class I had to pass had "elementary" in the name. Which reminds me of the kooky teacher - a cat-lady type, with cardigans and Coke bottle glasses. She had a crush on every athlete in that class. How do I know? The athletes had recurring cameos in every word problem I ever solved. (Kyle can attest. He guest-starred quite often). Couldn't tell you the difference between an algorithm and a binomial - but on-base percentages? Piece o' cake.

From here on out, I'll keep it simple...

'Nannercakes + a slathering of coconut cream cheese frosting + a sprinkling of toasted coconut = homerun.

(Cake recipe adapted from here, Framed Cooks).

(Hipstamatic happiness).

Ideal conditions for curling up with the book I've been trying to finish. Committed by Elizabeth Gilbert. (The same Elizabeth Gilbert that wrote the book that turned into the movie that you probably saw last summer with anyone but a guy). Mine was a gift, but I highly recommend buying yourself a copy. (Or downloading it on your iPad, for all you non-traditionalists who've turned your backs on ink & paper).

It's crammed with some serious perspective... the most intriguing of which probes the elusive concept of relationships and careers and balancing the two. Part personal narrative, part socio-historic commentary, The New York Times sums it up best (of course) - "Gilbert is equally likely to quote Plato or her friend Ann, and equally keen to discuss how attitudes toward marriage changed from the Old to the New Testament, how important — according to evolutionary biologists — the vasopressin receptor gene is in determining male fidelity, and how her own parents have managed to stay together for more than 40 years."

I kid you not when I say I've read every chapter highlighter-in-hand, textbook style.

Put a jar of Nutella in my pantry and what do you expect? Nutella Chocolate Chip Cookies. Duh. Delicious hazelnut dappling guaranteed. (Get the recipe here).

It's highly irrelevant now that none one of these top-seeded teams are playing for the National Championship... but I'm partial to these silly little videos because I made 'em. If you like college hoops (or the many faces of Matt Painter), they might fire you up regardless. Unless you're a Boilermaker, Panther or Buckeye. Then they're probably just a cruel reminder of the heartache March Madness can inflict. Got the popcorn ready?

Six months to the day, I scanned my freshly minted ID badge and burst through the door as a brand spanking new PA I at the Worldwide Leader in (College) Sports. These are my confessions...

Working in TV is not glamorous.

I met Erin Andrews a couple summers ago at the College World Series and remember being particularly offended when I, as an aspiring young sports journalist, asked for career advice... and got a flippant reply in return. "Ha, you can have my job. I'm telling you now, it's not as fun as it looks." I was stumped. Dumbfounded. How could the rising star at the center of the college sports scene (with unfettered access to any and every sporting event/player/coach & network exec) think she doesn't have the absolute best job in the world? If ever I run into Ms. Andrews again, I'll be happy to admit.... now I completely understand. (And that's without having one iota of a fraction of her travel schedule or pressure or responsibility).

If you're getting a job in TV, there are a few things you ought to know. 1) Long, obscure hours are the norm. (Once upon a time, I flinched at the thought of working more than 40 hours a week. Now, that's nothing short of a miraculous treat. A blissful cake walk). 2) Kiss your weekends & most nationally-recognized holidays goodbye. And if you ever feel like whining about any or all of the above... Guess what? Nobody will care. Not because they're awful, cold-hearted people, but because they've all been in your shoes, paid their dues & frankly don't give a shiz. (I speak from the heart here). Onward we go. 3) Learn to love coffee... or adopt a comparable vice. (Not condoning cigarettes, kids. But I'm not one to judge. I consume 90 ounces of caffeine on the reg). 4) Know that you will make a mistake... you will get yelled at by a producer... you will lose a substantial chunk of the project you've been slaving over for days due to technology failure... but you will live. (It's live TV, for Dayne Crist's sake. Right, Brent?) 5) At the end of the day - no matter how hectic, how tiring, how demanding - getting paid to be up to your eyeballs in sports is kind of awesome. (As is watching your boss' boss rap "The Humpty Dance" at the open-bar company karaoke party).

I thought I wanted to be in front of the camera, but have sort of accidentally fallen in love with being behind it. It's like when you're about to graduate from high school and people ask you where you're going to college and what you plan on majoring in. And you give them the snazzy ol' pre-meditated answer they want to hear. But inside you have merely an inkling of a vague idea of where you're headed. And you desperately hope to figure it all out before four years is up and the real world smacks you square between the eyes. Well, I've finagled my way through that stage - remember the law school kick? that was fun for two weeks - and come out just fine. (I think). So I refuse to let my Type-A tendencies take over when upper management asks where I want to be in five years. Instead of chewing my fingernails to shreds because I don't have the exact answer, I've chosen to snuggle up to the idea that success is where opportunity meets preparation. (And yes, I'm pretty sure that came from one of the "inspirational" emails my mom occasionally forwards along with videos of cute puppies chasing balloons).

Having a blog is kind of fun when I can click back through the things I've written since I've been in Charlotte. Way back then, my mom told me to quit posting stories about me crying and being homesick because they made her sad. But those stories have become my measuring stick. And I won't bore you with an elaborate personal report card, but suffice it to say, I've come a long way in six months.

Cinnamon sugar pull-apart bread. Also known as, my attempt to show yeast who's boss.

(Get the recipe here).

Yes, this happened.

I'd like to thank Terrace Cafe, Amelie's French Bakery, SAS Cupcakes & Mama Mill, who not only blessed me with a sweet tooth to match her own (go genetics!) but also joined me every bite of the saccharine journey.

"Um, I'm not very good at reading maps."

"Are you serious?"

"Dead serious."

"Because I'm not either."

"I hope this doesn't end with one of us in tears."

(Any time we set out on a "just-the-two-of-us adventure," I have flashbacks (comical, now) to a certain New York City trip made the summer after I graduated high school... when after a particularly feisty disagreement on whether or not to wake up at the crack of dawn and stand outside in the pouring rain to be a part of the Good Morning America audience, I ended up screaming at my mother across Broadway, stomping down the opposite side of street, and bawling all 10 blocks back to the hotel).

We'd made the decision to take the "strenuous" trail to the top of Crowder's Mountain. After eating amounts of sugar and butter that'd make even Paula Deen blush the day prior, we thought it best. You know, torch those calories right off our glutes.

Strenuous, we found out, fully embraced steady inclines and the scaling of boulders. And I'm here to tell you, 4 miles on a mountain is not 4 miles on a treadmill. What started with a superior sense of confidence - as in, I'm 'bout to make this mountain my bitch - ended with jelly legs and minor heart palpitations.

BUT, the view at the top... worth every step. And thanks to making the acquaintance of a chatty elderly gentleman at said top, I now know that Asheville, NC is the place to go if ever in need of witch supplies.

"Because not many people realize it, but Asheville is full of witches."

(Cue puzzled looks)

"Oh yes, full of 'em."

(I'd heard it's a free-spirited town. Lots of hippies. But witches?)

"It's very easy to mistake witches for hippies, you know."

(Naturally).

(The teensiest, most peaceful chunk of my day).

THE (march) MADNESS IS HERE.

Cheers to bracket busters, buzzer beaters & 70-hour work weeks.