I am an athlete. Well, that’s mostly untrue, but I subscribe to the “fake it ‘till you make it” theory, so maybe one day I won’t be completely lying.

After being picked last during my entire school career, I had no choice but to develop a healthy disdain for team sports. After all, you have to be a dependent sheep of a person to participate in activities that require you to work well with others. I am far too independent and uncoordinated to have the desire to play on any kind of recreational team, but I do run. Some elitists may not consider running a sport, but for me, I’d rather be the best at exercise than deal with annoying aspects of sports, like teammates.

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Instead of coming up with a genius idea for my column, I got lost on the internet searching for answers to my most pondered questions. I never did come up with a great column idea and my time was wasted because I still don’t know if I should get a pair of booties for the fall or if they’ll make my legs look short and squat.

I decided to dust off my love of our natural world and give you some strange animal facts. I’m still paying off my student loans and I wouldn’t want those four years to be for naught. Who knows, if you read this entire article, maybe you’ll even learn something.
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By Kristen Tornoe

Rob and I have been married for almost two years, and I haven’t fulfilled my empty promise to kill him in front of witnesses, so I think our marriage is off to a successful start. I know from childhood that first comes love, then comes marriage, but I’m not sold on this whole baby carriage deal. I have nothing against babies; I’m just not 100 percent certain they’re part of my life’s trajectory.

For most people, having kids is the next logical progression in the timeline of their adulthood. It’s just what you do. The last time I did something because it’s “just what you do,” I ended up hog-tied to a man who still gets the chills when Yoda pulls Luke’s X-wing out of the swamps of Dagobah. Girls, dreams do come true.

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By Kristen Tornoe

Christmas has never been my favorite holiday, but I made a conscious decision to enjoy all the festivities this year. Being the dummy I am, I immediately thought tasting fruitcake for this column would be a terrific idea.

Well, I’ve never been a huge fan of dried fruits, but if I was going capture the Christmas spirit, I should at least try this timeless dessert. I’ve made jokes about fruitcake like most people, but I had to give this bad penny of the holiday season a fair chance of being tasty.

So, I picked one up at Harry & David and thanked my lucky stars they didn’t charge by the pound. The sweet lady who worked there defied common sense told me that people really love their fruitcake, and a customer of hers even soaks it in rum for added flavor.
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By Kristen Tornoe

This column was supposed to be about my uber secret crush on Peyton Manning. If this was published a year ago, that would be mostly true. The part about keeping it a secret was way beyond my capabilities. No, my crush has faded for Peyton, just like it did for Billy O. in the 6th grade, Mike D. in the 8th and Abe Lincoln as of 4 months ago.

Where has the love gone? It went to the same place as his hysterical commercials. My admiration started with his budding acting career for MasterCard, where he cheered on regular working people for doing their mundane jobs. I immediately thought, “Wow, this multi-millionaire actually supports normal schmoes in a humorous yet respectful way. This must be love.”

That one commercial turned into a bombardment of brilliant Peyton Manning ads. This became the most unlikely source of comedy gold to ever grace my life and my infatuation grew for Peyton with every sip of Gatorade, every mention of his 6’ 5”, 230 pound stature or his rocket laser arm.

I naively thought he would love me if he ever realized I existed and actually met me. After all, to know me is to love me. At least, that’s what I tell everyone my mom says.

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