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 Props to Michael for this rad link.

Last Wednesday afternoon I graduated. Again. 

I actually finished all of my coursework in December, but because New York University does not hold a winter convocation ceremony, I had to wait five long months to don the purple gown and black cap, complete with a hood to signify that I was the proud recipient of a Master's degree. I received my Master of Arts in Journalism from the Graduate School of Arts and Sciences at NYU. On the Eve of graduation, the Empire State Building was lit up in purple to commemorate the  2008 NYU Grads.

NYU traditionally holds the University-wide graduation ceremony in Washington Square Park, however, this year, because of construction, had to find another venue for the ceremony to take place. Much to my obvious excitement, the New York Yankees were gracious enough to allow us to use their famous stadium for the event. For anyone that knows me, this was a dream come true.

It was a great day for a ballgame - or a graduation. Students and parents packed the bottom sections of the legendary ballpark for the first - and last - graduation ceremony ever to take place in the House that Ruth Built. I moved to New York City from Texas almost two years ago to pursue my Master's degree, but I never thought that the culmination of that endeavor would take place at Yankee Stadium. What could make this better? A hot dog.

That's right. They were selling hot dogs! $5.25 later I was a happy girl. If only they had also been selling beer, I could probably have died a happy girl. But wait, it gets better! "If someone started the wave this would be perfect," I whispered to my friend Aimee. Not even 5 minutes later a group of undergrads instigated doing just that. Could it get any better!?

Oh yes, it could. This sounds completely crazy, but after the luck I'd had with the Hot Dog and The Wave, I was feeling pretty unstoppable. "Now we just need a streaker!" I said after enthusiastically participating in the wave.  Lo and behold...

Photo Copyright Handschuh/News

What a perfect day. I left Yankee Stadium with a huge smile on my face, boarded the 4 train downtown and headed back to work, feeling more like a Baller than ever.

For those of you that missed all the fun on Friday, please enjoy this IHeartMusic blog post which includes a conversation between me and my mom discussing the word "baller."

My mom was a bit embarrassed at having our conversation published for the world to see, but she got over it really quickly when I surprised her over the weekend by showing up unannounced in Houston for Mother's Day.

It was a great, albeit whirlwind weekend, and even after her initial chagrin at my incessant use of the word "baller" - which I use in the Urban Dictionary form of the word, although to my mother, it means something else entirely - she admitted that I am, indeed, a baller.

Here's a shot of the fam at my favorite Mexican restaurant Saturday night:

Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like you to meet my rad podmate, Michael Reichard. Ladies, he's single. Get in line.

So the great thing about Michael Reichard, or Mike Reich, as I prefer to affectionately refer to him (pronounced Mike Rike), is that he really cares. About himself. Okay, let me explain. Last week, unfortunately, Tzirel and I both were coughing profusely. Considering the lightning speed at which germs seem to spread in this office (case in point... the perpetual mononucleosis and subsequent sickness endured by our very own Kristen Sardis) - Mike Reich decided he wasn't having it. So he attempted to use his sweatshirt as a mask in order to prevent said germs from infiltrating his seemingly invincible immune system. Here's what transpired:

Now, for everyone who fondly calls the third floor "home," you might just think that he is attempting to keep himself warm in the teeth-chattering, bone-chilling, eyelash-freezing (okay that's an exaggeration) but certainly goose-bump causing temperature that is the third floor. I mean Rosanna has a freaking (Berkley knows that I am restraining for ZZone) HEATER! Not so. He's trying to keep our germs away.

My cough is gone.

Twenty six years ago today, at 5:48 p.m. CST, in a hospital in Houston, Texas, I made by debut appearance in this world. Initially I was depressed that I now have to consider myself in my "mid to late twenties," but then I decided that 26 is the new hot. So I'm embracing that.

My roommates threw me a little birthday soiree on Saturday night, complete with an ice cream cake and an enthusiastic rendition of the "Happy Birthday" song. Here's what you missed:

It was a great night with fun friends - one of which even came all the way from Houston for the weekend!