Lana Maryé Morelli

  I have been blogging since 2009.   Almost 7 years of dating sagas, war stories and soap operas.   It has certainly given me some great inspiration and content.   Even the terrible dates I went on gave me insight and afflatus to write.   However, with time, comes change…   And I am ecstatic to report (for my own sake) that you will no longer reading any posts about dating –Well, not about MY dating experiences anyway.   I still have quite a few friends who are sharing their stories and willing to act as my muse.   But the dating content will no longer be in first person.   What I’m trying to say is I have said “YES” to my handsome fiancé. So, since all of my readers have ridden the roller coaster of 20something dating with me, I wanted to share a personal piece that will explain why I am “off the market.”   So here it is, a letter to my fiancé… Dear Eric, Thank you for asking me to marry you.   It has been my favorite question thus far on our journey.   I sai

Bereavement Notice: Mourning the loss of the Lana’s beloved 20something years (June 19, 2005-June 19, 2015).   It’s was a wild 10 years. College and graduate school were completed.   Took some left turns, but found a career she loves. Found a wonderful man.   Maintained friendships with friends, siblings and even became friends with parents.   Traveled the world but never overcame the fear to fly.   Had a lot of fun, on some occasions one too many cocktails and every summer spent plenty of nights in Gull Point and Dewey Beach.   The 20something years were a blast, but they are now peacefully laid to rest.   No time to repeat, only happily moving forward.   The 20something years are survived by all the great memories, photos and social media documentation, as well as the 30something years and the infinite future.   Donations and gifts of good will and positive energy are asked to be sent to the party welcoming the official birth of the 30something years.   RIP 20’s :) As

I was in 1 st grade when I remember losing my first grandparent. My “Grandma Leik,” my mother’s mom. A tiny lady, no taller than 5 foot (with shoes on) who had a thick Brooklyn Accent, ate yogurt, read the newspaper, loved lady bugs and always took my side. “She doesn’t have to finish her dinner, she has a tiny stomach like me, leave her be..but there is enough room for dessert.”   She was the only person who my mother retreated from. She was small, soft, but incredibly strong. She passed away from end-stage renal failure and I do remember she also has stroke. A "TIA" they called it. She said not to worry, it was just for a moment. “My tongue got twisted around my eye and I couldn’t see what I was saying.” She had the ability to make everything seem light and approachable. Even the scary parts of life. Her husband, my grandfather, passed away when I was an infant. I don’t remember him. So when it was just her in the house, she moved from New York to Pennsylva

And by Walt, I mean Walt Disney.   That’s right, the one and only.   The creator of “Happily Ever After,” “Mickey Mouse Clubhouse” and the same guy rumored to be frozen in a capsule somewhere.   I blame him, not entirely, but to a certain extent for the unrealistic expectations of what “love” is supposed to be.  Last week I was asked to sit on a panel in Philadelphia called the “ Great Love Debate ” where myself and some very talented and experienced dating gurus try to answer the question “Why is everyone still single?”   As I ponder this question, in anticipation of our debate, I couldn’t help but think about a former theory of mine, which I coined; “The Disney Dilemma.” The Disney Dilemma developed after a debate with a very strong-minded 4 year old.   I was babysitting in college, one of my many side-jobs at the time, and I took the kids outside to play.   On this particular day, the little girl I was babysitting, 4 years old, asked me, “What do you want to be when

I wish I could sit home with my dog curled up in my lap and get paid to write whatever brilliant thought creeps into my head.   However, this is not the case.   I write for myself, as it is my passion; however, I also write to make a living.   Part of that “living” is being the Delaware Valley Reporter for a legal magazine.   So, in my daily travels for my full-time job, I found myself in Norristown, a city I frequent three times a week.   I always try and park as close to the courthouse entrance as possible; in hopes of having a short walk, so I can view my cases, and hit the road home.   There are three spots next to the courthouse that I frequently park at.   They take quarters at the “old school” meters, not the credit card, app scanning types that litter the rest of the block.   These particular spots are not only adjacent to the courthouse, but also directly in front of a church, that doubles as a soup kitchen every weekday at noon. Usually, I am able to avoid the line