Into It, Vol. 6

I’ve been making a list and checking it twice and now you’re gonna find out what I’m into this week (so sorry that sentence didn’t end how you probably expected it to, but hey — that’s life).


I didn’t know this was a thing, did you? If you did, bravo. I guess you’re way more in the know than the rest of peasants. But if you didn’t know, THIS IS A THING. It all came to light when my best friend and I took a pasta & pasta sauce cooking class the other week (she got it for us for Christmas. What a good Jew, right?). As the somewhat aloof and scatterbrained instructor was talking us through fresh pesto (child’s play), she made mention that she doesn’t necessarily always use EVOO. In fact, she rarely does because it can create such a bitter taste in most anything you use it in. “So what oil do you use then?” I inquired. “I mean, there are so many cooking oils you can use but I personally love using avocado oil.” “Wait, what’s up?” I asked. “Yeah! It’s the same calorically as EVOO, but the health benefits are much greater and the taste is way better, too.”

It was in that moment that my world changed forever. After researching her claims, I realized the minx wasn’t lying and ordered myself a bottle off (duh) Amazon, and let me tell y’all — AVOCADO OIL IS LIT. It truly does offer a better taste and makes your chicken that word everyone hates (rhymes with hoist) (it’s moist). Not to mention the health benefits! Antioxidants, vitamins, and other stuff — oh my! I’m never going back to EVOO. Never. Not even if there’s a fire.


If you know me, you probably have no idea that I love bralettes as much as I do because the one thing I’ve always strayed from is posting pictures of my chest and how I hold it up each day. But now you know — I. LOVE. BRALETTES. And hate bras. Hate. Underwire and hooks and structure send me into a blind rage. I mean, I wear them because I have a larger chest (yes, really. I just hide it most days) so I know they’re necessary sometimes, but I hate every second of it. My bralette collection outnumbers my real bra collection by a lot. All that said, I am constantly drawn to and on the hunt for new bralettes (they’re sort of like jeans for me. I forget how many I actually have and just constantly buy new ones and then am like “Jesus, I have way too many jeans/bralettes.” Then I buy more). 

GAP is my go-to for a lot but has never been my first instinct when it comes to lingerie ’cause IDK… It’s GAP? HOWEVER, my world changed forever (again) upon discovering they just threw their proverbial hat in the bralette ring and created THIS:

The lace. The underboob band. All the colors they offer. IT’S PERFECT. I ordered two, squealed with delight upon wearing each, and ordered a third. If you are high on bralettes like me, get some of these today (GAP is literally 40% off almost every day, so you have no excuse). It’s the perfect one, truly. Buyer’s note: Wash them on delicate and hang-dry them. They’re delicate shits and you’ll screw up the detailing and lace if you try to tumble dry low like an asshole. 


I tried to try something new. Something different. After five rounds (that’s 60 weeks (or 15 months)) of Kayla Itsines’ Bikini Body Guide, I decided I had plateaued in my progression and needed to mix it up. I was getting bored as one tends to in any long-lasting relationship. However, I only lasted a few months before realizing I needed BBG back in my life. Lifting more weights was cool, but there’s something about BBG that my body just responds to better. The structure of the workouts, the throwing my body around via plyometrics, and the built-in consistency are it for me. So here I am again — back for a 6th round. And I just want to say to anyone who’s curious that this program is so very doable and so very worth the money whether you are a beginner with working out or a gym rat. It’s built for every type of person and body type: the already fit, the overweight, the skinny-fat, the just a few pounds to lose, the cardio lovers who need more structure, etc. And the best part? The online BBG community provides an enthusiastic, supportive troop of accountability buddies who all promote why you should #SCREWTHESCALE. If you don’t believe me, check out some of these amazing BBG transformations via Instagram: Andrenna Taylor, Kelly Allen, Gem, Sophie, Juliana. ARE YOU INSPIRED YET?


The other weekend, I went to “throw on” a white tee and had an a-ha moment. “Wow. All my white tees are cheap, misshapen, discolored, and the worst.” I literally tried on about five and chucked most of them in the garbage (not even people in need would be okay with the atrocities that were those tees). It was then I decided I needed to buckle down on the basics and stop throwing away money on temporary, cheap tees from places like XXI. So I channeled one of my longtime followers turned Internet friend (Harben Porter) and her minimal, capsule closet approach and decided on Everlane

This line’s simple, beautiful, minimal approach is so sexy, and I knew I could find my new favorite tee if I focused and ordered a lot to try on. So I did. I ordered four different styles of plain t-shirts, tested them all out, and landed on my new favorite throw-on tee, a straightforward crew neck that will most likely serve best underneath jackets and sweaters, and a solid v-neck. I did it, you guys. And you can, too. I believe in you.


Eugene Levy. Catherine O’Hara. Need I say more? No, but I will. My parents actually turned me onto this show. I don’t always trust their show recos because they have the tendency to get super hyped about a new show then drop it like a hot potato. They’re the fuckboys of TV. Anyhoo, they carried on so much about this show and how phenomenal Eugene Levy’s son, Daniel, is and how I’d really like it. So, one lonely Sunday, I dove in and lemme tell ya — I’m glad I listened (for once).

It’s a funny plot: super wealthy family who lose everything except for a town the dad (Eugene) bought his son (Daniel) as a joke called Schitt’s Creek, so they have no choice but to take up residency in the local motel and try to assimilate to the town’s culture. It’s an easy watch, really entertaining, pretty funny, and Daniel Levy is so gay and so gorgeous, it hurts. So, if for nothing else, watch for the Levy eyebrows. They alone are worth it.

The end! What are Y’ALL into on this list or in your own lives?!



Yes Or Nah (vol. 1)

Although I feel like my reading audience has a pretty good sense of me, who I am, and what’s going on in my life (minus a lot of the nitty gritty details unless I’m in an exceptionally oversharing mood), I rarely directly engage you guys for advice. That changes today.

In considering the long weekend ahead, I realized I wasn’t sure about one part of my Saturday and decided it was an opinion-inducing enough situation to get others involved. So, here goes.

I’m headed to a local brewery’s 4th anniversary party Saturday. There’s going to be lots of beer, lots of music, lots of food trucks, and lots of people. Some of those people could be guys. Some of those guys could be single. Some of those single guys could maybe not be terrible (odds are slim, but you never know). So considering that I’m single and going to be possibly be in a scenario that involves alcohol and men, the question is:

Do I bring Cece?

Now, I know what you’re thinking. “Really? *That’s* her question?” but it’s valid. My natural response to any sort of dog-friendly situation is to always bring her because she’s literally an angel dog sent to me from God himself and deserves only the best in life. However. I’m wondering if this particular scene maybe doesn’t call for a canine companion. I’ve weighed the pros and cons, but want your input.

Pros of bringing Cece Marie Beyoncé Golden: She’s adorable and perfect, which is a solid conversation starter. She also sports a KU leash, which has proven to also be a conversation starter. She loves people, but she loves men more and has no chill when she gets to be around them (sort of like her mom). She immediately rolls over and spreads her legs (sort of like her mom) and wants to makeout with everyone (again, hi). Complete strangers approach me about her every time I bring her around and often forget my name but remember that I’m “Cece’s mom.”

Cons of bringing Cece Marie Beyoncé Golden: It’s going to be crowded AF. And loud. Which could result in her presence (albeit all 12 pounds of her) being a little stressful and make maneuvering hard. I could be banned to only hang outside where cute, single men may not flock. Also, although she’s beautiful and perfect, she’s a “small” dog, which guys tend to shy away from and reserve compliments on because fawning over a dog her size may make them feel emasculated. Lastly, as a lady, does having a smaller dog with you automatically make you seem unapproachable or anything of the sort?

I’m just a girl. Standing in front of whoever reads her blog. Asking you guys to leave your opinions below in the comments. Can’t wait to make this decision together.


I Can’t, Vol. 49

This volume needs no introduction. Let’s dive right in.

I can’t…

like fucking CANNOT with this Lady Gaga body shaming bullshit. Y’all, it has me seething. Irate. Outraged. Horrified. That woman is a tiny waif whose weight is more than likely double-digits, and we have the audacity to say ANYTHING ABOUT IT? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? I’d like to see half the trolls who’ve dared spit critic and judgment at her to get on stage in a bodysuit and a two-piece ensemble in front of MILLIONS OF PEOPLE and sing (LIVE for that matter) and dance 1/8 as flawlessly as she did. To call out the ONE, ITTY BITTY, MICROSCOPIC PIECE OF “NORMAL” ON  HER BODY AND SHAME HER FOR NOT HIDING IT IS JUST. I’m having a really hard time finding the right words to rant about this because I’m so worked up. I mean, SOMEONE PHOTOSHOPPED HER TO SHAME HER NORMALCY:

SHIELD YOUR EYES, CHILDREN. A CENTIMETER OF STOMACH “FLAB” IS SACRILEGIOUS. I DON’T WANT YOU GROWING UP THINKING THIS IS OKAY. This is why. This is why girls are “insane” when it comes to body image and confidence. This is why we’re so fucked up in the head that even the tiniest, thinnest of us call ourselves “fat,” “gross,” and “disgusting.” This is why, most days, the progress I’ve made over the last 19 months of working out is not what I deem successful or worthy of praise since I don’t have a six-pack and still rock three substantial stomach rolls at all times, so I obviously am not allowed to constitute my progress as impressive or fruitful. This is why women kill themselves for not losing the baby weight after a week, indulging in dessert, or skipping the gym because they’re just too tired. If people (and my guess is most of these “people” are gluttonous pieces of shit) are offended that Lady FUCKING Gaga didn’t starve herself just a little bit more before shoving her disgusting, not perfect body in our faces, what hope is there for the rest of us? Guess I’ll go blow some water out of my blowhole and load up on krill since I and the rest of us are considered whales. Unconscionable.

I can’t…

(still on a Super Bowl theme it would seem) with Tom Brady and Gisele’s diet. I mean, shit. Kudos to being a “retired” supermodel and a 39-year-old Super Bowl-winning QB who’s considered the GOAT, but a quinoa dish with wilted greens, toasted almonds, cashew sauce, and just a little bit of lemongrass IS NOT A CHEAT MEAL. SO.

I can’t…

stress enough how great these blue light blocking specs are that I’ve been annoyingly plugging on my Snapchat since last week (DO YOU FOLLOW ME? YOU SHOULD @ icantemma). They are a game changer, y’all. In fact, I’ve tried a few times now to work without them and the difference is almost unreal. You may have a great desk setup wherein your screens and overhead lighting doesn’t bug you, but the light directly over my desk is not adjustable and murders my peepers. These glasses have saved me. For now. And don’t feel like you have to get my exact style — Amazon offers tons of different shapes and colors for all types of faces and personalities. Find what’s right for you and get ready to feel a lot better about sitting in a cubicle staring at screens all day (JK, you’ll never feel better about that because it’s fundamentally depressing AF).

I can’t…

with my new passport photo. I’m not sure how it got into my head that you’re not allowed to smile in it? And I’m not sure why I wouldn’t confirm that before taking it and sending it off to be scanned into a document that’s going to last for the next 10 years? Yet, here we are. It screams “Hello. I not from here, but would like very much to be. I have never known happiness or joy. Nicest to be meeting you.”

I can’t…

find the balance between drinking enough water throughout the day and not having to pee every hour on the hour. IT’S THE WORST. I want to be healthy and have clear skin and clear pee, but AT WHAT COST? Sure, it’s good to get up from your desk and move a bit every hour, but it’s also so hard sometimes. Sometimes, I just want to keep sitting here. I don’t want my body to force me to stand up and walk the 20 feet to the bathrooms. Sometimes my efforts to be healthy and my body’s reaction to it is just too damn much. What’s a girl gotta do (besides fall victim to some horrific accident) to get a urine bag around here?

I can’t…

with my new gym backpack. I’ve had a whatever Nike one forever then saw one of my BBG ladies (@carasfitcode) sporting a brand I’d never heard of and knew I had to look into it. Low and behold: VOORAY. I don’t say this often, but I’m pretty sure they made this particular design just for me. I mean, heather grey is my favorite color and I love anything with floral print. So. Also, at $20, this adorable backpack was 100% worth it. Can’t wait to wear it in, put it away for the duration of my workout, then wear it out. 

I can’t…

sleep without my white noise machine (which I’m pretty sure I’ve written about before), but on epic sleep-struggle nights, I double up with this amazing rain playlist on Spotify. If you’re open to the idea of sleep soundtracks, try it out. It’s quite lovely. My personal favorites are “Drought No More” and “Wet & Thorough.” 😉

Next time, it’ll be my 50th “I Can’t.” I’ll be sure to make it epic.


Into It, Vol. 5


I just realized my “Into It” posts are basically me enabling your futile spending, but I’m not sorry because if I’m going to spend money on things I don’t need but just want, so will you. We’re in this together, guys. Don’t forget that.

So, what am I a one-woman advertisement for this week?

Into It: Senita workout clothes

I have no shame in that new workout clothes serve as a YUGE motivation for my gym habits. Like, yeah gaining muscle and sweating is tight and seeing results is tighter. But you know what’s the tightest? NEW PANTS. OR SHOES. OR FUN SPORTS BRAS NO ONE BUT ME WILL EVER SEE. One of the #BBGgirls I follow posted the other week about Senita, so I looked into it and almost immediately bought a pair of capris. Not only are they high-waisted but ALSO👏🏻HAVE👏🏻POCKETS👏🏻. Do you know how much pockets on workout pants change the game? SO MUCH. Oh, and they’re so affordable. So basically, the perfect fucking workout bottoms. I got them last week, wore them Monday, and want 13 more pairs. GET SUM.

👆🏼not me👆🏼


Not goat, oat. Oat milk. Now I’m sure you’re wondering “WTF? How?” I’ll let Bon Appétit tell you how: “It’s what happens when you soak steel cut oats or whole groats in water, blend the mixture, and then strain it. The resulting milk-water tastes just like that warm, thin layer of cream that sits atop a bowl of porridge. It’s basically the cashmere sweater of winter drinks.”

That said, I got a vanilla latte with oat milk this past weekend in Chicago at Intelligentsia and it was the best latte I’ve ever had in my mouth or life. It had a hint of oatmeal flavoring, thusly making it taste like an oatmeal cookie latte. Moreover, upon further research, I found that oat milk is super good for you. It’s a bit more caloric than almond milk, clocking in at 130 calories/cup, BUT it’s packed with Potassium, Iron, Protein, Calcium and tons of other amazing nutrients. I found it at Whole Foods yesterday and will be subbing it into my smoothies ASAP. Again, GET SUM. Or TRY SUM.

INTO IT: This song

This popped up on one of my Discover Weekly Spotify playlists, and I couldn’t decide if it was terrible or dope. I landed on dope, but you tell me.


I wanted this bag from Everlane because everything Everlane does is perfect and beautiful (like me), but it was a bit out of my responsible price-range so I started looking for more affordable surrogates. Enter Target and this bag. Sadly, it looks like black is sold out/gone forever, but they still have some nice brown shades? This “Into It” is a bust because I didn’t know the black was no longer available, so now I feel like a failure. But here’s a pic of me this morning with the bag.

Which leads me to my next thing…

INTO IT: TRF jeans by ZARA

My bean pole fashion blogging friend who is super famous, Fashion Jackson, tipped me off to this wonderful line of denim (I’m wearing the jeans up there 👆🏼). It’s affordable as all hell, fits great, and is super cute. The entire TRF line is actually. It’s like a way cooler, tiny bit nicer XXI situation, if you will. And you should.

INTO IT: Bluetooth Earbuds

Bro. There’s nothing worse than earbuds that can’t handle you and are constantly popping out while you’re crushing it at the gym, AMIRITE? But seriously, it’s super annoying. I’ve dealt with mine for a while, but decided to finally switch them out for a pair that do what their told like any good woman should. I was referred to these ones by my fit AF, triathlete coworker, so I knew they’d be legit and they are. I highly recommend if you’re in the market for simple yet effective earbuddies.

INTO IT: Revlon Matte Balm

Two colors of this lipstick were handed to me for free, so I took them. And used them. And love them. Shine is fine, but matte is where it’s at™ But really, matte does get dry from time to time so lay on some chapstick before or after application. I have “Passionate” and “Standout” and both are really rich and pretty colors. Plus, it’s shaped like a crayon which is always fun and lends itself to even easier administration. P.S. If you care about this sort of stuff (i.e. makeup), did you catch Tuesday’s blog where I walked through my daily beauty regime? Do that.

That’s it for this week’s list of things I’m into right now. If you’ve had any experience with any of it, hit the comment section and share!


How I Make Myself Presentable Each Day

Once I discovered then ordered this sassy, fun, appropriately crude makeup bag from girrlscout, I decided to do something I’ve never done before: a makeup post. I’ve never thought to do it before since no one’s really asked plus I’m not a makeup connoisseur by any means. I mean I love that it makes me prettier and hides my ever-present under-eye bags and occasional crater-sized blemishes, but I’m no expert. 

However, as someone with incredibly sensitive skin, I’ve worked hard to perfect my makeup routine and product usage and am proud of where I’ve landed. My method is simple yet effective and consists of only 6 main products, with a few optional ones sprinkled in. Check it out:

Step 1: Wonder Glow (skin care primer) by Charlotte Tilbury

Now let’s get one thing straight. Up until 6-8 months ago, primer was just an extra step I couldn’t be bothered with. I didn’t need no primer and the thought of suddenly integrating it into my minimalist makeup routine bugged me. However, once I decided to use Charlotte’s foundation (which I’ll cover in the next step), I realized the primer was sort of imperative for getting my face setup right. This stuff is lighter than air, has a small amount of SPF, and helps to even your tone before diving in full-force with your foundation. 

Step 2: Magic Foundation by Charlotte Tilbury

The “magic” claim isn’t overshooting — this shit is for real. You see, for years I used tinted moisturizer. It’s all my young, baby skin needed (or so I thought). Upon turning 29 doe, I decided it was time for a bit heavier coverage. Nothing crazy or cakey — just…more. It’s like I had been wearing a light jacket in 50º weather when what I really needed was a puffer coat, ya dig? In walks Charlotte with her magic tricks, and my life was forever changed. I consider this foundation the absolute perfect amount of coverage while still looking incredibly natural (“So you agree. You think you’re really pretty” is what I just heard in my head). It also comes in 12 shades, so there’s basically no way you won’t find your perfect match.

Step 3: Shiseido’s “Perfect” Foundation brush

I don’t know why Shiseido puts “perfect” in quotes here. Probably for legal reasons. But it literally is the perfect foundation brush. No quotes about it. Again, never in my life have I used or felt I required a foundation brush. Like wtf? But after seeing how smoothly and evenly my magic foundation went on when the makeup artist used a brush to apply it, I knew I had to commit. And lemme tell ya — world of difference. Truly. Just be sure to clean it every few days, you pig.

Step 4: Laura Mercier’s Translucent Loose Setting Powder

Take note: I use powder much more in the summer when my skin is sweaty as fuck, but still use a very light hand of it throughout other seasons. This stuff is just great. There’s not much to it and, because it’s “translucent,” works on just about any skin tone. I’ve used it for years and highly recommend. 

Step 5: NARS multiple/blush stick in ‘Portofino’

This. Shit. Right. Here. Y’all. I’ve been using this blush in this particular color for, oh IDK — a decade? Maybe a little less? I am a firm believer in that, once you go cream/stick blush, you never go back. I apply it with my fingers (index and middle) and call it a day. The Portofino shade is perfect for me, but I know ‘Orgasm’ is super popular, too (I guess the hue is supposed to give you that post-O glow, although mine would be more red with sweat, awe, and gratitude). I swear by this stuff. 

Step 6: Gimme Brow by Benefit

If you don’t know by now that eyebrows are the new everything, you might be living under a dumb, NOT on fleek rock. We’ve reached a point in fashion wherein having amazing eyebrows is the most coveted beauty objective. In fact, a lot of weekdays I forgo mascara and any other sort of eye makeup, wearing only face stuff, lipstick, and this incredible tinted volumizing gel from Benefit. It’s fantastic and promises on-point eyebrows, which subsequently produces on-point days and entire beings.

Step 7: Pro Longwear Fluidline eyeliner by MAC

So I’m not big on eye makeup at all. I only wear eyeshadow for very special occasions, and do it up with eyeliner maybe only a handful of times a week. That said though, I discovered a long time ago that my eyelids are not built to wear (and keep on) pencil eyeliner. I guess they’re too oily or some shit. I found this eyeliner from MAC years ago and will most likely use it forever. It’s the perfect consistency, goes on smoothly with no problem, and actually stays put. I just apply it with an angled eyeliner brush and call it good. I have a brown and black, but it comes in 17 colors for you crazy/beautiful folk.

Step 8: Guerlian Maxilash Intense Volumizing Mascara

AKA LITERALLY THE MOST AMAZING MASCARA I HAVE EVER KNOWN. Y’all like. I CAN’T. I have tried so many mascaras in my 29 years of life, ranging from drugstore shit to designer shit and this stuff is next level. It’s so high quality, I only need one coat during the week and two coats for a night out because it shows up that much. It’s perfectly thick, volumizing, and noticeable without getting clunky or whoreish. And you know how I know it’s worth the price? It doesn’t flake at all, and it stays the fuck on. You’ve gotta really scrub this shit to get it off your eyes because it’s the real deal. Can’t say enough about this perfect mascara.

Step 9: Lipstick. All the lipstick.

I am not a hoarder but with one thing: lipstick. I have so many colors from so many brands in so many tubes that I’d have to do a separate blog post on just lipstick to cover it all. However, for this blog, I’m choosing to highlight the wonder of NARS Semi Matte lipstick in ‘Jungle Red.’ It’s become my go-to red over the past year, and I wear it more than other lipstick I own. I’m on my third tube of it, which in lipstick terms, is saying a lot. It’s just, sigh. Perfect.

That’s it. That’s my daily rundown. I hope you found this enlightening or, at the very least, entertaining. If you have any questions, feel free to leave a comment or shoot me an email! Much ‘preciated.


What Happens When You Holler Back (Or Why F*ckboys Will Always Be F*ckboys)

This past weekend provided me with yet another male-adventure to scoff at (“How much more can she take?!” They wondered out loud. Not a lot more, guys. Not a lot) and came in the form of a tried and true “holler.”

“What’s a holler?” you ask? Well. Allow me to allow Urban Dictionary to explain:


1. A way for a brotha to say he wants to get in your pants
2. A pimp ass way of saying ‘what up’
3. May be used to end a conversation

In this particular story, I was getting holla’ed by way of #1’s definition. It came out of nowhere (that’s what she said) reasonably early Saturday night, around 9:30pm CST. The opening text was smirk-inducing enough that I took interest.

It almost instantly piqued my interest because a) he’s tried to holler within the last 6 months and I wasn’t feeling it, yet here he was, hollering again and b) I hadn’t seen him in a full calendar year and then some. Also, he caught me at a good (read: vulnerable) moment, which always helps a fuckboy’s cause. He must’ve smelled the vulnerability — them fuckboys got that next level hyperosmia when it comes to vulnerable bitches.

So, I bit. He told me where he was, what his next locale would be, if I wanted to meet there, and to text him when I was arriving. Easy enough. I was feeling good about this decision — a solid, no strings attached sesh with a been-there-done-that-but-would-def-do-it-again-tho.

He lets me know they’re arriving as I leave my current venue, park my car at home, and call an Uber. I let him know Nagib (yeah, idk either) is on his way and the bar is just a few minutes from my house. By the time I get in the Uber, he hasn’t replied. I text him that I’m approaching. No reply. I ask where he is inside as it’s a busy bar and I know it’s going to be crowded as all fuck. No reply. I get out of my Uber, walk up, get my ID checked, walk inside, and he still hasn’t texted back.

As a hollerree, I’m not about to go hunting for this guy in this packed beyond manageability scene. He’s the dehydrated one who hollered (AND I SAID YES), so why isn’t he at the ready with phone in hand? The bar is swarming with people, so I decide to stay put and wait to hear from him, standing at the front near the door in the corner, more or less.

2 minutes go by.
7 minutes I’ve been there now, and a total of 20 minutes since I got in the Uber and texted him throughout my journey.
Why THE FUCK is this guy NOT checking his phone? I tried, too.

Nada. Nothing. Still no response. So I chucked deuces and left. Walked out, got yet another Uber (not Nagib though unfortunately), and went home. Like, yeah — I want it but not THAT bad. Not bad enough to be lured into a past fuckboy’s lair then fuckboyed before I even fuck the fuckboy. As Bey would say NAH NAH HELL NAH.

And the best part? He didn’t text me back for an additional 10 minutes after I left. So I would’ve been standing up there for 10 MORE GD MINUTES, MAKING THAT A TOTAL OF 20 GD MINUTES.

Hold up. This is 2017. Your phone’s on silent??? I mean SAME. It ALWAYS is. But it’s also always on my person, in my pocket, or in my hand. You hollered at my vagina, it’s here, and you’re not watching your phone like a hawk to receive me? Again, NAH. And sure, maybe he was super plastered and being an idiot. Those chances are high in these situations. But still. BUT👏🏻STILL👏🏻

He apologized a bit more then said we’d do something Sunday (the next day) and reiterated it twice. I was all “yeah sure I’m game!” but really I was like

🙄 🙄 🙄 🙄 🙄 🙄 🙄

And guess what? Never heard from him. Still haven’t. And this, ladies (and gents), is why YOU👏🏻DON’T👏🏻HOLLER👏🏻BACK👏🏻AT👏🏻FUCK👏🏻BOYS. Once a fuckboy, always a fuckboy. I knew this, and I’m better than this. But, like I said, your girl was jonesing and got hit up at the exact right moment. Lesson learned though. LES👏🏻SON👏🏻LEARNED👏🏻.

Chances are too that he’s reading this or has read it or will read it because back when I wrote about another incident involving him last year, he made sure to “like” it so I knew that he knew it was about him. So in that case, HI! And thank you for providing me with yet another entertaining fail to write about. I don’t doubt your intentions were kinda sorta in the right place, but I can’t be waiting on no D. You can respect that, right?

Tomorrow is Friday, so everyone have a great weekend and just say NAH to fuckyboys.


My 6 Takeaways From 2016

Typically, I try to write these Year in Review posts before the New Year, but collating my 2016 takeaways took more concentration than usual this go round. Blame it on being off work for a week and change or spending most of my downtime watching the last two seasons of The Office, but I just haven’t been able to find the focus necessary to mentally review my year piece-by-piece. Until now. 

In thinking about it, I realized my year wasn’t half bad. Sure, I met a BEVY of horrible gentleman who brought me closer to the edge of the ledge than I’ve ever been, I got gum graft surgery which wasn’t terrible but mostly just super inconvenient (and expensive), my precious savings took a big hit upon finding out I owed a lot of money to the IRS because of unreported freelance earnings all the way back in 2014, and the election set me back emotionally in a way I hadn’t predicted it would. But putting all that aside, it was what most would probably consider a fine year with some solid takeaways. 

Takeaway 1: Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on you again because most everyone deserves a second chance. Fool me three-four times, I’m an idiot but you’re a terrible human.

My romantic year started with being jerked around by, well, a jerk. I was blind to the fact that he was in no way wanting to commit to anything more than hooking up and split meals, but that may be because he drunkenly said “I love you” three dates in so I reasonably figured there was something more there that maybe he was just too scared to let out. But nah. Just an asshole douche. It took me a solid four months and four chances given to finally see it for what it was, which makes me want to kick early 2016 Emma in the cooter, but you live and you learn. Whether you choose to take those learnings and apply them as you move forward in life is what matters, but I’ll tell you this much — if someone fucks up a third chance, stop being dumb. Just stop it.

Takeaway 2: I love oysters.

It only took me 29 years to figure that one out. You see, my very worrisome and alarmist mother warned me against trying them since one bad oyster will supposedly either kill you or ruin your life forever. And since I’m such an obedient daughter (and intensely neurotic), I heeded her words and steered clear. However, this year I was presented with the mollusk on a few occasions and decided FUCK IT. TRUMP IS GONNA BE PRESIDENT SO WHY NOT. And, surprise surprise — I loved them. Thanks for nothing, Mom (JK, if you’re reading this. Thank you for [mostly] everything).

Takeaway 3: Sometimes, the uncomfortable choice is the better choice.

We are a people who love convenience. We take pleasure in playing it safe and sticking to what we know. Who can blame us? The unknown is debilitatingly terrifying. However, at the risk of sounding corny and cliche, sometimes the road less traveled is the smarter one to take. I learned this back in March when I started talking to about maybe coming on as their copywriter. I was happy where I was. In fact, I had just made the statement out loud and to myself that, as long as I was in Dallas, I would stay with the company I was with. Then I got a phone call that presented an opportunity I hadn’t seen coming nor was prepared to consider. It was a scary decision to make. I had grown so comfortable where I was, had just started feeling like an integral part of the company, and had met so many stellar humans I had no desire to leave. However, I knew not taking this position could possibly be the dumbest move to make. So I did. I left what I knew for something I had no idea about and it turned out to be a very good decision. Not to say it always works out like that, but when it does, it’s a validating feeling. All this coming from a person who isn’t super fond of change, too. So. Take that for what it’s worth.

Takeaway 4: Sticking to your non-negotiables is harder than it looks.

I’ve preached before about having a zero-tolerance list of non-negotiables when it comes to dating. In all reality, making lists is easy and fun to do. It’s actually sticking to those lists that’s hard. Rationalizations and excuses are my bread and butter, so when my steadfast list of non-negotiables was put to the test this summer within a relationship I was very happy about, it SUCKED. It was one of those moments you just want to scream “REALLY?! REALLY.” Everything’s going great. Everything is checking out so far. You’re pacing along well. Then BAM! You get hit with an irrefutable strike against one of your non-negotiables and it’s devastating. This was the first year after many years of dating around that I decided to actually be a stickler, and y’all — it was hard. You have countless moments of self-combat: “Am I really going to end it over this one thing?” “Sure, it seems ridiculous but it’s not. You know it’s not. Your friends have told you it’s not.” “But what if it can change?” “It definitely can’t. And won’t. He’s made that much clear.” “Can I learn to live with it?” “Are you high?” “Nah, I don’t smoke.” “You probably should start.” I’ll say this though – breaking up with someone because you have the foresight and ability to know they’re not going to make you as happy as you want and deserve to be is somewhat empowering. Even when they handle it like an asshole. No worries, though — I got the oft sought-after but rarely received repentant texts MONTHS later, which took the sting down just a bit. Anyway, stick to your non-negotiables. That’s what I’m saying.

Takeaway 5: Don’t be such a narcissist.

Yeah, the girl who posts OOTDs, selfies, and other self-indulgent junk on the daily is telling you to not be so egocentric. But hear me out. This may be my most important takeaway from last year. I am a paranoid person. Mix that with also being incredibly sensitive, and you get someone who worries way too much about others and why they are or aren’t behaving toward you in a certain way. But guess THE FUCK what? 9 times out of 10, it’s not about you because most things aren’t. You may be the center of your own world, but people are complicated and just as much in their own little worlds as you are in yours. To be honest, they most likely don’t give a shit about you (or they do but not enough to be thinking about you constantly). You have no real affect on them. They most likely didn’t even think twice about whatever it is you’re worrying about. I know I’m writing this with conviction, but don’t be fooled — I’m still working on this every day of my life. That is, learning to understand that just because someone isn’t talking to you or is but isn’t as talkative as usual or that one coworker looked at you weird or your boss is acting a bit more resigned today, IT PROBABLY HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU. And if you think it does, ASK. Don’t just sit there convincing yourself otherwise, you narcissistic idiot (I’m saying this to myself as much as I’m saying it to y’all). 

Takeaway 6: These are the two best GIFs ever.

You’re welcome. And Happy New Year. May you survive the first year of the Trump House, seek comfort in discomfort, eat some oysters, stand strong with your non-negotiables, stop being so self-involved, and don’t get fooled again.


The Art Of Not Settling

I’m 29 and, in a mere 6 months, I’ll be 30. For the past (almost) six years, I’ve dated A LOT. I’ve had a few legitimate boyfriends, countless almost-boyfriends, and enough werecasualbutwhatthefuckwaitwhatarewethough situations to last me a lifetime. Seriously, if I never find myself in another one of those situations, I will know I’ve made it and am going to be okay.

Suffice it to say, I’ve been through and seen a lot. The stories I’ve accumulated over the past six years are some of my best because they create a personal archive of some of my cringe-worthy, unbelievable, WTF-inducing worst. Day after day, month after month, year after year, I’ve done what I could to keep my head up, as they say. But some days, my head is way harder to keep afloat than others. Some days, it weighs 100 pounds and all I want to do is feel pathetically sorry for myself. To curl up in my bed in a robe in the fetal position for the entire day and let the onslaught of new couple/engaged/married/pregnancy announcements fill my newsfeed and fragile, vulnerable head with depressing thoughts and weep. Not cry. Weep (weeping’s more Scarlett O’Hara). Weep about how shitty past guys were, how shitty future ones will be, how shitty present ones are, why I keep running into these situations, why I haven’t found IT yet, why everyone else seems to have what I want, why I attract all the wrong dudes, why something that feels so close to what I want turns out not to be, why why why why why WHY. Ultimately, during those really down days, I question myself and my worth as a partner until I wear myself down, close my eyes, and pass out (much like a toddler after having a tantrum). 

And all this is hard to admit because I want to uphold my label as the quirky, outspoken, funny girl who can make any nightmare of a dating story something to laugh about with a light heart. I want to be strong; an independent, I-don’t-need-no-man, “I’m amazing and perfectly content on my own” representative for all single womenkind. I don’t want to let it all get to me like it can. It makes me feel weak and vulnerable. But I’m only human — a human with a pretty big heart full of affection that wants to dump that affection into someone’s deserving lap for keeps and, when that enthusiastic affection backfires, I get sad.

This has been the pattern for the past six years — these let downs followed by short-lived pits of despair out of which I can’t find my way and, finally rising like a Phoenix from the ashes (dramatic) and doing it all over again. And you know why?

Because I refuse to settle.

That’s the thing. When I sit back and really think about all the men (more appropriate term would be boys/children) that have come and gone (pun intended?), I realize how many of them I could still be dating if I was willing to settle for less than what I know I want. I mean, it’s not always them calling things off. In fact, most of the time it’s me. Because I see something about them or about us that doesn’t sit right, and my gut sends up about 52 flares and some Russian submarine captain frantically screams “ABORT! ABORT!” in my head until I can no longer ignore him. 

The fact of the matter is that not settling is actually the harder road to travel.

I don’t want to keep calling things off. I don’t want to continue to sit back and wait for the inevitable red flags to show their faces. It’s awful. I hate it. It sucks. I want to settle — really, I do. I want to be able to say “You know what? This is good enough and he’s fine enough and we’ll have a good enough life and I love him enough and we’ve been together long enough and sex is good enough and he’s nice enough and this’ll do.” I want to just decide on someone, make the call, and be done with it. I want to look past the crimson-colored flags, sweep them aggressively under a rug, and lie to myself about them until I actually believe the lies. I want to make excuses for shitty behavior and get past it. I want to not care so much and overthink and overanalyze. I want to tell myself I can put up with something I know I can’t. 

I want to be able to say “I don’t need a guy who fully gets my humor or I his. I don’t need to be made to feel special and unique. I don’t need to be treated like a prize; I’m fine feeling like any girl to this guy. I don’t need to be made a priority; I’m fine being an option. I don’t need to be courted; “hanging out” is the new dating and I’m okay with that. I don’t need real dates that are planned at least a few days in advance; last minute requests that showcase a total disregard for my time and lack any sense of urgency are just fine. I don’t need to have an understanding between the two of us, a mutual respect. I don’t need to be fully sexually satisfied or exceptionally intimate; it’s not that important and him getting off is way more vital anyway. I don’t need to be cherished. I don’t need to be someone thoughtful. I don’t need to be in love in a way I’ve never been; that’s not even real anyway. I don’t need flowers or thoughtful cards or any of the cutesy things females pretend not to care about but live by. I don’t need doors opened for me or to be treated like a lady; I can get my own doors. I don’t need to feel a crazy connection; just liking him enough will suffice.”

But I can’t. I literally cannot bring myself to do or say any of that because, at this point, I will be damned if I settle. I haven’t gone through what I’ve gone through just to settle; I haven’t called guys on the carpet for their less-than-stellar behavior or treatment of me to ultimately roll over like a dog and say “Ya know what? Nevermind. It’s fine. I’ll shut up now and take whoever and deal with whatever.” HELL NO. But because I refuse to settle, it makes this entire process harder, longer, more strenuous, and often unbearable. Because I’m a girl with expectations and standards in a generation that has enabled ghosting, fuckboys, and the refusal to commit to anything more than a boozy Sunday brunch, I’m having a really hard time out here.

And please do not take me for a girl with unrealistic standards, because I can assure you I am very much not that. I know probably more than anyone how imperfect people are. In fact, even after all the ugly situations I’ve experienced, my natural inclination is to still give people the benefit of the doubt until proven otherwise. I am well aware that I am nowhere close to flawless (although, admittedly, Queen B can make me feel like I am most days). I am willingly willing to put up with a long list of a lot as long as the most important things (what I like to refer to as the “non-negotiables”) are undeniably met and everything feels “right.” And because it’s theoretically only supposed to be “right” with ONE person, I will not settle for wrong after wrong after wrong. 

So I’ll continue to keep a small guard up, pay attention for warning signs, question questionable behavior, and trust my gut when it’s frantically trying to tell me something. That’s the one thing the past six years has gifted me with — a credible gut and the ability to actually listen to it. Like any good young 20something, I used to be an expert in ignoring it, but the wait time has steadily decreased over the years. Slowly but surely I started to chip away at the amount of time I would consciously discount my gut — it’s gone from literal years, to several months, to only a few months, to mere weeks and I’m proud of that. The goal is to get it down to one week, then five days, then three days, then, hopefully never because, finally, all it’s telling me is, “I’m good. You good? Good.”

Here’s to holding out.