Awkward, Humor, I Wasn't Worried, Manic Monday, My Idea Of Being An Adult, You're Fine

Donald Glover Got It Right

I watched Donald Glover’s standup last night for the first time in over a year, and it was just as funny the second time around. He makes a joke about how Home Depot is where children die. When you’re a kid and you’re forced to go to Home Depot with your parents, you’re all like, “This is so boring! I can’t even touch anything!” And then the moment you walk in again and you’re like, “Oh! Look at these knobs!” That’s when your childhood dies. A beige, concrete hole of childhood graves.

My childhood died years ago when I got excited over a new lamp at Cost Plus. And I starting saving home decor pins on Pinterest. But I have officially crossed over onto the dark side because ladies and gentleman, I pulled my back out.

I’m currently sitting on my couch because I can’t move. It’s been bothering me for a couple of days now so I figured I slept funny one night. But then I went to get up, felt the stiff pull, and collapsed onto the couch and attempted to get up four times before rolling back over onto my blanket. I’ve popped three Midol pills, and here I sit, in annoying, excruciating pain.

It’s like that episode of Gilmore Girls when Lorelai gets a back spasm from making Rory’s dress for the dance.

First step: Denial.

Second step: Convincing yourself that you are moving

Third step: Admitting the truth

So please, wish me luck as I have just misplaced my water bottle and now need to go on a crippled hunt to find it.

Girls, Humor, Manic Monday, Memories, Out of the Ordinary, Travel, You're Fine

What is Happening?: DC and other tales


I don’t even know where to begin with this post. I have no words. This was definitely one of the best weekends I’ve ever had, but I already knew this before the weekend even started. Let me first start off with a brief, yet detailed, explanation of my dear friend and former roommate Colleen.

Colleen is a free spirit. Colleen does what she wants and when she wants. She never seems to have a plan. I always feel like I have some idea of a plan, but after spending just a few hours with her, I realize that my so-called plan is actually not all that important. It’s liberating. Her car is an absolute mess. She has at least 15 pairs of shoes and several outfits to choose from, all hidden within the cracks of her car. I realized she has her whole closet in her car because she never knows what she’s going to do next. She could decide to go to the Nationals game, and then all of a sudden get invited to a bar, so at least she has a cute top and heels in her car just in case. I always walk away thinking, “Someone should write a song about her, if they haven’t already.” Kind of like Hey There Delilah or Meet Virginia.

I luckily got to meet a fellow blogger from our little community, Meghan! Many people were weirded out (except for Colleen) that we were meeting for the first time because we’ve only spoken to each other on the Internet. I warned Meghan that spending the day with us meant it was going to be a pretty random day. We met up at the World War II memorial and the rest is a bit of a blur.




^^^^The man behind us seems to have the same idea? I also look like a wet mutt due to the rain.

After some tequila shots and Korean tacos, Colleen somehow managed to get her foot stuck in a tree. She had an urge to climb the skinny street tree until things went awry and we had to call over random men to pull her out of the tree. She woke up the next morning wondering why her foot hurt. After hours of hanging and chatting, Meghan had to leave and we were saddened by it greatly.

After Meghan left, Colleen and I were walking on a quiet street singing Anna Kendrick’s “Cups” to meet with a few of her friends when the unthinkable happened. Colleen unleashed all of her worries and concerns onto me and I wasn’t prepared for it. She listed off all of her stresses and her confusion on life. In all of my time knowing Colleen, I have never seen her like that. She was always the care-free one, and the person to find beauty in everything the world has to offer. So I stopped walking and just stood on the cold street, listening to her. When she finally took a deep breath, I hugged her with all of my might and cried. We both cried (she will probably kill me if she knew I informed you all that she cried). We were silent on the street, hugging and crying, before she finally said, “I’m so glad you’re here.” And then she asked why we were crying. I told her, “Because my life isn’t perfect either.” And then she hugged me even tighter. I realized that we both needed this reunion badly. We had spent too much time apart and it was the perfect time to see each other again. It’s almost like we have a twintuition. I can’t explain the feeling I had two weeks ago as I was fiddling with my hair and thinking about Colleen. I just knew I had to buy a plane ticket and see her. It’s like we sense when something is wrong. SOULMATE.

We eventually found a bathroom to clean our snotty, red faces and continued our night with some dancing. I don’t think we got home until about 5am.

Some other memorable points I’d like to bring up:

  • Meghan is awesome in person and if any blogger has an opportunity to meet another blogger, I highly recommend it, no matter how nervous you may be.
  • Meghan and I determined we may have scared Paul and Chris with our bombarding Twitter messages and we apologize profusely.
  • American Airlines is awful. Don’t fly with them.
  • Colleen apparently describes me as the roommate who turns off The Notebook right before they die because my heart can’t handle it.

Here are some more photos to showcase this past weekend:

image110 image111 image25



Art, Connecticut, Festivities, I'm not a mommy blogger, Internet Things, Manic Monday, Out of the Ordinary

Art Project: Acrylic-ing


A few weeks ago, I decided to buy a haul of canvases from Michael’sI usually like to venture into Joann Fabrics until I found out I had to buy a cart in order to use one. I walked through the store completely unaware of the amount of things I was going to grab and then realized that it would be best to grab a cart. I pulled and yanked and cursed silently, wondering why I was not able to pull the cart away. A cashier asked if I needed a quarter…so that was the end of that.

I’ve been taking a short break from watercolors and decided to move onto acrylics. If I’m going to use acrylics, it’s best to go big or go home. All of my canvases are 16 x 20, therefore bigger than I normally use.

A long time ago in high school, my art teacher assigned us to paint micros. That basically means taking something, and blowing it up to show the detail of it. For instance, in high school, I did a close up oil painting of an orange. One girl did a lobster claw. So I decided to continue painting something similar. With my favorite season approaching, I focused on a detailed sunflower that calmed my excitement.



The painting, which I titled His Face, is on the website but is not for sale as of yet! 1. I titled the sunflower His Face mostly because I just finished reading Emma Donoghue’s novel Room, which little boy Jack calls the sun “God’s face”. Naturally, it was the first thing that came to mind. 2. I’m waiting to put it up for sale because I’ve applied to have the painting appear in SPACE 776 in Brooklyn for the 2016 Bushwick Open Studio. Each applicant has an automatic spot in the studio for the week of September 30-October 6 for a chance to sell the painting. If the painting does not sell through the studio, I will be putting it up for sale on my website.

This is an exciting time of learning myself through abstract art. My next piece will be a three canvas painting of the ocean that I’m starting to grow fond of.



I have many ideas for future micro paintings such as doughnuts, butterfly wings, elephants, etc. Any suggestions in the comments would be greatly appreciated!

Before painting, I didn’t know much about submitting works to galleries or contests until I started doing my research. I’m still learning the process, but my only advice to other artists out there is to search and search and search in your area. I promise there are plenty of opportunities to put yourself out there. For instance, literary journals take art submissions, and some coffee shops will hang and sell your work for a small commission of course, and there are plenty of contests either locally or in the nearest city. It doesn’t hurt to try. Even though it only costs $25 to submit my painting to SPACE 776, it will take a half a day’s work, trains, and subways just to haul the painting all the way to Brooklyn. But it will be worth it in the end, even if it doesn’t sell.

Humor, I Wasn't Worried, Manic Monday, Writing, You're Fine

5 Struggles a Writer Might Experience

Maybe you’re a professional, successful, published writer with hundreds of credentials under your belt. Maybe you’ve been featured in The New Yorker. Maybe you’re a freelance writer with a writing gig once every few months. Maybe you’re an amateur like myself. But at the end of the day, we are all doing one thing, right? Writing. Here are five things I’ve struggled with as a writer.

1. You can’t find a pen.


It seems that every time I get a boost of inspiration, I don’t have a pen on me. I’m then forced to pull an E.L. James and write everything in my stupid phone like a maniac. I won’t stoop so low and write an entire book in my phone like James. It explains so much now. After I spend five minutes digging through my bag, searching for the pen I know I used an hour ago, I pray to the writing Gods such as Fitzgerald and Plath that I remember this very thought until I make it home. It almost never happens.

2. Getting an epiphany in unlikely places.


I could be at work and an idea will pop into my head that sounds so amazingly brilliant, but I still have another six hours left in my office chair before I can do anything about it. I’ve had writing epiphanies pop up in bars, on the subway, at the gym, in the car, etc. Those suckers can come out from anywhere. Beware.

3. Inspiration that fades quickly.


Once you get said epiphany, good luck holding onto that creative inspiration until you get home. I’ll write down the epiphany in hopes that once I’m in a warm and focused environment, I will be able to accomplish my amateur work. Almost never. Majority of the time, I get home, sit down to write, and then say, “Ehhhhhhh, let me sleep on it some more. I’ll get back to it later.” GOODBYE EPIPHANY.

4. Naturally Narcissistic


It’s common knowledge that many artistic people are narcissistic. If you consider yourself an artistic person and you argue this, you’re lying to yourself. Especially for nonfiction writers, because who are we mostly writing about? Ourselves. However, fiction writers do it too! I just started reading a book recently and the main character’s name was the same exact name as the author; first and last name, and all. Try to get past something like that without cringing. There is no right or wrong way to go about art, which explains why narcissism grows and grows and grows within the art community. We could say something so magnificently obscure and downright ridiculous, and nobody can sit there and tell us it’s false. We can smell our narcissism. It’s as potent as a football player’s sweaty jock strap.

5. Realizing you didn’t make up the cliché.


I’m not a fan of clichés. If I have to read that so-and-so was “dressed to the nines” one more time, I might toss myself out into the Atlantic. I think clichés are a cheap and easy way to get out of describing something in your own words. It’s lazy, vague, and unoriginal. With that being said, there have been times when I’ve written something and realized that I’ve added a cliché, unintentionally. It’s the type of cliché that I know I’ve heard somewhere, but it didn’t connect within my brain cells that I did not actually make it up. It’s a painful experience that I can’t shake for days afterward.


As bloggers, we are all writers. What struggles do you face everyday when it comes to your own writing?

Anecdote, Awkward, Festivities, Humor, Manic Monday, You're Fine

Why Hecklers Are The Worst Kind of People

It is finally baseball season. A time for families to enjoy a nice day out at the ball park with hot dogs, beer, and sunshine. Whether you’re sitting behind home plate or in the nose bleed section, you’re almost always guaranteed a good time. Until you realize you have plopped into a seat directly next to a squawking heckler. Or worse, a group of them. 

I’ve been to my fair share of ball parks including Fenway, PNC Park, Busch Stadium, Dodger Stadium, as well as many others. I attended almost all of them while rocking some form of Red Sox gear because that’s the only baseball gear I own. Of course, by doing this, I expect to hear some lighthearted backlash, especially since I’m a Boston fan and everyone else in the country hates us for various reasons. But there is a big difference between lighthearted, teasing fun, and just being a dick.

Yesterday, I attended my first Mets game. It was a chilly 40 degrees and for the most part, I sat in the shade bundled up in my jacket, USC baseball cap, and blanket. I didn’t wear any Red Sox gear, and thank God I didn’t. Directly in front of me were a group of four young men, roughly the age of twenty-one, who were the worst kind of people. A man walked by in a Boston cap, and the men decided to yell obscene, highly inappropriate insults at the poor man who just wanted to enjoy a friendly Mets game on a beautiful Sunday. They not only did this to the Boston fan, but they did it to Yankee fans, Philly fans, and basically any other person who didn’t wear anything Mets related. The best part was that every time something even remotely interesting happened in the game, they all stood up, as if they were going to get a better look than they already had. This then, resulted in me watching the entire game from the big screen like I’m watching it from the comfort of my own home, which is exactly how you want to feel when you go to a baseball stadium, right? That’s the purpose of going to a baseball park. To feel like you never left your couch! I missed 85% of the plays and I was real bitter about it.


One guy continuously yelled, “Fuck the Red Sox!” over and over and over again. I must remind you all that the Mets were playing the Phillies, so try to figure that one out….

Anyone who shows up to a baseball game in this manner has clearly never been to a baseball game. I expect this kind of behavior at a soccer match or a football game, where everyone gets rowdy and yells and it’s a whatever-time. But a baseball game? A quiet, sunny day, relaxing and watching a baseball game is not the time and place for obnoxious screaming.

I think what bothers me most is that some fans can’t seem to take a chill pill. So what if some guy with a Dodgers hat shows up to a Cardinals game in St. Louis? I personally think that anyone who goes to a stadium where both teams playing against each other aren’t even “his” team, he is showing at least some form of respect and trying to enjoy himself in YOUR park. Why do you have to be such a douchebag? He’s literally Swiss! He could probably care less about who wins. The guy just really likes baseball games. So when a heckler mocks and insults someone the entire time, they are completely ruining their experience and they will probably never want to go to that park again. Way to go, bro.

I thought I was going to lose it the more I had to be around these fools. Everyone around us looked at them with disdain with the exception of a few who gave them a tiny sliver of encouragement which was so not what they needed. They reminded me of those guys in high school who were so terribly obnoxious and would do some sort of pizza contest in the cafeteria while everyone pounded their fists on the table chanting things like, “O’DOYLE RULES!” and yet these guys always have a shit load of friends and girls hanging off their every word.


Meanwhile, I’m in the corner like, “How and why has this come to be?”

But the best part about witnessing these hecklers is that you will most likely see a fight break out because someone finally overheated, or you get to watch security tell them off. Either one is extremely satisfying.


Anecdote, Awkward, Humor, Manic Monday, Memories, You're Fine

That’s Not My Name

This has been happening to me ever since I was a kid. Every new school year on the first day, it was the same thing. The teacher peered down at her list of new students to take attendance. She’d go down the line, calling out names like, “Colin? Joe? Elizabeth? Mary?” All of the kids raised their hands and said, “Present!” or “Here!” or “Moo!” if you’re a jokester. Then I’d hear, “Jessica?” The students, including myself, glanced about the room. “Jessica?” Still no answer.

And then…. “Jessica……(putting her glasses on to read the last name) Ren…Ren…Renya?”


First of all, that’s not even how you pronounce my last name. It’s not even how you spell it. Secondly, my name isn’t Jessica.

I could be botching this story entirely, but when I was a wee little thing still shoved in my mother’s belly, the doctor tried to determine whether or not I was a boy or a girl. The problem was, I moved around so damn much that he couldn’t get a good look. I was like a cheetah on cocaine. Or I just wanted to keep my privates private. Who knows. So, the doctor figured since I had so much energy, I was probably a boy.


So, that’s what my parents planned for. My dad really wanted to name me Jessie James. To their surprise, I showed up with not a penis, but my mom was too tired from all of the birth giving that she didn’t feel like changing my name. So she kept the Jessie part, and dropped the James, to my relief.

For years, I’ve tried to understand this weird phenomenon where people just change my name for me. It is clearly written out in black, printed ink, yet still, everyone who meets me calls me Jessica. Even when introducing myself, all friendly and happy, “Hi! My name is Jessie!” They reach out for my hand and say, “How are you, Jessica?”


Maybe some of you can try to explain this to me. Is it a politeness thing? It doesn’t ever seem to happen to anyone else. For instance, I rarely come across a situation where some girl is like, “Hey, I’m Lizzie!” and the other person says, “Hello, Elizabeth!” NEVER. Same thing with Will and William, or Charlie and Charles. So why must it happen with Jessie and Jessica? I’ve spent a good portion  of my life correcting people who call me Jessica that I’ve just given up at this point. When I get irritated, my friends are like, “DUDE, just correct them!” You don’t even know. You. Don’t. Even. Know. I’ve accepted it now, even though every time I’m called Jessica, a piece of my soul dies away.

There definitely is a stereotypical response to my name. Now that I’ve gotten the “Jessica” bit out of the way, let’s jump to the part where everyone starts singing, “Jessie’s Girl” whenever I walk by. It has happened at every single job I’ve worked. “You know I wish that I had JESSIE’S  Girl!” Yeah, yeah. I get it. I’m here to tell you that Jessie’s Girl is not my theme song.

I think The Ting Tings stole it from me.

Anecdote, Humor, Manic Monday, You're Fine

Laundry Ghost

I’m hanging with Paul today at The Captain’s Speech! Come say hi!

The Captain's Speech

The following is a guest post written by Jess from You’re Fine Blog. Enjoy! 

I found a bathrobe in my room that doesn’t belong to me. I’ve been living back home with my mother for a little over a month now, and it’s just the two of us. I picked up this gigantic deep purple robe that was hanging off the side of my bed. I held it up to my mother to hand it over and asked if it was hers.

“Mmm, no. That’s not mine,” she said. I tilted my head to the side in confusion.

“Well, it’s not mine,” I said. She raised her eyebrows.

“That isn’t yours?” she asked.


“You’re sure?”

“Mom…” I answered. We both held up the robe to the light. We looked at the front door, shifted our eyes to my bedroom, and then stared at each other.

*Cue the ominous…

View original post 420 more words

Festivities, Food, Humor, I'm not a mommy blogger, Internet Things, Manic Monday, Sarcasm, Things I Need

The Not-So-Pinteresty Post On Slutty Brownies


Every year, I’m pretty bad at putting together Christmas gifts in a timely fashion. Once I’ve realized Christmas is only a couple of weeks away, I then resort to baked goods. Everyone loves baked goods. They may hate you for it at the end of the day because you basically force fed them an additional ten pounds to their waistline, but it’s still always appreciated. When in doubt, bake out.

This is my second year making Slutty Brownies, and they are always a big hit. They are delicious, creative, and they have a kickass name. I’m here to share with you the recipe that will give your relatives and friends diabetes.

P.S. I most definitely found this recipe on Pinterest. Therefore, I will add my own commentary to this recipe to give you a better visual.

What you need:

Brownie Mix

Cookie Dough


Vegetable Oil

Sexual Healing


What you first need to do is start with some foreplay. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. That will really spice things up for all of this sugary magic. Then grease the pan gently with some vegetable oil. Maybe turn on some Marvin Gaye while you’re at it to really set the mood. Dim the lights. Dance with the cookie dough to make it feel loved and special.

Pull apart the cookie dough and spread it evenly across the bottom of the pan. I first used a spoon to spread it out, but that may be too Fifty Shades of Grey for the cookie dough and you don’t want to freak it out too much. If that happens, ditch the spoon and just massage it into the pan.


Once the cookie dough feels comfortable while in your presence, start placing the Oreo cookies on top of the dough. Just one by one, line them up like you’re about to snort a line of Oreo.


Start creating the batch of brownie mix! Just follow the instructions on the box. If you can’t do that, just drop dead now.

Once the brownie mix is whipped and tossed, and possibly licked off of a spoon a few times, lather the batter on top of the cookie dough and Oreos like it’s a scene of JFK behind closed doors and Jackie O is out running errands. Pour the batter evenly on top.



Now that the deed is done, place it in the oven and let bake. Most of the recipes on Pinterest tell you 30 minutes, but that’s a lie. It takes more like an hour. After about 40 minutes, poke the top with a knife or tooth pick and if brownie fluids come out, bake it for longer. Common sense.



A baby. A beautifully delicious, most likely out-of-wedlock brownie baby.

Heat it up and add a scoop of ice cream if you want to get really crazy.

Now, I don’t want to ruin my first Holiday Contest New Years Surprise Box to whoever the winner will be on Christmas Day, but I MAY just add a few of these lovebirds in the box. You can’t go on living without trying at least one. You guys have until December 24th to send me your holiday stories via email at! Check out my post here!

Anecdote, Cats, Humor, Manic Monday

Jess vs. Kitty (Location: The Bathroom)

There was a news story last year about a family who called the police on their house cat because it became so vicious and locked them inside the bathroom. THE CAT PHYSICALLY LOCKED THEM IN THE BATHROOM. The cat ripped his own family to shreds.


I remember listening to the news story one morning with my cup of coffee and giggling like a maniac because the whole thing sounded so ridiculous. How does someone call the police on a cat? In the end, they quarantined the cat for various reasons before returning him to their owner. When I googled the news story, this apparently happens more often than we think since I found three separate events with the same idea in Connecticut, Oregon, and Florida.

I never thought I would experience something similar until it splashed right in my face, literally.

Some of you may remember that I took in a stray back in August and we’ve had him ever since. He’s an adorable 6 month old black kitten and for now, we are fostering him, taking him to little kitty events where people play with him and then walk away forgetting all about him. I already own a orange tabby cat named Mumford, and in comparison to Shitty Kitty (we are terrible foster parents, clearly), they are vastly different. Shitty Kitty is named Shitty Kitty for a reason. He smells all the time. He’s a bottomless pit when it comes to food, and he always makes a mess when he goes to the bathroom. After some observation, I’m convinced Mumford has OCD or something since he is constantly cleaning himself, and he takes little nibbles when he eats as opposed to mowing down.

Last night, I decided to give Shitty Kitty a bath. The first time I tried it, he had been in our apartment for a whole two hours and it was a struggle. I figured it has been two months since then, maybe he will be better.

I was sadly mistaken. I placed Shitty Kitty nicely in the tub of warm water and he immediately freaked out. He splashed, flailed, meowed the deepest cry I’ve ever heard, and practically climbed up the tiled wall like Spiderman. I let him scurry out and began laughing hysterically at how silly he was being. I placed him in the tub once more, only this time, he stuck one of his claws deep into my arm. He was attached to my limb and wouldn’t let go. I began screaming, trying to pry his little paw out of my skin when he went insane and began biting down on my hand.

It was his planned murderous plot to get rid of the hand that would unhook his claw out of my vein. I swear we wrestled for a whole 5 seconds before Sam busted into the bathroom to break up the feud. I imagine all Sam could hear behind the closed door was splashing water, low deep meows, and screaming. What was once a loving relationship turned sour very quickly. Sam grabbed Shitty Kitty and basically tossed him into the tub a couple of times. We figured the only way to bathe him was to lather him up in soap and toss him in the tub to wash off a few times like he was stir fry.

We finally found a way to stick him in the sink, Sam holding him down like Shitty Kitty owed him money, while I dropped a few cups of water over his body to get the soap off. The look on his face was terrifying, like he was going to get me back somehow.

Afterwards, my bathroom looked a little something like this:


It took a couple of hours, but Shitty Kitty finally made his way back into my lap to cuddle, but I’m a bit wary. I feel like I need to sleep with a knife under my pillow.

Humor, Internet Things, Manic Monday, Rant, Social Media

Grasping Snapchat

A couple of years ago, Sam urged me to download Snapchat. Another new social media app that apparently was all the rage, and still is to this day.

I downloaded the app, played around with it for a couple days, and then deleted it. I could not for the life of me understand the purpose of it.

“It’s to send each other pictures!” they say. Well, there is a cool thing called text messaging that has been pretty hip for more than ten years now.

“It’s to share photos with your friends!” they yell. Well, there was Facebook, and then suddenly, boom, Instagram!

“It’s to caption funny photos!” they scream. Once again, Facebook, Instagram, and text messaging does all that too.

For you old folks, or even people out there like me who do not care for Snapchat, nor understand it’s use, the app at first allowed you to send a photo to friends that appeared for however many seconds you wanted before disappearing. And then once the photo disappeared, it went away to some faraway land, never to be seen again. This was the perfect opportunity for teenagers to send each other nudes!


I mean, what better way to send someone a nude pic when it’s just going to disappear in 3 seconds, giving them zero opportunity to show their friends!


The Ryan Reynolds eye roll is too good.

P.S. Sending nude pics is still really stupid. Don’t do it.

Now, you can have what’s called a “Snapchat Story”, where you can post all of your photos and videos for everyone who follows you to see. Some people, like pro surfer Anastasia Ashley, accidentally post nudes to their Snapchat Story instead of sending it directly to her boyfriend, and people like myself, laugh at their stupidity.


How does no one else see that Snapchat is just another version of Instagram? It’s literally the same idea. Posting photos and videos to share with your friends. You can even send a pic directly to someone on Instagram now, so yeah, same thing.

I apparently never deleted my Snapchat account and my friends have been sending me photos and videos for years now. Whoops. I probably looked like a jerk because I haven’t responded to a single one of them.

Sorry guys!

Humor, Manic Monday, Out of the Ordinary

Irrational Fears

Each of us have experienced fears as a kid. Some of those fears crept into our adulthood. We consider them irrational, but we all know they are totally rational because if you’re not freaked out by any of these, there is something wrong with you.

1. Little People

NO. Not midgets. I’m talking gremlin, oompa loompa little people.

wonka-oompa-shotI sat in bed one afternoon to take a nap and I literally imagined a small, gremlin-like person walked around my bed to my face and just stared at me. Nothing else. Just staring. Who wouldn’t be terrified about that? I didn’t even dream this. It was an actual random thought in the middle of the afternoon….

2. The Closet

If my closet is even open just a crack, HELL NO. Because this is in there:



3. The Dark

When you hear a creepy noise in the kitchen in the middle of the night, please tell me you at least turn a light on. I can’t stand it in movies when the guy goes to check out the house and he doesn’t turn one damn light on. First, how are you supposed to see and “check things out”? Secondly, 95% of the time you’re dead.

But of course, movies like The Strangers ruined it anyway…


4. Insects Making a Home Inside My Body

If I’m wearing a dress or skirt, I cannot sit in the grass. I’m convinced ants will make their way up my leg, inside my underwear, and I’m sure you know the rest…


5. Roller Coasters

I always have, “Never have I ever been on a roller coaster” in the back of my pocket when I play the game. It’s a game changer for most. I refuse to go on a roller coaster. Go ahead. Judge me. Sam and I went to Santa Monica Pier a few months ago, and he so badly wanted to deflower my roller coaster experience. There is a small, yet in my eyes, a huge, roller coaster on the pier that looks like it was built 200 years ago, all rusty and squeaky. It may not have gone very fast but the last thing I want to die from is a roller coaster.


6. Space

I know for a fact that I will never go to space. Even if the world was about to explode in a babillionfafillion pieces, and the government built these spaceships to evacuate the entire population from earth, I still don’t think I would go. Have you ever seen the movie Gravity? If not, here’s a spoiler alert! That part when George Clooney sacrifices himself and unclips his damn space suit or whatever from Sandra Bullock and he goes off, flying and twirling into nothingness, I could cry just thinking about it. Not because I liked his character, but the very idea of just twirling around in space with nowhere to go, just a slow and endless darkness of planets, stars, and giant rocks hurling your way until you run out of oxygen and die. And then I think, are there dead bodies just floating around in space? I don’t know. But I feel like there is something crawling out of my skin every time I think about it.


7. The Very Idea That I Could Do Something So Irrational That Will Change The Course Of My Life

Here’s an example: I’m completely terrified of heights. I can’t even climb a miniature ladder just to get something off of a shelf, which sucks because I’m ridiculously short. Anyways, the horrifying thought has crossed my mind when I’m on a balcony or on top of a very tall building, and I look down and think, “If I jump off of here, I’ll be dead. For sure.” Like, what the hell is wrong with me? I know that I am not going to jump, and I will do everything in my power to stay away from the edges but just the idea that something in my brain could just click on and I’ll go nuts and be like, “Okay, it’s time!” It’s probably the most irrational fear I have, period.

You would think I would be more scared about someone pushing me rather than me making the decision.


What are some of your irrational fears?

Awkward, Humor, Manic Monday, My Idea Of Being An Adult, Rant, You're Fine

The Self Check-Out Line

I loathe grocery shopping. It’s usually a train wreck of a situation because no matter the time of day I go, it’s always chaotic and crowded. I’m never thrilled to go grocery shopping because that just means I’m dropping an X amount of money for food that will last three days. There are a million reasons to hate grocery shopping.

  • Those assholes who take up an entire aisle with their cart and completely ignore you when you try to scoot past them. (P.S. I will stand there like a gnat buzzing in your ear until it annoys the shit out of you that you move.)
  • The line for check-out goes all the way through the chips and crackers aisle and wraps around the display of $20 steaks.
  • To buy fruit or not to buy fruit? Only for it to rot the next day.
  • Finding creative ways to make one trip from your car to your apartment.


When I know I need to do a big spending spree of a week’s worth of food, my goal is to be in and out in thirty minutes. And that’s a long time for me considering how much I hate grocery shopping.

I’m sure we’ve all noticed the “Self Check-Out” registers grocery stores have installed now. They’ve been around for a while, and they claim to be faster than standing in line waiting for the 15 carts one customer has piled food into. This is a lie.

I know what you’re thinking – the self check-out line is not for people who are buying food for their seven children and four pets. I agree. The only people I’m buying for is myself and Sam. So our “big spending spree” consists of bananas, a few frozen dinners, two nights worth of actual dinner making, and cereal. Therefore, I feel entitled to use the self check-out line anyways.

The self check-out line was made by the writers of Pretty Little Liars who say, “Faster? Hahahaha false alarm!”

The self check-out line was made by your mom, who constantly checks on you to make sure you’re okay.

The self check-out line was made by the Patriots, who can’t seem to get away with anything. Not even lying about how many paper bags they’ve used.


The self check-out line is a heinous joke on humanity. At least it is at Ralph’s. For some reason, I always go through it. And every time, I regret it instantly. It’s like taking those tequila shots at the bar with your friends. It always seems like a good idea, convenient even, and then you wake up the next morning wanting to bash your skull against the wall.

They squeeze in six registers in a tiny little space that should only hold like, four. My cart can barely fit next to the register.

You must, I repeat, you must place the item you just rung up on the register, and put it inside the bag on the weight station. Otherwise, “An attendant has been notified to assist you.”

If you’ve bagged up four paper bags, they must all be kept on the weight station and not put away in the cart like a normal situation, otherwise, “An attendant has been notified to assist you.” 


Is the register having a hard time finding the bar code? “An attendant has been notified to assist you.” 

You constantly have someone watching your every move. It’s vital to the self check-out process, but it also feels like I’m on probation wearing a neon orange jumpsuit picking up trash on the 405.

Yet, I still always come back to it. I guess that just means I have faith, or I’m an idiot. You decide.

What are some of your horror stories from the grocery store?

Humor, Manic Monday, Sarcasm, You're Fine

All the times Michel Gerard spoke our minds

I’ve been on a binge watching Gilmore Girls. It’s always been my all-time favorite show since I was a tiny, little thing, even if I didn’t completely understand all of the jokes and banter that ensued. It’s the type of show where you have to really pay attention to the dialogue or you will miss something amazing. We all know the reigning Lorelai’s are a relatable bunch, but what about that stuffy, French dude named Michel Gerard? He’s like my inner voice.

1. Use this line for everyday life.



2. Always have a high level of confidence.



3. Always lend a helping hand.




4. Honesty is the best policy.



5. Maintain friendships.



6. When you go out clubbing.



7. Being nice and friendly is overrated.



8. Getting straight to the point makes everything easier.



I’m praying for all of you to get through this Monday.