Against the Grain

There is something about Taylor Swift I absolutely, cannot stand. I write this from the depths of an undisclosed location to avoid the songs “89-ers” will most definitely write about my awfulness. I’ve previously expressed in other rants, part of being a writer is knowing everyone will disagree with you at some point and send you mailbox bombs.


To be very clear, I can be found on many an afternoon with my windows down studdering the lyrics to “Shake It Off.” It’s cloudy and cold out today and your period is nigh? No problem, throw on “Back to December” and shed a few tears behind a pair of shades. Taylor Swift is undoubtedly a hit factory and sticks to a formula that she knows well. The only time she reinvented herself is when she casually switched from country to pop music which was the best decision of her career.

It’s not to say I don’t thoroughly enjoy her music for the catchy jams they are, it’s Taylor Swift that makes my eye twitch and ulcer act up.

Being that the rest of the planet wants to crawl up her ass and be biffles with her and Selena, I thought I had a serious problem. Ironically, the only other person whose music I enjoy but personality I loathe is Kanye West. Needless to say, I didn’t feel quite as bad for that one. While her dancing is atrocious and shames white girls everywhere, it’s not that. It’s not even t the fact that she shares uncanny similarities to a Pixar villain:






Seriously, does no one else see this?!

It’s her smug, fucking attitude. In a recent article that’s now taking over the internet, Spotify was demanded by Miss Swift, to pull her entire new “1989” album from their site. Despite the massive appeal it had from the 16 million plays it received in the first month, it was yanked.  In her rebuttal, she defends music as being art and that people should have to pay for art.

The reason for my Swift rage was because I have a hard time believing she would feel the same if she new to the music scene and not making money hand over fist. Of course I believe in people being paid for what they do regardless of the industry, but the exposure an “unknown” can gain from social media, word of mouth, YouTube, Spotify, etc. is invaluable. I know this to be true for the fact that I write to you and let you read for free. I suppose I could get Swifty and start charging my readers for but I don’t exactly have the fan base required to do that. The solace I have knowing there are even people who want to hear what I have to say and come back to hear more is plenty for the time being.

The music industry has changed indefinitely from the business it once was. The way we hear music, buy it, sell it, immerse ourselves in it is changing and websites like Spotify make it possible to sustain that change.

Arguably, the last true rock band of our generation is the Foo Fighters. Everything they breathe, eat, drink and sweat is music to their Foo-ey cores. They stand for what’s true to them and what’s true to fans of music, no matter the genre. To know I’m not alone in my opinions was all the reassurance I needed that sometimes, it’s just about the fucking music, Taylor.

dave grohl


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Shopping Paradox

I’d like to think of myself as hip. Being that I just called myself hip I am pretty reassured that I am, actually, not. Nearing my 27th birthday and the first day of my new, corporate job, I’ve slipped into a strange shopping matrix that pulls me in opposing directions pretty consistently. On one hand, Forever 21 is mashing my eardrums with musical Molly and telling me to live fast and die young.


I tried my hand at a crop top or two but there they hang…in my closet…completely unworn. While mine don’t carry a message about life being “Cray all Day” they carry a nice little sub-message:

This betch is going through a mid-driff crisis. Also, she’s closer to 30 than 20.

As my dear friend so eloquently explained to me when she turned 30: “I’m sick of people saying you should stop doing things at a certain age. You know what you should be doing at your age? WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU WANT!” If those aren’t words to live by, I’m not exactly sure what is. While I’m in full support of her ever-young mindset and thoroughly admire her for it, I can’t help but reconsider my wardrobe choices on my way to happy hour.


If I’m not frolicking around Orlando in crop tops and high-waisted shorts then what’s a life worth living, you may ask? Well, I’m not exactly at full blown Moo-Moo status but my other side is desperately lulling me into a pair of Reeboks for my trek over to Stein Mart. The most recent reason for my shoulder devil taunting me with curlers and track suits is my new job starting in a week. It’s beyond corporate and I’m pretty sure crop tops are not within their dress code. Considering this is also my first job within these parameters, the 5 year-old child within me (would be much creepier if a dude said that, no?) wants to dress like a professional, pant suits and all.

The question now remains, when do I know when to stop shopping at Forever 21? My scientific answer in the past month of retail research is never. While stores like Forever 21 might have youthful vibes, your life isn’t business professional 24/7. In the state of sweaty crotches for 3/4 of the year, wearing as little clothing in the summertime is not just a goal be a necessity. I don’t really care for “lady infections” and letting her get overheated is a sure fire way to turn yourself into a little bakery.


As I spend most of my free time scouring the racks of any store with an acceptably dressed mannequin, I realize it’s about balance. There might be days where I want to throw on a blazer and some pearls and take over the world. Other times, I’ll need to be able to nourish my cravings to be a sexy unicorn and a young one at that. Stacking my closet full of all moods I could possibly experience is not only rational but totally acceptable at any age.

But seriously, when is the sexy sweat pant store opening up?

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The Impact of Social Media

Guest Post By Sophia Hammond

Despite the significance we find in posting pictures of an atrocious homemade wreath we copied from Pinterest or a “make up free” selfie, social media has lent much more to the business world.

Initially created to connect the world by modernizing the age old concept of socialization, social media websites quickly helped business, companies, brands and individuals garner exposure previously unheard of. While his current douchebaggary status has distracted him from his roots, Justin Bieber’s success is largely attributed to the online presence he and his fans created. Never before has there been a faster and more widespread way to share a heart-warming video, an offensive meme or the latest “must-have” app.


Not to be confused with a British porno film, Flappy Bird is the addictive mobile game made by Vietnam-based programmer Dong Nguyen, barely made any waves when it was first released on the App Store last year. It broke past the App Store ranking list’s 1,000 mark in the first month of release, but for the next five months it consistently stayed under the 1,500 barrier. It wasn’t until six months later when the game went viral thanks to social media. The sudden boom in popularity drove Flappy Bird up the rankings in November, culminating in the number one slot in January 2014. By the time it was unceremoniously removed from the App Store by its creator last month, Flappy Bird mania had gripped the whole world.

So, how did Flappy Bird go from complete unknown to the most downloaded game on the App Store? A large part of its success can be traced back to social media. When the game became viral, you couldn’t go a day without seeing a mention of it on Facebook, Twitter, or even the much-maligned Google+.

“These games have taken off massively because they get everybody talking, and ‘word of mouth’ can spread fast,” explains Pocket Fruity developer AlchemyBet. “Just look at the Draw Something App, within 50 days 50 million people had downloaded it to play against their friends.”

Puns aside, this illustrates the sheer power social media has when it comes to marketing and building up hype for a product. Instead of a social game, the same promotion and recognition could easily apply to any self-published author who wants to get the word out on a new book or a hilarious blog.

Accordingly, social media has become one of the most powerful weapons in a self-published author’s arsenal. Some authors even suggest following a variant of the 80/20 principle: use 80% of your time on marketing through social media and 20% on actual writing. Book publicity and promotions expert Paula Margulies goes even further in a piece on The Writer’s Edge: of the 80% you spend promoting your book, 80% of it should be about things other than your book and only 20% should be spent on actual sales pitches.

Of course, the 80/20 principle can’t apply to everybody. There is even some contention as to whether or not it’s a good rule of thumb to follow. At the end of the day, a writer is only as good as the books they write. As author Bob Mayer, who has found success in both traditional and indie publishing, told Self.

Whether you’ve decided to write an S&M novel for housewives everywhere or you’re looking to share your musical talents, social media is the #1 way to advertise your brand. Part of the fun of “adulting” is realizing when it’s time to be responsible. Social media is no exception to this realization and understanding when to promote your blog over your happy hour indulgences can make for a much more successful future for your brand.

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6 Fairweather Labels We’re Over

To some extent, everyone identifies with some type of label. Whether the label is degrading or uplifting, politically correct or incorrect, somewhere in the world a label is waiting for you. Naturally, said labels are also served with a massive, Thanksgiving portion of stereotypes. Thanks to kids these days with their murder and texting* treading lightly is of the utmost significance in handling these labels. Keeping the peace and not telling people how we actually feel is, after all, the basis of American culture.


But it’s not so cut and dry anymore. Back in my day when I was a squirt watching Tales from the Crypt and eating Gushers, labels had 1 meaning. You either were something or you weren’t. Accordingly, you either liked that person for their beliefs for being different or the same as yours or you wanted to bash their head in with a can of Aqua Net. Plain, simple and to the point. We all understood that when you associated with a label, way of life, or belief there was no “fine print” that came with it.

Until now.


I have loads of friends and family who identify as vegetarian for various reasons. Some dislike meat’s sinewy texture, others do it for health-related reasons, and others are animal advocates whose hearts break at the thought of chewing the calf equivalent of Bambi. But some vegetarians don’t make it so simple for the rest of us.

“Yeah, I’m a vegetarian but can I have some of your $10 salmon? Well, I’m a pescetarian.”

Um…it’s not an astrological sign. You either eat meat or you don’t, PERIOD. The modern vegetarian has made it nearly impossible for the carnivores to determine an acceptable dinner menu to serve your indecisive ass.


Understand you, I don’t. It’s not to say that I don’t get you and your beliefs. I just mean that I literally don’t get it. What are the rules? I feel like it changes daily. How can you live in American and be vegan? If I don’t invite you over for dinner, would you be offended? Right when I think I’ve caught a vegan eating a wild animal, they assure me rabbits are totally fine. I kind of think this is a secret society…




I used to identify as “agnostic” when I wasn’t ballsy enough to tell everyone I don’t believe in God so I get it. You’re not really sure what you believe but you believe in Yoda or some higher power that tells you it’s your destiny to eat that cupcake. But much like your first semester in college, just claim “undecided.” It helps the rest of us know whether or not we can tell the PIC jokes in front of you or behind your back.

Green People

Not martians, people who go ape shit for a burlap purse with which to sling their home-grown vegetables in. These people literally kill me. Going green is not a fad or phase, just ask pretty much all of Europe. Having those fun Publix grocery bags that are reusable only make you green if you use them…every time. I can’t deal with the lecture some of them feel obligated to blather on about as they scream at me from their Hummers. Surely every little bit helps but don’t scour at me when I hydrate with a Dasani and you can’t even spell Prius.


Self-Proclaimed Nerds

It is my belief that if you have to “self-proclaim” yourself anything, you’re probably not. That’s like telling people you’re a self-proclaimed bj specialist. Do you think Jenna Jameson has to let people know she’s good at that? The same is true for this new wave of “nerds” taking over our great nation. Non-prescription glasses and plaid does not a nerd make nor does corresponding hash tags. Speaking in binary and thoroughly enjoying the thrill of building a computer, now we’re talking.

Sports Enthusiasts

This is not targeted at fans who have no effing clue what’s going on because as I’ve come to learn, that’s more people than you think. Not to mention, sports in this great country includes the experience of the event. But what kills me are those that swear by the Falcons or pray to the Manchester United gods during playoffs, only. Where were you the rest of the year? Where were you when Matt Ryan needed you in game two and you were too busy not knowing who Matt Ryan is? Being a part of the party is fine but then you’re just a party-goer who happens to like the color red, not a fan.

This isn’t meant to deter you from experiencing all that life has to offer and establishing new interests. It is meant to encourage you to know what the hell you’re talking about though.


*My sister is 100% to thank for this phrase and it should be known this is her doing, not my wit.

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Survival Tips for Non-Ninja Females

Every day for the past week I have been walking to my fitness class. It makes neither European nor American sense to commute the distance from my house to the gym. I’ve come to thoroughly enjoy the serene time before I’m holding down vomit for 45 minutes and it doubles as a peaceful cool down thereafter. Despite the mostly acceptable neighborhood in which we reside and the current sunset time, I still imagine being mauled by an oncoming pervert.


Being female, this is absolutely not shocking for me to admit and I know I’m not alone. Often if not every day, ladies encounter situations where we determine the nearest escape route, weapon or scathing line that might deter the psychopath from lunging at us, dick first.

It’s a natural fear that will likely never go away and has gotten progressively worse over the years.

A recent news story in Britain detailed an attacker who chose the wrong betch to eff with and got a beating deserving of his perv-asion.  The victim was 14 years old and had “years of martial arts training” that allowed her to not only remember all those hi-yas they taught her but to execute them flawlessly. She survived unharmed, her martial arts teacher started charging students more tuition and the attacker was ultimately caught. I’m pretty sure the writers of Frozen got soaked just reading about that but I became irate. Remember when Mary Swanson told Lloyd Christmas his chances were “more like 1 in a million?”


Exactly. I would love to be as hopeful as Lloyd was in getting Mary as I would be in annihilating my attacker but that type of thinking will get you roped up somewhere living in a backwoods cabin for the next 20 years.

Instead, I take the “today is the day I’m going to be groped” approach and trust no one. Sure, that guy passing me on the sidewalk with a 1-inch ponytail and leather gloves might just have psoriasis but that won’t be for me to find out. I don’t have any formal martial arts training with the exception of cardio-kickboxing and boxing. So unless my attacker is hanging from a chain and is stuffed with foam I think the odds are against me.

Should I take self-defense classes? Dur. There is literally no argument that would suffice as to why that’s not a good idea. But I haven’t and I’m going to generalize by saying a lot of other ladies out there haven’t either. It’s not that I don’t want to I just haven’t made it a priority because I haven’t been scared straight. It’s easy to avoid learning a skill when you don’t think you’ll use it. What’s more is, I’m scared to learn this skill in a few empowering classes and 5 years later when I’m being diddled in an alley, I go blank:

Did my instructor say to the left, to the left or was that the Cupid Shuffle?”

Again, dumbest excuse ever but it’s my honest explanation as to why I have yet to take action. Being proactive is clearly the way to handle these situations and to prepare for the worst possible scenario. Until I decide to take the plunge into Self Defense 101 however, here are my go-to tips that have been met with nothing more than a few cat-calls (a completely different problem which I believe is dick-cutting worthy):

  1. Take self-defense classes – no explanation needed.
  2. Don’t go alone – Seriously. Stop being a fucking idiot and take someone with you. It’s one thing to be independent and it’s another to be stupid. If you are walking to your car, in the dark, and the street lights just went out due to a power outage and you’re wearing heels, take a friend.  My sister and I used to work in the service industry and she would call me on her way to the car so she could “describe her attacker to me.” Sound dumb? Don’t care because that guy never showed up.
  3. Don’t be friendly – This will do you zero favors, I promise you. Just mind your business and get where you need to go.
  4. Don’t draw attention – No, this is not one of those “she deserved to be raped because she was breathing” statements. Its just an extra precaution to take when in an already sketchy situation and has nothing to do with your clothes.
  5. Be prepared – My dad always taught me to basically assume everyone wants to murder and/or steal from you. He phrased it a little more eloquently but the lesson is still there. Don’t be distracted by your headphones, don’t be too engaged in your phone call and make sure you know the first thing you’ll do if a stranger’s hand finds itself on you.
  6. Weapon up – I was told my Mom bought a taser today waiting in the mechanic’s lobby so you have no excuses. Mace or pepper spray, a little pocket knife, your keys. Bear Grylls your mind around your purse and figure out what can be used to kick someone’s ass.

I successfully made it to and from my class today unharmed and only turned down one woman who offered me a ride. Hey, don’t be sexist, it could happen. I do promise if I have a run in or if I take a self-defense class, this will be the first place I go.



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Tanking Energy Levels

When were my preschool teachers going to tell me my youthful energy would quickly wear? Better yet, when were they going to forewarn me it would happen far before menopause or retirement? At 26, I feel this information would have been entirely more helpful than cursive.


Possibly the most infuriating part of becoming an adult is finding things out that seemingly no one cared to mention. I’m nearing my 27th birthday and still refer to men and women as guys and girls. I still don’t consider myself an adult and still look aspire to “be something special when I grow up.” So please tell me why the eff I am exhausted at a century old?


When the days are filled with chaos at work and clients are demanding erroneous things, I feel like someone hit my face with an iPad. Alternatively, when I exert minimal effort doing actual work and peruse Pinterest for the length of an American work day, said feeling continues to set in. Sometimes I attempt to outsmart my exhaustion by caffeinating hard, like really hard, like why can I hear my cells moving hard? By then my computer screen is shaking and that makes me tired. What about a workout you say? They give you so much energy and make you feel amazing, you say? Unless I missed a trick that the rest of the active world is doing, working out exhausts me beyond belief. I sleep great and don’t get night sweats from the day’s carb-loading but I pass out at an embarrassing hour.


When the weekly grind is done and clients are no longer harassing me, I’m free to gallivant around in the nude until ungodly hours. False. The nudity is still rampant, of course, but I am still tired. Every weekend I sleep in until 9 or later after having gone to bed between 11p – 1a. As long as I have no interfering plans or I schedule my day around the priority that is my nap, Husband Face and I kill 2 hours of sleep around 3p – 5p. Coffee is guzzled and yet 11p arrives like a period; unexpected, loathed and painful to get through. Married to a sleep anomaly, I’m convinced that “you slept so long today you should easily be able to stay up until 2a watching South Park and giggling with me.” Maybe he doesn’t suggest giggle fits but they occur and are a treasured experience. Each weekend I have to suggest an excuse as to why I couldn’t hack it:

Friday night – I’m tired from the work week as a whole

Saturday night – I think the coffee wasn’t strong enough this afternoon and I worked out.

Sunday night – I need to get a good night sleep for the work week.


Despite my frequent and constant need to sleep, there is one scenario that defies all of my sleep logic. When I have been called upon to rage. Going out significantly less than my 20-year old self, it should make zero sense that I could hang until sunrise. But for some unexplained reason, the party fairy sprinkles her magical dust (this is not a drug reference) and I become a figure comparable to Frank the Tank.


Countless girls’ weekends have ended with people being genuinely shocked at my “abilities,” coupled with slight respect and possible fear. Yet, when the adrenaline of strip clubs and vodka sodas eventually wear, I find myself spending much of the following week being….you got it! TIRED!


Because we live in the land of the free and the home of the brave, it wouldn’t be fair to ignore a possible diagnosis. According to, it’s possible I am tired because of how much I exercise, what I’m eating and how much I sleep. I’m pretty sure these 3 are true if they are “not enough” but we are well aware I sleep as much as a koala, I eat…oh, I eat and the exercise depends on how tight my jeans are but is regular.

Thanks to process of elimination (another fine skill my teachers paid little attention to honing but came in great handy), I’ve ruled the “top 3 reasons for fatigue” out.

Because it’s WebMD, that now means I am possibly:

  • Anemic
  • Deficient in key nutrients
  • Thyroid reject
  • Diabetic
  • Depressed
  • Sleeping problems due to sleep apnea
  • Heart disease

While none of those hit the nail on the head as I hoped they would, I am now depressed at the possibilities and fearful to eat cookies. As always WebMD, thank you for your guidance.


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Female Balls

Let me preface this post by stating how friggin’ excited I am to write about it. A massive thanks is owed to Joseph Gordon-Levitt for the inspiration and female-balls courage to do it. Also, I just figured out the title for this post.

fem ecard

Writing about an “ism” is hardly an easy feat. Freedom of speech becomes a slippery slope when these topics are discussed. As much as I admire those who can feel so passionately about these isms and defend them with every molecule within them, they are the ones that terrify me the most. One wrong comment, opinion or joke can mean a slew of cyber-bullies viciously attacking me in all caps. All jokes aside, an all caps message is terrifying when you’re on the receiving end of it.

But I’m an adult, damn it, and it’s time I start acting like one by having opinions about the controversial shit.

Until today, I hated the word feminism or feminist. Since I’m a woman, am I allowed to say that? Well TOUGH SHIT because it’s happening and all caps is ready to back me up. Before you start formulating opinions on the type of piss poor representation of a woman I am, let me explain.

My reasoning behind my distaste for these words is what people were making them mean. Feminism today doesn’t mean what our Rosie the Riveters intended it to mean when they put on all that denim. The voice that our predecessors fought so hard for us to have was becoming a voice that said how much better women were than men. That if men disappeared from this world, women would be better off. That we can fix our own cars, run our own companies and eliminate the NFL (stereotype). Instead of defending the intention for equality to exist, some women and feminists were becoming subject of many an eye roll. Of course, making a massive historical change such as giving men and women equal rights is something that requires the strength of screaming loudly when everyone wants you to shut up. But I never listened to the words being screamed and just assumed feminists were preaching about “no bra days” and demanding a female president, even if that meant Sarah Palin.

While there are extremists for every movement, it meant and means much more than the freedom to show tampon commercials in between the game. Feminism means having the balls to always stand up for the female population no matter the progress we’ve made. It means to make sure our voices are always heard even if people don’t like what we’re saying. It means being able to do all the fun shit men get to do and enjoying being better or worse at it. It means getting to swear and fart whenever the fuck we want. It means getting to go dress up and do our hair regardless of the “consequence of rape.” It means defending females against the fucking idiots who argue that rape is ever warranted. It means never being afraid to fight for a career and still wanting to be a housewife that drinks wine all day. Most importantly, it means never shutting up about it. The reason isn’t to say we aren’t grateful for what we have or that we can vote, or drive cars, or have infinitely more rights than women in other parts of the world. But feminism or any ism isn’t for any particular country, state or place. It’s for anyone who finds it important, anywhere in the world, man or woman.  If all the support on the topic can help even one woman have the rights she deserves, then it’s working.

lena dunham

At long last, I am beyond proud to identify as a feminist to support equality and human rights. Along with my proclamation of “girl power” I also am happy to identify with any movement that aims to bring equality in an often uneven world.

I am fully aware of the opinions many will have of my rant and that’s fine. The best part about me having the right to post mine is you having the right to post yours.



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Savor the Memory

I get that it’s unfair for someone my age to complain about “the days of my youth” when, by some standards, those days are present. Rather than rant about the aches in my back and the hair sprouting out of my ears (the latter I’m still nervously awaiting), I’m feeling more nostalgic than anything else.

For my graduation present, my sister bought us tickets to “relive the days of my life before my educational journey began.” Her words, not mine. She also isn’t the type to say journey, she’s just hilarious. Immediately concerned and frantically running through the possible debaucheries she had planned, I was pleasantly surprised by tickets to…


Duplicating the days the entire nation went ape shit for black eyeliner and skinny jeans? YES, PLEASE! My sister’s devotion to Hawthorne Heights back in the day rivaled that of Penny Lane’s, minus the naked dancing. Her love and support of all things music meant my being her PIC for any and all local or major shows circa early 2000s. Granted the opportunity to travel back to a time where fist pumping and emaciated men were all the rage was the perfect gift.

Expecting to arrive at the usually packed House of Blues, we found a partially vacant and breezy. No sweaty, out of shape scenesters to elbow and not a PBR in sight. It was also abundantly clear the tour wasn’t meant to relaunch new albums but tantalize those of us dancing with 30 a visit back to Warped Tour. In fact, the tour was celebrating Hawthorne Height’s 10 year anniversary of their mega-album that made all the hunnies long to be the inspiration of Nikki FM.

The night was everything I’d hoped but different. Like visiting home and finding all your local hot spots being condemned buildings now. I mean the last time we saw these bands, I smoked menthols and my then boyfriend (now husband face) was sharing a house with 6 other people which was a real treat.

It made me realize that times in our lives are only as good as our  memory of it because that’s what lasts. The days of screamo bands are over just as much as chunky blonde highlights and khaki pants. As much as I long for simpler times, they’re meant to be savored in our memories. Life is a long ass journey that you can’t start over so freeze and bottle up every second of it to bring with you. Keep your old band t-shirts or concert tickets, take pictures of every person you meet and write down the seemingly insignificant moments. More importantly keep these nuggets of your life. One day they will serve as a reminder of how effing cool you were and how well you held your liquor. Your life is one giant memory of experiences so make sure you keep that thing sharp.




On another note, I made myself a beet, carrot, apple, lemon ginger juice this morning to negate those Yuenglings I slammed at the show. The terror I see inside the toilet after consuming beets will never not give me cardiac complications.

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Two Roads Diverged, and I…

Went back to school.

In 2011, I cheered and celebrated my academic achievements of completing college. Somewhere in the midst of getting married, graduating and training for my first and only half marathon that year, Bumfuzzled Jane was born. I cared for her in every way and got humbling feedback on her beauty. Devoting all of my now free time to her growth, she was thriving before my very eyes. But like any pageant mom, Jane wasn’t affording me the ability to handle the seemingly massive student loan debt looming nearby.

So I went back to school. This is 100% the reason I abandoned little Jane. I left her for dead in a public restroom toilet hoping no one would notice. I partially hoped she’d continue to thrive in that little toilet bowl and grow up to be the blog I’d always wanted her to be.

Last weekend I officially completed the feat that is grad school. Still awaiting my degree via post (online school problems), I am contemplating the meaning of life. Where do I go from here? Why is no one hiring me? Should I go ombre?  More importantly, should I rekindle the relationship with my long-lost blog?

Most of the future is unclear but a blonde ombre does look great on me. I also realized that Jane meant more to me than I previously knew. Despite the road I chose when two paths diverged, all journeys seemed to lead back here.

I won’t lie, I have been on a vigorous job hunt for 2 months and have copious amounts of free time. I’d like to think I won’t abandon her again when I pass into career-world but a relapse is always possible. At least to some extent.

Finally, as I return to becoming a full-time blogger and somewhat planning freak, I won’t make plans for her. I want her to dictate her own future and decide the tone, topics and content of which we publish. What I can confirm is it will detail you on every aspect of my adult life as I try to figure out what the hell is going on, it will be honest, it will be funny and it will be frequent.

Also, I’ll be trying a new sign off so bear with me as I nestle into something that fits.


Don’t be an idiot!



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Becoming a Millennial

The millennials really fucked everything up for everyone. Left and right, people too young to rent a car are running multi-million dollar companies. What Kool-Aid did they get and why the hell was I not invited to that happy hour?

The foundations of our workforce were built in a time where having a long-term job with a stable company meant plenty of Wonder bread and Crisco to feed the family. Things like a 40-hour work week, 1-hour lunch breaks, not conducting business on the weekend and never on precious Sunday were created. Clearly, past generations weren’t planning on an Atheist population to exist.

But what if you’re not a millennial spending your Friday nights building alogrithms for the next social media craze? What if you missed the generational wonder and are a product of the 70s or 80s? Does hard work even matter anymore or do we all look pathetic for not having started a business?

While I have my fair share of gripes about the millennials, they are an anomaly to take notice of. Is it their “fuck you” attitude that makes the prime candidates to take a business risk? Do they have genius ideas because the rest of us just deal with sending a regular photo to a friend that lasts a lifetime rather than a dick pick that gets deleted in 10-seconds?  Pretty sure Snapchat was funded by politicians…

There is no one thing that defines a millennial with the exception of the time in which they were born. I only narrowly escaped this  horrid fascinating generation by a few years. I was born in 1988 and still understand the value of manners and busting your ass to reach your goals. I moved out when I was 18, you know, when you’re supposed to. I balanced school, work and an avid social life and never managed a DUI. I didn’t wait for people to praise me for my work ethic, I just paid thousands of dollars for universities to send me a degree to confirm that. When I fucked up my parents told me I did and that I needed to fix it.

If you were built on the same values but massively envy what appears to be shear luck of milllennial success, let’s hang out. Also, continue to read.

Why Millennials Succed

  • They don’t know any better – the older you are or the more you know, rather, the more you have to lose. You know what it means to fail and to fail hard. Psychology has a lot to do with success and if you don’t associate yourself with failure, you’re likely to succeed.
  • They see the solution to your problem -  our generation and those before us are satisfied and grateful for what we have and as the old saying goes “if it ain’t broke don’t fix it.” Wrong. If it’s working fine, figure out a way to make it better, faster, stronger ( Thank you Kanye West) and the masses will love you for it.
  • They are impatient – another useless saying we were raised on is “patience is a virtue.” Millennials don’t have time to be patient when there are Coachella’s to go to. The desire or need to get results needs to happen as fast as possible. This could be mistaken for tenacity but because we’re talking about millennials they get impatient.
  • They don’t stress over a plan –  it’s safe to say they don’t stress at all but they definitely don’t stress over making a plan. Getting started immediately on the little things that add up to the bigger picture can shave months off the process. Not to mention, not having to visualize the steps it will take to reach their goal and doubting their success, they press on and complete what they can each day.

The true value in mastering these skills isn’t just throwing on some high-waisted shorts and starting a business. It’s being able to balance the enviable traits of old-school America with the annoyingly enviable traits of new-school America. You’ll set yourself apart from the dicks not knowing how to write a check or host a dinner party. You’ll also be able to thrive in the habitat of the most hated generation.

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