day fifteen: what i'm struggling with

Should I keep this blog or delete it?

Should I start a podcast? Or two?

Should I cut my hair?

What car should I buy?

How do I kindly tell someone in my life I need space from them?

Would moving to a different city/state/country change anything?

How do I make my mother understand that she does not need to pray for me to find a man, that I'm not destitute?

Will I ever be able to have a conversation with friends that doesn't involve discussing weddings?


Okay, I think that's enough for now.

day fourteen: a story from my childhood (sort of?)

My memory is actual human garbage. So there are pieces of this that are missing and probably pieces I made up over the years to fill the holes. But know that, much like my favorite movies, it’s based on a true story.


I had a sleepover in 7th grade. There were maybe five or six of us and if you were also a teenage girl (which I’m assuming you were) (I truly don’t think males read this and if so, they are only here to see if I vague blog them), you know what middle school sleepovers were like.

Did we talk about boys? Yes. Did we prank call said boys using a phone that was in the actual shape of a motorcycle? Also yes. Do I now wonder why we had that phone since no one in my family owned a motorcycle? You bet.

But what I remember most, other than taping sleeping girls the floor in my basement and yelling FIRE, is telling them about my creepy neighbor.

He kept to myself. Didn’t have a wife or kids or any family, or even friends. Funny enough he had a motorcycle, but that was really it. 

I was truly only going off of the weird vibe I felt about him when I told my friends he buried bodies in his backyard because he was, in fact, a serial killer.


If you know me, or have been following along for a while, you know the house I live in was my great-grandparents’ house. And my parents’ house is right next door. Who lives on the other side of my house, you might be asking yourself? None other than the maybe serial killer.

He goes by a different name now, which is aggressively suspicious, but he still lives alone and recently put a massive camera outside the front of his house that is MOTION SENSORED and ROTATES.

Who’s to stay what he’s really up to inside of that house, but this true crime murderino loves speculating.

day twelve: a list of firsts

I can't remember my first kiss.

I know there were two boys in seventh grade that kissed me, but I can't for the life of me remember which one happened first.


My first concert was Hanson. I left modified soccer practice early and bragged about having box tickets that my uncle got me through his work. I wore a band t-shirt I ordered off of the back of an Eggo Waffles box.


The first time I had my hair highlighted I was 15 and hungover. I threw up into the towel that was around my neck and threw it in the garbage.

I can't remember the first time I drove a car, but I do remember taking my driving test, not being able to parallel park, but passing anyway.


My first love was a boy with jet black hair, olive skin, and piercing green eyes.

My first heartbreak was the same.


I still have a lot of firsts ahead of me, but the one I'm looking to the most is the first time I board a plane to Europe.

Next year *fingers crossed*.

day eleven: ten things that make me really happy

Content: shows to watch, books to read, podcasts to listen to

Tacos/leftover tacos

Clean sheets on the bed

A day off with nothing planned

Spending time with genuinely good people

Laughing so hard, I can’t breathe

Quiet Sunday nights


New music from bands I love/new music from bands I just discovered

Uninterrupted sleep

day ten: fake (or in my case, real) dating profile

I don't want to go out to dinner on our first date. There will be a lot of awkward eye contact and the waiter will surely know we are meeting each other for the first time.

So, let's go bowling instead. Or to play mini golf. We can get french fries or ice cream or both.

I like to go to concerts and comedy shows and to the movies for double features. I'll go hiking once a year, if you ask nicely. I'll always go on a road trip.

My family is important. My friends are important. My time for myself is important.

Romantic gestures will make my skin crawl, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't buy me flowers or surprise me with a bag of Sour Patch Kids. Exposure therapy, you know?

Be honest. Follow through. Show up.

And I'll do the same.

day nine: what i wanted to be when i grew up

Every year in elementary school we were given a blank, white book. It was up to us to write stories and draw pictures and fill the book with all the exciting things that happened that school year.

We also included our school picture on the inside or back cover, along with a little about the author blurb.

In the about the author section of my book from kindergarten, I wrote that I wanted to grow up and be a mom.

In first grade, I wrote that I wanted to grow up and be a teacher.

By second grade, I stopped including that sentence all together.


In high school, I wanted to direct and edit music videos. In college, I wanted to edit movie trailers. I spent my late 20s recording and editing vlogs, so I guess that's how it all shook out.

I have an Associate degree in early childhood education I don't use. I'm not a mother.


I've always found this difficult to answer: what do you want to do? who do you want to be? what do you want to have?

Whenever I'm asked if I want kids, I respond with: I'd like a nice boyfriend first.


Let's start there, you know?


day seven: advice (your own or otherwise)

I'm 31.

I've never been 31 before.

I've never been 31, single, questioning if I want a husband or babies or if I only feel pressure to have those things because I live in suburbia and that's just what people do.

I'm thirty fucking one and I'm still figuring out how to wear my hair and shape my eyebrows.

I'm 31 and learning how to do my taxes, how to keep a cactus alive, how to hang a picture frame without putting 17 holes in the wall.

I'm 31 and asking myself: should I freeze my eggs?


My advice is this: I've never been here before, and wherever you are in your life-- you've never been there before, either. Relax. Give yourself some credit for how far you've come.

Stop worrying that you don't have it all figured out, because guess what? Nobody does.

Don't waste your time thinking you should have more money, or a bigger house, or a rock on your figure, or a baby on your hip.

We get one go at this. Have fun with it.

day six: what you're afraid of

I used to be afraid of a lot of things.

I was scared of first dates. Of walking into restaurants alone or going to the movies by myself. I was scared to go on job interviews or speak up at meetings.

I was absolutely horrified if I had to explain how I was feeling, or God forbid, if I cried in front of anyone.

I was scared to be honest-- mostly with myself, but also with my friends. I was scared to say no- to relationships that weren't right (what if no one else comes along?), to plans (what if I was missing out?).

But the more I put myself into uncomfortable situations that scared me, the less scarier they became.

I can talk myself out of doing pretty much anything and try to blame it on timing or that my instincts are telling me not to do it, but it always comes back to fear. Of being shaking-in-my-boots-scared to do something

Here's the thing: first dates and interviews are scary...for the first five minutes. Once you get into the groove of conversation, the fear subsides. Being vulnerable and openly weeping in front of friends and strangers gets easier the more you do it. Seriously, try it sometime.

Other relationships come along. Friends still invite you to do things even if you said no to the previous thing they asked about.

It's okay to be scared. It's not okay to let it control the way you life your life.


I'm still terrified of cruise ships, though. Luckily it's something that doesn't impact my daily life-- except when I'm having dinner with friends and the TV at the bar is showing pictures of flooding on a Carnival cruise, causing my stomach to flip.