If you eat a salad by yourself, you get to eat that salad however you want.


Today at the courthouse I over heard people laughing and saying out loud IN A PUBLIC BUILDING that they are voting for Obama. 

One guy said “You know we gotta give him four more years!”

I just needed you to know that this happened and that these people weren’t young, trendy white kids. They were real people. And even though we all know that Oklahoma is gonna be redder than a Taylor Swift album tomorrow I thought that maybe this could give you some hope for the rest of America. 


I used too many of my stupid paid time off days. 

So now I have to be here with a terrible cold and canker sore on my throat that is causing me severe ear pain. 

I just need to cry about it for a little bit and look at pictures of Tulsa kids that moved away to PortlandBrooklynLosAngelesOuterSpace and think “Do they ever get sick have to go to work?”

I used to do the same thing with people on commercials when I was sick at home in bed. 

"What if they were sick when they filmed this commercial?"

Like we had some sort of cosmic connection because I was watching a film of them when they were sick while I am actually sick. 

I got this prescription throat spray that is basically just numbing the shit out of my entire mouth, which I completely hate. I am always terrified that I am going to chew off half of my tongue while eating and not notice until there is blood in my cheerios. Gross, sorry. 

One of the lawyers just got here. Asking me about certified mail. Thanks to my degree in letters I am really fucking good at solving most mail problems. I am the one who brought this office stamps dot com. Revolutionized this place. No more trekking down to the post office to buy stamps from one of the three perennially disgruntled older ladies that work there. 

Well, dudes, sorry for this lame post about nothing. Maybe one day I will stop feeling sorry for myself a write a little more. But I did just get cable and I straight up watch every prime time comedy so… probs not.   




kitten heels


pencil skirt


child-birthing hips


1) Cut as much of your hair off as you can emotionally handle.

2) Realize you can stop caring about bullshit if you really want to. 


Me: “I am scared about you guys being on the boat with no phone or internet.”

Boss: “I know, me too. But you know you can use the Amex to call us on the boat for emergencies.”

Me: “What constitutes emergencies?”

Boss: “Like if my mom dies, but don’t call until you know when the memorial service is. Also don’t call if my mother-in-law dies or if any of her brother’s die. And if my dog dies don’t tell me, I would rather have a nice vacation.”

Me: “But I’m watching the dog? What do I do if it dies?”

Boss: “I just told you! I will be on vacation. You need to learn how to self-delegate.”


"What side of the bed do you sleep on?" he asked after the final push that put the mattress in place. 

"I don’t know yet." I replied. I surveyed my old bed in my new room. It was still a couple inches from the wall, still a little hesitant of the new surroundings. 

'Is that choice you make?' I thought.  Once, after a break-up, I was so miserable I decided to start sleeping on the other side of the bed.  And somehow, it fixed something. Somehow, I slept better and woke up less devastated. 

That night I couldn’t sleep. I was cold and convinced that something was moving in the walls. 

When I finally slept for an hour before work I dreamed that my little brother was yelling my name. A loud and forceful and frantic yell that had me sitting straight up in the middle of my bed. 


This happened to me yesterday. I told Brogan that it was like I was living on Pinterest. The very best part is that no matter what happens next I always get to remember that moment of seeing my name on the sidewalk and feeling like the luckiest girl alive. Sometimes it is so hard to remember that the good times and the bad times are separate. I always try to lump them together into this sparkly sludge of “everything.” But in reality some times are really good and nothing gets to change them and some times are really bad and you can never change them either. 

But let’s be real, I better get to at least make out with this guy, right? 

Also, super sorry to the internet for posting this everywhere… cain’t stop.


You guys. I wrote this a couple weeks ago and submitted it to the owners of my soul, Thought Catalog. I don’t think they liked it. I know it needs some editing but it was kinda too personal, I thought at the time, to send to anyone. But I figured I would rather let someone read instead of just letting it stew in my Google docs. So, you know, don’t show it to him.

I never learned to rebound, not in basketball, nor in relationships. Definitely not in basketball because the year I played for the “Little Dribblers” was spent obsessing over which flavor of corn-nuts to buy before practice at the gas station. I always chose ranch, I always regretted it. And I definitely did not learn how to rebound in relationships because I never had the chance to until 2 weeks ago when my first real relationship ended.
“It ended peacefully,” said post break up me to everyone I knew because I overshare. “Like an old person dying in their sleep, surrounded by people they love.”  I didn’t feel all that peaceful on the inside though. I felt like salt melting on avocado flesh.
But when God/god gives you salty avocado flesh, you make guacamole. So, yes I went for that rebound, like it was all that and a bag of tortilla chips, and this is what I learned.
1) When You Sleep With Someone you are Also Sleeping with Every One of Their Butt Tattoos
I have a tattoo near my butt, it’s sexy and cute and kinda funny. When people sleep with me and see it they probably think “I’m not regretting this.” If the rebound has a tattoo on its butt and it is a sexual – but not sexy, a small animal – but not cute, and a cartoon – but not funny at all - then you start thinking “I am regretting this.” The very worst part of this feeling is the knowing you are not alone. Because you made him/her tell you how many people he/she has slept with – you know that there are at least 19 others who have experienced this horror. “Welcome to the club!” says approximately 7 Ashleys, 5 Katies, 3 Brandis, 2 Rachels, 1 Luke and 1 Starshine.   Luckily, unlike the club that he joined to get that butt tattoo, there will be no physical representation of shame required for membership. Just some nasty blows to your already feeble self-esteem.
2) He’s Just Not that Into Your Feelings
When you are in a relationship, especially one that is a sneeze away from total demise, you become sort of hyper-aware of how badly you are fucking the whole thing up. Or possibly it is the other person’s fault and you become hyper-aware of how badly he or she is fucking the whole thing up. Either way you give about 5,000 shits about everyone’s feelings. It’s exhausting, but once it actually ends that awareness is the first thing you notice that is gone. You don’t exactly miss it but you do wonder what it is you thought about before this whole thing happened. Meanwhile, the rebound dude, who is asking you not talk so much during sex, does not give any amount of shits about your feelings. Unless those feelings are making you put your panties back on. It hurts a little but then you remember – sex is what you thought about before all of this happened.
3) My Ass/Tits/Belly Button/Lips Don’t Lie
No matter how many times I scream it drunkenly at bars you can still smoke in no one, not even myself, seems to believe me that people just want to fuck people. Sex with someone that knows nothing about your highly-sought-after collection of cool hobbies reminds you that yes; you are a being that can accomplish sexual intercourse. Your body looks good to more than one person on this earth. In fact your body looks good enough to eat to possibly thousands of people. Some of which you might actually want to eat up right back, others of which have various degrees of decaying corpses in their storm shelter. What I am trying to say is that you, baby thing, are going to be okay. Maybe your heart still vomits up a little sadness when you see ex-boyfriend doppelgangers but there is more of this world for you to love yet! So start with letting this semi-stranger appreciate your naked body and see where that leads you.
4) I Might Like to Think that my Shit Don’t Stink

All of the problems that I had with my ex-boyfriend were really his problems, right? Whenever he said that my “depression made me unrelatable” and all I cared about was “eating at restaurants and having sex” I just assumed that he needed to work through that on his own. My sassy, crass-y Sarah Silverman meets Rodney Dangerfield personality is perfect for someone, just not him, am I wrong? Yes. I am wrong. What I think is harmless, adorable flirting is actually hurtful, demeaning insults. “Giving a Sam’s Club quantity of attention” and a “high-tolerance for self-deprecating humor” should probably get scratched off of my Mr. Right list. It is so very possible that my capital M manic-pixie-dream girl concept of romance is a little  delusional. People with penchants for dramatic behavior and bizarre demands rarely get to live happily ever after, except for Korean dictators. My need to make people love me dearly yet never really get close to me makes the unsightly nipple-shaped scar on my right boob look attractive.

5) There are Increasingly Less Fish in the Sea

Just because something ended doesn’t mean that it wasn’t real. I was really in love with a really great person. He liked malbecs, My Bloody Valentine, Murakami, dumb looking dogs and my ass in boyshorts. He was special like a breakfast cereal. But sometimes your heart falls right out of your bra and makes a mess all over your shoes. The  unfortunate fact is that the majority of this world doesn’t know who you are and doesn’t want to go to your Grandmother’s surprise 90th birthday party with you. As James Cameron knows the sea is deep and wide and full millions of creatures. It’s just that there is this certain type of fish that you had once and thought it was the best. Chances are it’s gonna be a long while before you find a tasty fish again. In the meantime figure out how to wrangle your heart back into your bra and try a lot of sushi.


I watched girls in flimsy neon dresses ride a mechanical bull in front of a bar. The same sort of girl in the same sort of dress operated the bull. 

The girls got on in pairs and clung to each other with dizzy, drunk smiles on their faces. As the bull vibrated and rocked the neon dresses scrunched up the girls thighs and revealed butt cheeks and underwear and more and more. Speed gathered and the half-naked bodies pushed to

Laughing guys recorded the rides on their cell phones and kept checking to see if what they were doing was “okay.”

When a particularly showy ride ended the operator would hold up a clear bucket of cash and holler that she accepted tips. 

I wondered if she got the job from her years of experience as back-stabbing bitch. Like one day after sleeping with with her best friend’s boyfriend she realized that she could surely find a way to turn her passion into a profit. 

"That girl had purple stretch marks!" said my brother, with equal parts delight and disgust. 

I thought about my own purple stretch marks, some had lost their color but still had texture, like a dried out river deltas carved into the widest part of my hips.

I really love this photo…


I really love this photo…



working title: “learning to be”

choruses are among the many things my songs lack.

The best little chicken I know made this perfect song.

Source: goodgrieferin

After spending the last 3-100 hours reading and watching stuff written by talented, clever, intelligent, feminist young-ish ladies on the internet I have come to a conclusion. 

I must not actually be as funny or cute or ADORKABLE or witty or charming or manic pixie dream girl as I think I am because I don’t self-describe myself as AWKWARD.

Sure, I have had some awkward moments, what with me being a human and all that jazz. To prove it to you here are my top five examples (from least knuckcle-bite inducing to most):

5) Any time I carry an object that isn’t really heavy but is unwieldy and have to transport through some sort of door.  AWKWARD. THAT IS THE BEST USE OF THIS WORD. 

4) The other day I told my boss that someone was “gay in their butt.” Would this joke be funny to my peers? YES. Maybe even if my peers were gay? POSSIBLY YES. Was it offensive to my 40-something gay boss? YES. She proceeded to ask me ‘what does that even mean?’ I told her it was stupid, I am stupid. My whole generation is stupid. All straight white girls everywhere are stupid. But none of that helped. THAT WAS AWKWARD. SHE COULD HAVE FIRED ME RIGHT THERE AND I WOULD HAVE SAID ‘FAIR ENOUGH.’

3) At a work party once I asked a black woman if she was friends with the other black woman there and then she said “yes?” and I said “oh I just saw you two walk in together,” and she said “no we didn’t” and I said “OH SORRY I AM OBVI A  RACIST WHO ASSUMES ALL BLACK PEOPLE ARE FRIENDS.” Ok I didn’t say that but I did just walk away because the damage had been done so… THAT WAS AWKWARD.

2) When I met Casey Affleck, BECAUSE WE WERE CAST IN THE SAME FILM, I told him that “he might remember from molesting him in his childhood.” (Hint: In the film I molested his character as a child.) AND HE DIDN’T LAUGH OR EVEN COMMENT ON THAT. THAT WAS AWKWARD. HE IS CELEBRITY THAT IS ALSO THE BROTHER OF A CELEBRITY. WHAT IF HE TOLD HIS BROTHER AND HIS BROTHER TOLD JENNIFER GARNER?

1) Once I was doing a sexy naked handstand for my boyfriend and I queefed - like 5 times.  It was the grossest moment of my life and I just told you about it. THAT WAS AWKWARD! WHAT DO YOU DO AFTER THAT HAPPENS? AND I JUST POSTED THAT ON THE INTERNET - WHAT IF MY AUNT READ THIS? THAT WOULD ALSO BE AWKWARD TO DISCUSS WITH HER!

So there you go! I am not immune from awkwardness! And I am pretty sure that I experience it just as much as every other human. BUT I REFUSE TO HIDE BEHIND IT LIKE IT IS SOME SORT OF LIP-PLUMPER LIPGLOSS THAT JUST LIES TO EVERYONE ABOUT WHO I REALLY AM. 

I am confident. A lieeeettle too confident maybe sometimes.  And gosh darn it, I think that it is  A-OK to be a confident girl. My mom didn’t even have to tell me that. She showed me it by yelling at people in Wal-Mart parking lots for not dressing their children appropriately for the weather. 

The point is I am not getting my rocks off on telling people that I don’t fit into some sort of norm. There is no normal. This was confirmed by me when I started working at a criminal law firm and saw that sometimes really lovely people in the world who also happen to rob banks with guns and make meth in vans. Normal does not exist, at least not in America. 

I make mistakes and say stupid stuff and occasionally wear crotch-biting high-rise dress pants with comically ruffly tops but good lord in dear sweet heaven, that does not make ME awkward. 

And guess what… YOU AREN’T AWKWARD EITHER. You interpret and respond to social cues the majority of the time. You keep your toots, farts, sharts, burps, belches, and other gastrointestinal dilemmas to yourself most of the time. You have never groped the elderly or the childerly inappropriately in front of their care takers (hint: don’t do this away from their care takers either, turns out it you go to jail and are forever on the sex offender facebook page.) 

You are a girl (or a boy, that likes reading what I write because you are a) gay or b) confused about how to get me to sleep with you.) You are funny and nerdy and sweet and generally lost all of time and you do cry during those GE commercials about wind turbine manufacturing. But  OH MY GEE you do not have to be awkward. It is not the fucking world’s job to make you feel like you do not belong. It is your fatherfucking (feminist!) job to MAKE THE WORLD YOUR BITCH (not thaaaat good of a feminist.) !!!!!!

Do you think that you will be able to loved a little easier because you can call yourself out on your ‘awkwardness’? THAT IS NOT A TRUTH.

You will be loved because you love yourself. You will be loved because you know you are WORTHIER THAN SHIT of being loved. I meant that in a good way. 


In the name of Uncle Jesse we all say, capische?