When did we get old?


I’m in this really weird place right now; maybe you’ve been there (are there) too. This “place” is where I feel like I am getting so old (so quickly) but at the same time I still feel so young. One moment I’m all like, “YES, Lion King is on!” And in that same split second, “Oh dear, it looks like it’s going to get over at 9:30… Kinda late… Probably should just DVR it tonight.”

I’m a walking contradiction who is feeling very young/old… yold. I’m feeling very yold. I just made up a new word – – Is that a young thing or old thing? This is all so perplexing. (Yep, perplexing).

Here are things that have made me feel extremely old recently:

My body

My body is starting to reject me. I’m all, “Let’s pull an all-nighter and watch Seasons 1-3 of “Breaking Bad” tonight!” While my body is all, “Ha, you’re going to fall asleep. Sitting straight up. With your glasses on. In about 2.46 seconds.”

I now have heartburn? I phrased this as a question because I always just thought people were over exaggerating about heartburn. “It couldn’t possibly be that bad,” I would say. Oh, but it is. Pretty much feels like your organs are trying to kill you from the inside out. NBD. My knees feel creaky. I’ve plucked 4 grey hairs. I take vitamins. I’m dipping myself in a vat of moisturizer daily to avoid future wrinkle lines. WHO AM I?

Every so often, I attempt revenge on my body – – Simply to keep the hierarchy intact and to make sure my body still knows who the top dog is around here. So, I’ll go on a tequila bender. “What now, body! Suck it!” Meanwhile, my body is all, “Yeah? Have fun with the three-day hangover I’m about to give you.” Damnit.

My Weekends

I’m not always trying to conquer my body… I also feel extremely old when I don’t care about staying home on the weekends. I’ll cancel on my friends. And the hell of it is, they don’t care either. I’ll get a response like, “Yeah, I’m pretty tired too. Probably going to call it a night. Maybe grab some brunch tomorrow?”

Double red flags here – – First, we’re both more relieved we’re going to bed rather than “hitting the town”. Secondly, we now grab things like “brunch”.

Things I Say

I’ve found myself saying things that make me do a double take…”Wait, what did I just say?”

  • “What is with kids nowadays??”
  • “Why is the music SO LOUD IN HERE?”
  • “Damnit! I missed Jeopardy.”
  • “How is this hotdog so expensive? It’s a hotdog.”
  • “Oh, you need the forecast? I’m pretty well read on my weatherchannel.com action.”

I wish I was kidding about any of those.

My Calendar

Now, my calendar is no longer filled with swiggly lines & hearts, or birthday reminders for every single friend I’ve ever had, or “countdowns” to vacations. Now, my calendar is full of work meetings, doctor appointment reminders, and it’s definitely not hand-written anymore. This much “colder” calendar can be found within the iPhone attached to my aging hip.

My Worries

Long gone are the days of being “carefree”. I worry about… just about everything. I’ve apparently turned into a crazy worrier. Some of you who have known me for a while are probably saying, “Stace, you’ve always been a worrier. This isn’t new.”

I worry about the future. I guess everyone probably worries about that though. I worry that I’m not saving enough money for the future. I worry that the shoes I just bought that make me walk funny are going to cause some permanent damage but they are so cute. I can’t stop wearing them. I’m worried that the planet is running out of fresh water so I don’t run the water as much – – For example, when I’m doing dishes or brushing my teeth, I turn the water off in between (Alright, I’m seriously losing it. Right? I have to stop watching these crazy documentaries).

Here’s an example of how the media makes me worry. Today on MSN‘s homepage, this story caught my eye: 


Awesome. Thanks, MSN.

I worry about my parents getting older. I worry about my friend’s parents getting older. I worry about my sister. I worry about my job. I worry about my friend’s jobs. I worry about whether or not Girls on HBO is going to be picked up for another season (Just kidding, there’s no way they aren’t getting picked up for another season). Obviously, I’m just a fucking mess. These things weren’t on my mind years ago, even just a few short years ago!

I miss the days when what I worried about the most was who would be in the same lunch hour as me in high school… Actually, screw that. That also sucked.


If you’ve stuck it out thus far through this posting – – Thank you. Did you really think I was going to end this posting on such a dark and depressing note? You did, didn’t you? C’mon.

These mini freak-outs that I have (semi-regularly) about getting older usually lead me to want answers. Why do I feel like this? Does everyone feel like this? Am I literally crazy? Usually, I ask and answer these questions myself, and my thoughts are pretty unreasonable. All I know is that I have to stop freaking out every time I have one of these quarter-life crisis moments. And really, these moments are not necessarily a completely terrible thing.

So, here is my answer(s). I think the reason why most twentysomethings are so fixated on age is because we feel some sort of pressure to be a certain way at 21, or 25, or 28, or 30, etc. (Oh, God… don’t even get me started on 30). These ages all represent invisible deadlines that we have given ourselves regarding careers, love, family, etc. “I can’t get drunk and throw up anymore, I’m 25!” “I need to be in a serious relationship by 27.” “I need to have a baby by 30.”

We put all of this pressure on ourselves which results in a whole lotta’ guilt for essentially just acting our age. Movies, TV, magazines, friends, teachers, and parents have all made us obsessed with the idea of being domesticated and having our shit together. It makes me sad to think that we are always so caught up in this stuff that we miss out on the other stuff. Other stuff = Our actual youth. By being so focused on doing everything THE RIGHT WAY, we are skipping out on doing things in the wrong way. Which could end up being the best way of all.

George Bernard Shaw (and every other person in the world) probably said it best: Youth is wasted on the young.

But you know what? I’m not going to fall into this cliché – – And neither should you.

Hot & Not: March 2013


Welcome to the first monthly edition of Hot & Not. I’ll start with the “Not’s” because I like to end things on a good note and I’m in a pretty good mood today.

The NOT List


Alright everyone, I’ll be the first one to say it. I don’t like Beyoncé.

There. I feel better.

I know, I know. Many of you are already disagreeing with my very first Hot & Not list. Please let me explain before you move your cursor and close this tab on the browser.

  1. We can begin with how Microsoft Word autocorrected Beyoncé’s name when I began typing this. Really? Really, Bill Gates? This irritates me.
  2. She goes by one name. Beyoncé Giselle Knowles-Carter, known mononymously as Beyoncé. Why do people do this? Do celebrities get so famous that they wake up one day and they’re just like, “Ya know, I think I’m only going to go by one name from now on. Yeah, just one name. A first and last name? Nah. Not for me.” What if I just wanted to go by Stacey? How do I even go about dropping the last name? Is there paperwork to fill out? I’d probably have to go to the Secretary of State. Forget it, never mind.
  3. Can we talk about how she single handedly broke up Destiny’s Child? I’ll agree she was obviously the front-runner of the group… but now, I can only daydream about what catchy tunes could have followed up, “Say My Name”, “Independent Women”, and “Survivor”. Another album would have been “Bootylicious”. (Note: Microsoft Word does not recognize Bootylicious as a correctly spelled word… C’mon Beyoncé).
  4. Her “movie career”. I’ll give her Dreamgirls. Mainly, because I haven’t seen it and I’m sure it’s super inspiring or whatever. But I will not let anyone forget that she was in Austin Powers: Goldmember. Oh and The Pink Panther.
  5. She has an alter ego. (UGH). I’m sure many people have alter egos… okay? I don’t know. I don’t really follow how we, as a society, are handling alter egos. And sure, I have an alias I use when I check in at restaurants for reservations (Okay, yeah. That’s probably kind of weird) buttttttt, I’m still calling bullshit on “alter egos”.
  6. The Illuminati. Do I really need to explain? Google it. I’m actually probably risking my life against the Illuminati by writing ill of Beyoncé. Fuck.
  7. Her documentary on HBO. I’m not sure if many of you tuned in to Beyoncé’s documentary on HBO that has been airing recently but (because I have no life) I have watched it. I’ll sum it up for you. Life Is But A Dream (Not a totally terrible title) is pretty much an infomercial of B (I call her that now after watching the doc, it’s like we’re buds). The documentary is pretty much a ton of time spent with B just looking into her MacBook camera. This, I’m assuming, was intended to show how much B was “revealing” to the audience when in fact she didn’t reveal very much at all. There was one sweet scene where B and Jay-Z were just sitting around and singing a Coldplay song that could melt anyone’s heart. I guess I did enjoy the documentary a bit. What can I say? I’m a sucker for a good any documentary.

I feel that I was a bit harsh on my girl, B. She’s beautiful and talented. Yada, yada, yada. But really, she’s just not doing it for me right now. Maybe next month.

The Duggar’s

Okay. How are the Duggar’s still relevant at all? If you don’t know who the Duggar’s are, good for you. (Family from the TLC show “19 Kids and Counting”). For the rest of us losers, I was scrolling through Yahoo News the other day (because I was very busy, clearly) and this article title caught my eye:

NYC Burger Feast Costs A Fortune For 23 People.

I like burgers and I like news stories so I clicked on the link. Little did I know that this article was about how the Duggar’s were visiting Manhattan and stopped in at a burger joint for a meal. Of course, I kept reading. The meal cost the Duggar’s $614. Seems extreme, right?

Well after thinking about it, that price isn’t too crazy. My family and I were in NYC over the holidays this year and each time we ate (breakfast, lunch, or dinner) we were spending around $100 bucks a meal. So feeding 23 people for $614 is really not that terrible. It comes out to around $26 a person. In NYC, I’d say that’s pretty average.

After thinking about how this meal wasn’t really that crazy, I thought about how I actually did the math to figure out how much it would cost a Duggar to eat, and then I thought about how I actually read this entire news story about THE DUGGARS, and then I thought about how I actually clicked on a “news story” about a Burger Feast, and then I actually got super depressed.

The Duggars are just so… not what I should be reading about.

Stars diving into a pool.

So if anyone has been watching ABC broadcasting whatsoever, you’ve probably been bombarded by ads for this new show, “Splash”. I don’t have much to say about this other than… Really, ABC? This is the best you can come up with? Shame on you. I have roughly 285 ideas for different television series they could use. Hell, I’m also pretty sure the 4-year-old who sat behind me and coughed/spit up on my hair at Panera Bread yesterday, has better ideas than a show about stars diving into a pool.

Also, they are using the term “stars” very loosely. I recognize the names of the following participants: Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Drake Bell, Ndamukong Suh, Katherine Webb, and Kendra Wilkinson. The rest? Well. I’m not sure who Louie Anderson is. Or Rory Bushfield. Or Nicole Eggert. Or Keshia Pulliam. The only one I would root for if I was to watch it (And let’s be honest, I’ll probably tune in for at least one ep) is Chuy from “Chelsea Lately”. Obviously I’d watch that lil’ nugget try to dive.

Can this show just start already so ABC can not show the previews anymore?

Kim Kardashian’s baby bump

Let’s all just make a pact right here, right now. Let’s not care about Kim Kardashian anymore. Please. I’m begging you.

She’s just so… not.

The HOT List

Justin Timberlake

Dear lord. I mean, c’mon. In my junior high days, JT and the rest of *NSYNC empowered my thirteen-year-old self to jam out, party like a rock star, and they even serenaded me to sleep. I really didn’t think I could fall more in love with Justin Timberlake than I did back then… Boy was I wrong.

Is there anything hotter than Justin Timberlake right now? No, no there is not. His music career is back in full swing and he just hosted Saturday Night Live for the fifth time. If you haven’t watched this past weekend’s SNL, I urge you to run, not walk to your nearest television or computer and watch immediately. Is there anything sexier than a funny guy? Yes. A sexy, funny guy who can sing. Oh, and dance. Also, I’ve never witnessed someone wear a suit as flawlessly as he does. Geeeesh. Watching SNL this weekend awakened all of my inappropriate junior high thoughts. I still can’t bring myself to delete it off the DVR.

I’m really happy for Justin. He deserves it. By the way, he’s on Late Night with Jimmy Fallon every night this week. Yes, EVERY night.

Heeeeeeeeee’s baaaaaaaaaaack.

So hot.

March Madness

Alright. I wouldn’t say I’m obsessed with sports, but I like sports – – a lot. March brings one of my favorite times of the year… March Madness. I just got excited typing that. God, I’m a loser. March Madness is on my hot list for the following reasons:

  1. A Cinderella Story. First, if you’re thinking that I’m referring to the Hilary Duff/Chad Michael Murray flick, you should probably just scroll down to the next item on the hot list because the rest of this is not going to be of any interest to you. When I say “Cinderella Story” I’m talking about the lowest ranked team in the tournament getting a chance to knock off a top 5 team and make it to the Final Four. I’m all about watching the nice guys finish first in March Madness. I love a good “Cinderella Story”.
  2. The Brackets. If you’ve read anything on this blog, you’ve probably gotten some sense that I’m competitive. I used to think I wasn’t competitive at all…  Then a few months ago during an extremely intense battle of “Sequence: An Exciting Game of Strategy” I decided that okay; maybe I am a bit competitive. I love filling out a bracket – – Even though on day 1 of the tourney my bracket will be destroyed when the team that I had losing just because I hate their mascot decides to screw me over, royally.
  3. Hot guys. There are a ton of good-looking guys in the tournament. Lots-o-eye-candy. However, I then remind myself that most of these guys are freshmen in college and then I feel… ancient. Just kill me.

March Madness is fun. If you don’t watch, don’t like basketball, or whatever – I dare you to watch a few games… give it a chance! And besides, throw your boyfriend/fiancé/husband a bone and watch for a few hours – Who knows, it might pay off for you later… if you know what I mean…

Also, GO BLUE (HOT).

Cheesecake Factory

So there was an announcement made a week or so ago that a Cheesecake Factory was opening in Michigan. Hallelujah. I’ve pondered for years why there is not one Cheesecake Factory in Michigan – – Especially because the owner/CEO is from Michigan? Nevertheless, I couldn’t be any more delighted that he has relented and decided to build a chain of his business in this state.

I can’t explain the reaction of my fellow Michiganders but this will kind of surmise it for you:



The only person weary about the Cheesecake Factory: My waistline.


You’re Invited: It’s Shower Season!


It was beautiful outside this past weekend. You know, those rare winter days when the sun is shining for the first time in weeks – like really shining. One of those days where you don’t feel the need to wear a jacket because it’s so deceivingly beautiful out. The best part of this type of day is that you can smell spring attempting to creep around the corner. I for one, am ready to bid adieu to winter. I’m tired of the boots, the 4 layers of shirts, and especially the slippery, icy walkways that I seem to fall on every other day. I’m ready for summer — Dresses, flip-flops, ice cream runs, and bonfire nights.

The major problem(s) with spring are the showers. And I’m not talking about the precipitation. I’m talking about bridal and baby shower season.

I remember a time when the worst thing I was receiving in the mail were bills – – Not anymore, sister. Now, around March, April, and May, my mailbox becomes a breeding ground for baby shower invites and wedding “Save-the-dates”. Before this posting really gets rolling, I need to first make a disclaimer.

DISCLAIMER: I, the author of the content of this blog, can assure you, the reader, that while the following may depict a side of myself that loathes the very thought of attending a bridal/baby shower, my feelings will still be extremely hurt if I am not invited as result of this posting. I may bring my snarky attitude but I also bring awesome gifts. The choice is yours.

Back to business.

Time. Food. Pressure.

These three elements blend together to form the trifecta of my perfect storm known as shower season.

My first bone to pick with shower season is time. Obviously you can’t expect someone to hold a shower on a weekday because who would come then? So yes, it makes sense that 99% of showers are held on the weekend.  However, this is basically telling me: “Hey, I know the weather is finally looking nice and you may want to use a free weekend to, oh I don’t know, get crazy and just walk around outside or stay at home and just relax – – But now, you have to spend your entire day at a shower!” Show me someone who says that a shower doesn’t last all day and I’ll show you a liar.

A shower could start at 11am, 1pm, or 3pm (all standard starting times for a shower) and I promise that your whole day is fucked. Also, I truly believe there is a special place in hell reserved for people who hold their showers on a Saturday. These events should be made to ruin my Sundays and only my Sundays.

Here’s a birds-eye-view example:

Sunday: Shower @ 1pm

8am: Roll out of bed. Shower. Pretend to eat breakfast but just end up having a Diet Coke. Get caught up in a Lifetime movie… You know the one, usually the flick where DJ from Full House plays a teenage girl who is dating the star football player and everything is daisies. Then we find out he’s an abusive boyfriend (GASP!) The remainder of the film is her trying to get out of the relationship but always “trusting him again” and she turns on all of her friends until she hits complete rock bottom. That one always sucks me in.

10am: I’ve finally removed myself from the couch (DJ got away from the loser boyfriend and he was arrested, phew). Time to get dressed and out the door.

11am: Finally leaving the house. Yes, it took me an hour to get dressed. It’s not easy to pick out an outfit when you’re staring at your closet with the following thoughts going through your head:

A: I can’t wear this because I wear this to the bar and my mom will undoubtedly make a comment. (Mom decoder: “Gee, that’s awfully short…” = “You should change your clothes.”)

B: I can’t wear this because I’m not 70 years old — Where did I even buy this?

C: What will give off the vibe: “I am no where near getting married and the thought of having a baby happens to scare the shit out of me but I’m doing great, THANKS.”


It is incredibly difficult to get a move on and out the door when you can’t dress yourself. As usual, after everything that was hanging in my closet is now in one huge heap on the floor, I will be leaving the house in a blouse and my classic black pencil skirt. I’m so typical.

11:30am: I’ve arrived at either A: Bed, Bath, and Beyond or B: Babies R’ Us. Yes, I waited until the absolute last minute to pick up a gift… doesn’t everyone? Anyway, I make my way over to the gift registry area, on my way I realize that I chose the wrong shoes to wear – – I’ve been on my feet for all of what, two minutes? I can already feel blisters trying to kill me from within. Ugh. I am greeted at the registry by some teeny-bopper who rolls her eyes while I attempt to remember how to spell the last name of the said person I am there for. After what seems like an eternity, that sweet angel of an employee hands me the printed registry list and the real horror sets in.

Great, every single decent thing on this registry has been bought. That’s what you get for waiting until AN HOUR before the event. Oooooh, I could buy the one set of hand towels that is left OR the $599.99 mixer (in Mint Julep). Decisions, decisions. This is about the time I decide to go rogue and this is also when I get in even bigger trouble.

12:15pm: YES, IT’S NOW 12:15. I’M STILL AT THE STORE.

12:30pm: I’ve made a decision. Usually some sort of china set/piece or a vase that is really nice and hopefully can actually be useful. I hope.

12:45pm: I’m screaming at my iPhone because I am now lost and cannot find the quaint clubhouse/hall/restaurant/house/WHATEVER. This is when I usually call one of my allies that will be at the said event and beg them to give me turn-by-turn directions. I’m also trying to sign the card at each red light I am stopped at.

1:10pm: I arrive. Only 10 minutes late (even in my hypothetical blog scenario, I’m late).

2:00pm: I’m still wondering why events haven’t happened. Why aren’t we at least eating?! THE FOOD IS RIGHT THERE. Literally, right there. I could grab it with my hand if I reached out my arm. But no, we have to wait. Wait and mingle. Mingling is the worst. Here is where the two final components of the shower season trifecta come into play.

Food: I have many problems with the food aspect of a shower. First, you never know what to expect. At some showers the “spread” simply includes chips and pop (cheapskates) and at other showers there are full meals served (trying a little hard?). There’s no consistency. How can a girl plan? Of course, it never fails that when I hedge my bets and eat before the shower, I’ll arrive and it will be a sit down meal. When I don’t eat beforehand, I’ll be rationing those fluffy pastel mints for the remainder of the shower. My other problem with the food aspect are the food choices. When did chicken salad croissants become the go-to shower food? I enjoy chicken salad but can’t we spice it up, people? Get creative. Another offender: Watermelon, hollowed out and filled up with a variety of different fruits. Ugh. I would be delighted to show up at a shower and they were like SURPRISE! We’re having mac n’ cheese and DOUBLE SURPRISE, you can take it to-go, because this shower is over! Am I in heaven?

During this awkward mingle time, the last part of the trifecta comes up.

Pressure: On a daily basis I don’t feel much pressure about being single. I have amazing friends, family, an incredible education, and a job that I actually like getting up and going to every morning. Things for me… are pretty good. Of course there are certain times or days when I think that having that “special someone” in my life would be nice, but most days, I’m pretty content. One situation that causes me to feel “the pressure” is shower season.

The first part of the pressure that comes is from myself. When my mailbox is full of “Save the dates” and I’m running out of magnets because my fridge is covered with ultrasound-baby-shower-invites, I can’t help but think I’m missing something. I usually equate it to this: It’s like watching all your friends move on to junior high, while you’re being held back in fifth grade, still trying to master times tables. It makes me feel behind the curve and wonder, “Well fuck. Why am I single?”

At showers, two things will happen if you’re single: “hypothetical talk” and “dodge ball”. When I say “hypothetical talk” I’m describing the comments like, “Well, someday for your shower….” or “I’ll have to remember this for you one day”. While I play along with this, I’m always thinking… “Will there be a shower for me??” I can’t even predict what the next week of my life will look like, let alone fathom the idea that I will forrrrr sure get married and have a baby (fingers crossed in that order).

The second part, “dodge ball”, also happens during mingling. This is when I swerve, avoid, duck, and obviously, dodge, questions about my single status. There is always a friend, or mother of a friend, etc., who for whatever reason needs to know why I am single and what I am doing to counteract this. “You’re so accomplished and beautiful… But your mother must really be hankering for some grandkids! You better start trying a little harder missy!” I would love to respond, “Um, that started as a compliment, right…? Did you just say ‘hankering’…? Are my reproductive choices any of your damn business…? By the way, I hate you.” But instead, I choose the much higher road – – Avoidance, or “dodge ball” as I’ve coined it.

Back to the schedule…

2:30pm: We are now an hour and a half in… and we are released to eat. Chicken salad – – surprise, surprise.

2:50pm: The games. Ugh, with a double side of ugh. Does anyone like the games? That was a trick question – – No one likes the games. No one wants to play the games, but it’s just what you do. It’s tradition. And plus, I’m super competitive and sure, I’d like to walk away with some free antibacterial soap from Bath & Body Works… Hopefully an apple scent.

3:30pm: The presents are still not opened. I repeat, the presents are still not opened. Everyone knows that it would be extremely rude to leave before presents are opened. And you can’t just duck out. I may be sarcastic and snarky, but I’m not rude. Once I’ve committed, I’m committed. In my dream world, when the bride/expectant mother opened my gift she would look to the crowd and see a very adorable, thin, cardboard cutout of myself giving them the thumbs-up sign. Meanwhile, I’d be at home, catching up on my DVR.

4:00pm: We are now in hour three. Presents are being opened. I’ve already used my allotted 37 “oooohs” and 42 “ahhhhhhs” and I even hit quota with 25 “Howwwww cuuuuuuuute”. It’s time to go.

4:45pm: I’m helping clean up. Because I love my friends. And obviously hate myself.

5:15pm: Saying my good-byes. Somehow, I get caught up in a conversation with some friends I don’t see nearly enough and before I know it, there’s a dinner plan in the making. For tonight.

5:30pm: I’m riding shotgun in my college roommate’s car and we’re off to “dollar taco” night with a bunch of my old sorority sisters.

Like I said, showers take up the ENTIRE day.

Happy Shower Season to you all.

Live-Texting. Oscars 2013.

This past weekend marked the 85th Academy Awards. Every year I’m always like, “I’m not going to watch… boringggg.” And every single year, I relent. I’m not sure what is so appealing about award season. It could be the glitzy-Hollywood-glam, the competitive atmosphere, or an evening celebrating the year’s best films… But I’m going to put my money on hunky men in suits.

While I was pretending I wasn’t going to watch this year, I received a text message from a good friend asking if I was viewing the big show. The following is the text conversation between Mandy and I throughout the entire duration of the Oscars. After reflecting, I realized that apparently I have a thing for Seth MacFarlane and I‘m pretty sure I was much more jilted about Ben Affleck not recieving a Best Director nomination than he was.


Mandy: Are you watching the Oscars?

Me: Yeah.

Me: I’m attracted to Seth MacFarlane.

Mandy: I think he’s gay.

Me: He is not.

Mandy: He is assumed to be.

Me: I’m really sad you think he’s gay. Then I have no chance 😦

Mandy: I just think I’ve heard that before. He won’t say he is but it is assumed. He does have a lovely singing voice and is very dapper. I see the attraction.

Me: I like his attitude.

A straight man.

Me: Idk, I don’t know why I don’t think anything is funny.

Mandy: We’re a tough crowd.

Me: We should make a short film, seems like our best route to an Oscar. Easiest. Probably like an hour or two of editing.

Mandy: Why didn’t our moms make a Pixar movie about us??

Me: I don’t know, ridiculous on their part.

Me: Anne Hathaway is wearing a bridesmaid’s dress.

Mandy: She is very hit or miss.

She can probably hem that dress and re-wear it!

Me: Life of Pi looks extremely sad. I’m glad I didn’t see it.

Mandy: It does, still haven’t seen it.

Me: Samuel Jackson scares me.

Me: Samuel L. Jackson that is.

Mandy: I gotcha, I always think of snakes when I see him. I also hate his shirt.

Me: Mark Ruffalo has looked better.

Mandy: What did he play in that movie?

Me: The Avengers?? The Hulk, Mandy.

Not enough Robert Downey Jr…

Mandy: Oh yeah, I didn’t know. I prefer him as Matty.

Mandy: Do you think he said hi to Jennifer Affleck?

Me: Everyone does and I hope so.

Mark Ruffalo and Jennifer Affleck (formerly, Jennifer Garner) from the blockbuster “13 going on 30”.

Me: Life of Pi is already cleaning up.

Mandy: Sure is.

Me: They better not win everything like that stupid non-talking movie did last year.

Mandy: Especially since we didn’t see it.

Me: Yeah, obviously lol.

Yeah… maybe we were wrong about this movie…

Me: So much sex appeal on stage.

Mandy: She looks pretty but old.

Me: Yeah, older.

Mr. Channing Tatum and Jennifer Aniston. Why is Channing at the Oscars?

Me: The people who win the early awards are so weird.

Mandy: Awkward.

Me: Could someone not do her hair?! It’s the Oscars.

Mandy: To expensive.

Mandy: Good grief, that outfit!!

Me: I told you these people lol.

Me: I’m never gonna be a Bond girl.

Mandy: I don’t want to be! This is what you become.

Me: She’s a dame! And wearing gold.

Shirley Bassey… (I had to look that name up)

Mandy: This won’t end.

Me: Yeah, that was torture.

Mandy: Clooney is probably asleep.

Me: Did you see his beard? He looks good no matter what.

Mandy: I know, so good.

Class act.

Mandy: I hate Quentin.

Me: Everyone does.

Mandy: I don’t think you can talk in a short film.

Me: I heard that foreign film, Amore, is super sad. About a woman who gets sick and starts deteriorating and her husband has to decide to kill her ot put her out of her misery.

Mandy: Omg… geeeeesh France.

Me: Yeah, I’m like well sounds like the saddest movie ever.

Mandy: Ben looks good.

Me: I love Seth.

Me: And Benji.

Mandy: That was quick, I think Ben wants off stage.

Me: He’s pissed he didn’t get nominated for his directing.

Me: This jaws music is hilarious.

Mandy: I don’t like poor sports.

Me: I hate poor sports as well.

Mandy: I miss old Travolta. I hate new Travolta.

Me: How is John Travolta still relevant?

Mandy: He owns Hollywood, Stacey!

I miss Danny Zuko.

Mandy: How is Chicago relevant?

Me: I love dis song.

Me: You know I do.

Mandy: It’s JAZZZZ.

Me: Lol, Chicago isn’t relevant but I love this sexay song. Sex is always relevant.

Mandy: Tell that to Jesus, Stacey.

Me: Me and him have a hit or miss relationship lately.

Zeta-Jones has still got it.

Mandy: She is perfect for this song. She gets to sing everywhere.

Me: I’m so bothered by Jennifer Hudson all the time.

Me: You know Beyonce is so jelly.

Mandy: So jelly.

Me: She’s just so blah.

Not Beyonce.

Mandy: Hey Oscars, ten years ago called… they want their songs back.

Me: Pretty much.

Mandy: It’s Hugh!

Me: How come Les Mis gets a special?? Kinda unfair.

Mandy: They all get to sing their songs I believe they normally perform all the songs nominated.

Me: Oh yes, probably.

Mandy: Her boobs look awful in that dress!

Me: Anne Hathaway can’t do anything without crying lately.

Mandy: She has feelings.

Mandy: And Sasha Cohen? He’s in that? Really Les Mis??

Me: Yeah, he’s a crazy in it.

Mandy: Well he’s crazy.

Kinda glad the season of Les Mis is over.

Me: Zoe is pretty but I think she takes herself more seriously than anyone else.

Mandy: She does. You were in Center Stage, Zoe. Calm down.

Me: And Chris Pine is just great. I have no complaints of his physique.

Mandy: None whatsoever.

I only see Chris Pine in this picture.

Me: Omggg that bear.

Me: I can’t tell if he’s there or not. I know he’s not, but I kinda think he is.

Mandy: He looks really real.

Me: I swear to God that bear is there.

But for real. That bear…

Mandy: Maybe he is like Teddy Ruxpin.

Me: ?


Me: That bear is scary.

Mandy: Lol you don’t remember him? He read books to you.

Me: No, I never had that monster.

Me: A tie? That’s bullshit Oscars.

*Tie in the Best Sound Category was truly a rare occurrence. The tie between “Skyfall” and “Zero Dark Thirty” was only the sixth such result in the 85-year history of the Oscars. There might not be another in your lifetime. Think about that.

Me: Anddddd the villain’s sidekick from Die Hard is accepting the award.

Mandy: They all have long hair.

Mandy: The hippies. It’s the Oscars – go to Super Cuts.

Me: Yeah, these people aren’t invited to any parties later.

Villain from Die Hard.

Villain from Die Hard…

Me: Here’s a big award. It snuck up on me.

Mandy: It really did.

Me: Do you think Sally deserves it?

Me: I really think Anne deserves it, but I didn’t want her to win.

Mandy: What was taped under her chair?

Mandy: If you didn’t notice, go back and look.

Me: Whose chair?

Mandy: Anne’s when she got up it flipped up.

Mandy: There was something taped underneath. Probably a bomb.

Me: K. I’ll go look when she’s done gabbing.

Mandy: She’s married?!

Me: Yeah, duh.

Me: Her husband is dorky.

Mandy: I didn’t know.

Mandy: I also think she wants to sleep with Hugh.

Me: Yeah I think she might have slept with Hugh.

Me: Yeah I don’t know what was under her seat, looked like a candy bar.


Me: I can’t take the Oscars seriously if he’s not there.

Mandy: Idk, probably at home watching it with his lovely wife.

Mandy: It was probably a candy bar so she doesn’t pass out later.

Me: Probably.

Me: I love Seth.

Mandy: Oh Sandy.

Me: Remember when she was married to a tattooed nazi who got to sit in the front row at the Oscars a few years back? Never forget.

Mandy: People don’t forget.

Oscars 2010

Mandy: I would hate to watch everyone get Oscars for a movie I made.

Mandy: She seems nervous.

Mandy: She always sounds amazing.

Me: Oh Adele, Classy braud.

A lady.

Me: He’s to old for her.

Me: It worked for the movie.

Jennifer and Bradley in “Silver Linings Playbook” Go see this movie!

Me: Is Leo here?!?

Me: I haven’t seen him…

Mandy: I haven’t seen him. Probably too busy not wanting to come.

Me: Lol snubbed.

Mandy: Why is Kristen Stewart there?

Mandy: She is so annoying.

Me: K Stew is so fuckingggggggg awkard.

Mandy: Stop touching your hair. It’s not cute. We hate you for cheating on Robert.

Me: I think it’s because Snow White and The Huntsman was nominated for a few things. Ya know, that movie she slept with the director of.

Mandy: Right.

Mandy: Her dress doesn’t fit right.

Not sure why Harry Potter and Bella Swan were invited to the Oscars…

Mandy: Hanks!

Me: I didn’t see Hanks! I went to the bathroom!

Mandy: Stacey!

Me: Damnit!

Me: Damnit!

Mandy: She’s annoying.

Me: Yes, absolutely.

Mandy: I. Hate. Her.

Mandy: She looks like a witch.

Me: Yeah, she is the worst.


Me: This diving show looks ridiculous.

Mandy: They are using the term stars loosely.

Coming soon to your local ABC.

Me: It’s been 10 years since Chicago? We’re ancient. Just kill me.

Mandy: They both wore gold. Awkward.

Me: I’d do Richard Gere.

Mandy: I told you ten years ago called…

Allllllll thattttttt jazzzzzz.

Me: I really don’t want to listen to a Daniel Day-Lewis speech, but I feel like he’s gonna win later.

Mandy: He was really good maybe he’ll accept as Lincoln.

Me: I think he is Lincoln.

Mandy: He thinks he is Lincoln.

Me: I’m happy for Adele.

Mandy: She’s good.

Me: Did you hear we are supposed to get like 6 inches of snow on Tuesday?

Mandy: I sure did. Snowy.

Me: Snowwww.

*We got off topic a lot…

Mandy: Oh Ben.

Me: Argo.

Me: I would love to know what Ben is thinking.

Mandy: Same thing we were thinking when Delta Zeta won the talent show. WTF.

Me: Your fav just won.

Mandy: I’m glad he cleaned himself up for the Oscars.

Me: He’s crazy.

Mandy’s BFF winning.

Mandy: Life of Pi. Sweeping.

Me: I will never watch that Pi movie.

Me: His wife looks normal, I like that.

Mandy: Yeah, silly.

Mandy: Omg good for her.

Me: Good for her.

My girl J-Law.

Me: Hugh’s wife is weird.

Mandy: Lincoln won.

Mandy: Sorry, Stace.

Me: Typical.

Mandy: He can completely change his voice for a role. It’s crazy.

Me: He’s talented. He is.

He really does think he’s Abraham Lincoln.

Mandy: Is that clear! Stacey!

Me: Crystal.

For some reason, Jack Nicholson presented an award. Which obviously made Mandy and I reference “A Few Good Men”

Me: Whaaaaaaaa? Obama!

Mandy: I love Michelle’s dress.

Mandy: She is classy.

Me: She’s so gd classy.

She’s great.

Mandy: Yayyy Ben.

Me: Omg!

Mandy: He looks vindicated.

Me: I’m so happy for him. And Clooney.

Me: Take that Oscars!

Me: Bennnnnnnnn.

Me: I love him damnit!

Mandy: I love how him and Clooney are friends.

Me: Buds.

Mandy: I gotta go to bed, lol. Goodnight!

Me: Night!


Mo’ Money, Mo’ Problems. Part I.


As another workweek draws to a close, I am reminded of one of my favorite phrases: “Mo’ money, Mo’ problems”.

But… not really. Whoever believes that having more money would really be a problem is a liar. I enjoy nice things. So, in order to finance these things, I gotta’ bring in that money. At this point in my life I was pretty convinced I would already be married and living off my rich, powerful, and sensitive Alpha Male’s steady income (not to mention, his health benefits). But, since I’ve woken up from that dream, I have to pick myself out of bed every morning and hoof it to my job. Let’s discuss the difference a job and a career.

Careers define you. A career is what you’ve always wanted to do. When people ask, “Now dear, what do you do for a living?”, you are able to actually smile and truthfully tell them. You go to work satisfied and you can see yourself doing this for years to come. There is a sense of stability, plus room for advancement. Obviously, not every day, every week, or even every year, within your career will be sunshine and butterflies. However, you are as close as you are going to get to perfection. *Bonus: In this perfect world, your expensive college degree helped launch you into this career.

Jobs, on the other hand, are soul-suckers. A routine morning while working your job most likely includes pulling crinkly pants out of the dryer and pouring yourself a gallon of coffee five minutes before you head out the door. You don’t tell anyone what your true job title is. For example, if you are a cashier at a coffee shop, you tell everyone that you are in finance. Cashier, money… Money, finance… Sort-of see the connection? Anyway, while driving to your job, stuck in rush hour traffic, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the review mirror. You worry your whole life is passing you by and you wipe one stray tear off your cheek. This tear represents your hopes and dreams. In layman’s terms, jobs suck.

I like to think others are stuck in this rut between jobs and careers. I like to think many people are confused about what the future will bring. I also choose to believe there are others out there who put on their armor and head out each day to charge the battlefield.

As you are probably aware, this professional battlefield is riddled with bosses and co-workers. These bosses and co-workers come in many different variations and here is my two-cents…

Bosses: We’ve all experienced the goofy Michael Scott’s, the Office Space inspired Lumbergs, the tyrant Miranda Priestly’s and the ever-so-greedy Mr. Burns’s at the workplace. If you are blessed enough to have an amazing boss, count your lucky stars. The boss is the commander of the workplace, they give orders, determine camaraderie, and choose who lives and who dies. There are several different types of bosses you will encounter in the workforce.

Best Buds Boss: This boss wants nothing more than to be liked. This boss wants the 411 (they’ll, of course, use annoying catch phrases like 411) and will do anything to be on the inside of an inside joke. They are constantly walking around laughing in the middle of conversations they were not apart of, popping their nose over your cube to seeing what your plans are for lunch, and always refers to themselves as the cool boss. And as you know, the cool boss never has to refer to themself as the cool boss. Although this boss can be annoying at times, it is definitely the lesser of the boss evils.

The Dictator: Although you have worked there for 5 years, this boss still doesn’t know your name. You give them undeserved credit for somewhat knowing your name. Example if your name is Jane you also go by Joan, Jess, Jamie, Jenny, and your personal favorite Michelle. You are convinced this boss was born with a permanent scowl tattooed on their face. You live in constant fear of the day they crack a smile because it probably means you’re dead or in some alternate universe. This boss doesn’t know how to do anything around the office. You and your co-workers have absolutely no idea how they got promoted or even hired in the first place. These bosses are amazing at delegation. They delegate their job to you. It is important not to quickly finish up your daily tasks because this boss will not reward you for getting done early and send you home — They will remind you of that 200 slide PowerPoint they need from you for their presentation. While working for this boss, you spend your time daydreaming of the Christmas Eve when your boss is visited by three ghosts and miraculously awakes the next day a change person. Hang in there daydream-believer, it could happen.

An Officer and a Gentleman: This is the boss you respect. You look at this boss as a mentor and they not only make you better at what you do but they push you to be the best you can be. You’ll bend over backwards for this boss. (No, not in bed – Even if you might want to). These bosses are usually the main reason you have stuck by this dead-end job for six years and counting. You dread the day this boss gets married and you have to change jobs due to emotional distress.

Co-workers: These are the people you were not given the chance to choose nor did you ask for them to be in your life. You are paid to interact with these people 40+ hours a week and even if you were paid in gold, you’re still not sure if it would be worth it. Yes, sometimes you do have those co-workers that become outside-of-the-office friends, but that is a rare blessing. (Note: The following descriptions are designed with the single gal in mind – You’ll understand, keep reading)

Here’s the starting lineup for your office:

Mother Goose: This co-worker has married off all seven of her children and made you her next conquest. As soon as she finds out you’re single, she will deliver you a daily list of her available nephews, neighbors, the mail guy, and even the bagger at the grocery store whom you are convinced is only 14. She’ll give you that awkward winky-face whenever a cute guy walks in and will slyly ask about his wife/girlfriend/fiancé to check on his relationship status. Even though she brings the thought of your single-ness to the forefront of your mind on a daily basis, you know that she means well and plus, she is one of the few people out there truly trying to help you snag a husband. *Bonus: You don’t mind her homemade treats and dishes she brings to the potlucks.

Miss Off-The-Market: This co-worker will sow her wild oats by living vicariously through your dating faux pas. She laughs hysterically at your single gal stories and is the first one to ask how that ‘big date’ went. This one always makes you feel like a dating warrior when she asks questions or makes statements such as: “I don’t know how you do it, I’d be so lonely!”, “I’ve just never been single, so I don’t know what its like!”,  or “You just do whatever you want, whenever you want?” These comments, again, bring the fact that you are single to the forefront of your mind on a daily basis. It’s fun to talk to these people because they seem to have a slight twinge of jealousy about your solo-riding life.

Mr. Off-The-Market: While you gaze upon this guy as a success story for some other female out there, he sees you as, Seabiscuit, a horse with a bum leg who should just be put out of her misery. To him, you’re past your prime. In his opinion, if you haven’t been scooped up yet, you ain’t neva gonna get scooped up. He views your funny dating stories as a stairway to bitter spinsterhood. He is quick to give examples of how his girlfriend is superior in every possible way to you. This guy doesn’t understand how you manage to survive without a male presence in your live. Your goal in life is to prove him wrong.

Mr. Office Casanova: This is the guy you fell in love with on the first day on the job. Of course, you didn’t act on it because you’re a classy lady. This guy knows how to work the crowd around the water cooler. This is the guy the other guys look up to and the guy all the girls shamelessly flirt with. None of the women in the office truly want to start a full-fledged relationship with Mr. Office Casanova, but they want him to want them. This guy is the Venus flytrap — Alluring at first, but if you get too close you’re gonna get snapped at. Be careful with this one, I’m 99% sure he has an STD from Lisa in accounting who always has lipstick on her teeth and wears work inappropriate outfits.

Mr. Prince Charming: This is the guy you wake up and go to work for everyday. You get the butterflies when this guy is around and you always go home and tell your friends stories detailing how he stopped by your desk and told you a funny story or gave you a piece of gum (Such special moments). This guy is on a pedestal you will never climb. Every weekend you tell yourself that you’re over him and that this week you will just look at him strictly as a friend… Then Monday rolls around and he is somehow holding a baby at work and he looks so completely adorable it makes your uterus skip a beat. Andddd you’re sucked right back in.

…There are many other work place people and dilemmas I will be discussing, so keep an eye out for Mo’ Money, Mo’ Problems Part II.

Grocery shopping. My personal hell.


Going grocery shopping is the absolute most dreaded thing I do. Ever. I know, I know. You’re probably saying, “Sounds like a case of ‘First World Problems’, Stace”. But seriously. There is not one, let me repeat, not ONE good thing that comes from going to the grocery store. Let me map this out for you.

Of course, we all have to nourish ourselves. And yes, this is much easier as of late. Long gone are the days of hunting and gathering. Now, we all herd into the local Kroger, Meijer, Whole Foods, or whatever, gather the necessities and return to our caves. I suppose I should be relieved that the whole hunting part is somewhat gone, because for us single gals, we don’t have a hunter to do the dirty work.

Parking. No matter what time I go to the grocery store, there will be two things that occur. It will be raining. Even in the dead of winter or on a bright, sunny day in July, there will be precipitation. Also, I will have to park the length of three football fields away from the entrance. How is it that there are never any spots available near the front? Next, let’s talk about my hair. My lovely hair that I attempted to make look decent incase I somehow run into the man of my dreams while picking up tortillas for taco night, will disappoint me. Awesome. My hair and the rain will band together and sabotage me. My hair will become a frizz ball that takes on a mind of its own. My personal favorite is when the front few strands begin to morph into Farrah Fawcett’s do, while the back turns into the look I rocked after bath time circa 7-9 years of age.

Phew, I’ve made it inside the store. Now, the question of carts comes into play. I am given three options. First, the basket. The cutesy basket that gives off the message, “I plan ahead and I don’t need a ton of food because I already have plenty at home. I’m just here to pick up a few things like a leafy head of lettuce and a baguette. I’m so modern chic”. The second option is the big cart. This cart is just impossible to maneuver. Each aisle can comfortably support about 2 of these carts and you know each aisle will be jam-packed with about 7 carts. The third option, my favorite option, the single’s cart. You know this cart. The slightly smaller cart, perfectly made for one. This gives off a few different vibes as well. If you’re a guy: “Hi. I’m single, I need help shopping, and I look so goddamn adorable pushing this smaller cart around this store – – I’m cute”. If you’re a girl: “HI. I’M SINGLE”. I have begun to embrace the single’s cart. It really is the perfect size for all of my purchases.

After the cart is chosen, I actually need to do the deed. I need to shop. Here is when a list comes in handy. A list that rarely gets made. If a list is miraculously made, I most likely forgot it at home or in the car. And that car, as you know, is way to far away to turn back now. Then, I must decide how I want to conquer this bitch. I decided a long time ago that I grocery shop like I drive. This essentially means I grocery shop erratically, without reason, rushed, in the fast lane, and (occasionally) rear-ending other shoppers. My shopping style aside, once I’m in – I’m committed.

The next problem lies with the aisle distribution. Who designs these places? Obviously, these mazes are designed by someone who has a personal shopper that they enjoy torturing. Once I start this venture, I will (without a doubt) realize I need 3 things from aisle 1 that I forget to grab just as I am about to round Aisle 17. Here is when my internal grocery store pep talks begin. I tell myself if I don’t return to aisle 1 now, I will forget those 3 precious items. So, I detour back to aisle 1. My inner GPS recalculates me back to aisle 17 (after re-passing everything else that I have forgotten in aisles 2-16, obviously). Once I make it back to aisle 17, my cart is usually quite full and I decide it’s definitely time to go.

Before I can make a mad dash for the exit, I will run into someone I know. It is never fun running into anyone you know at the grocery store. Mainly, because it’s not very fun running into someone you know anywhere, let alone the grocery store. These people are definitely people you don’t really feel like talking to in the middle of the frozen-food aisle between Hot Pockets and the assorted DiGiorno pizzas. But of course, this person will stop you and talk to you. These people range from your mom’s co-worker to your old babysitter. You don’t remember them what-so-ever. However, they will inevitably say things like, “You’ve truly grown into a beautiful young woman” or “I still remember those Power Ranger pajamas you loved!” They will trap you in the frozen-food aisle for so long you have had time to mentally catalog the TGIF’s frozen Appe-Teasers into ‘Most likely to buy’ and ‘Never, ever, going to buy’ categories. By the time you have decided to dive right into that cooler and grab the green bean fries, they finally wrap up conversation and you are left wishing you could remember an ounce of the conversation. You know your mom will be asking for each and every detail once this said person tells your mom they ran into you. Oh well.

The next thing I always run into… everything else I didn’t know I wanted or needed. During this final hour of grocery store desperation, I have decided I want it and I need it. I will somehow backtrack to the cosmetic aisle. Here, I will ponder all of my make-up necessities at home and wonder if I need a refill of anything. I will, of course, not need anything. Then, I will walk away with new eyeliner, lipstick, and a new shade of nail polish. I will finish with a final sweep: A pint of ice cream and probably a Cosmo at the register. Oh, and a pack of gum.

Now, another really fun part. Paying. Enough said.

Here we are, the finale. Face-to-face with the most dreaded part of the entire event – – Taking it all home. The entire process leads up to this point. My groceries are bagged, I’ve trucked the miles back to my car, and made it home in one piece. I now have to carry the groceries in and unload them all. Ugh. With a huge side of UGH.

Grocery shopping is exhausting and I truly hope to pay someone to do this for me one day. By the time the groceries are unpacked and I finally sit down — All I want to do is order a pizza. Good grief.

Why I don’t hate Valentine’s Day this year.

Alright, so tomorrow is February 14th. As I sit here on the eve of Valentine’s day, I feel (surprisingly) content. Past years, I would have been asleep hours ago via a Nyquil-Moscato induced coma. I wouldn’t say I’m usually depressed around Valentine’s day — it’s just always held more of a “let’s just get this fucking day over with already” feel throughout the years.

I know what you’re probably thinking, “Obviously, she’s IN LOVE this year”. Au contraire my friends. I am not in love and I am not dating anyone. Actually, I am probably the furthest away from being in love this year. Now thinking about it, maybe that’s why this year I’m okay with the calendar flipping to 2/14/13.

The past few years have been pretty tough on my cardiac muscle. I won’t bore you with any sob stories. The highlights include, but are not limited to, the following:

  • Dating your run-of-the-mill douchebags.
  • Becoming “The Other Woman” without realizing it. (Yeah, I know)
  • Getting dumped by a co-worker, for a co-worker.
  • Reappearing exes who apparently just want to relive the heartbreak.

And possibly the worst:

  • One major case of unrequited love.

By taking a look at that stellar love-resume, I’m sure most would agree that I am a cynic when it comes to matters of the heart. And most days, I would agree. I believe that there are a lot, and I mean a lot, of assholes out there. And I also believe that these monsters are only motivated by their selfishness. So yes, I’m a cynic! Sue me! Can’t a girl just be angry about love without being THE angry girl about love? I guess not.

But not this year. I refuse to let my cynical methodology rule every feeling I will ever experience. And more importantly, I refuse to be affected by Valentine’s day. This year, I’m also not going to belittle the holiday. That’s right, I just referred to Valentine’s day as a holiday. Not a Hallmark Holiday, existing primarily for commercial purpose. A real, line-it-up-next-to-Christmas-Thanksgiving-and-Halloween-holiday.

I hope every store that sells anything resembling chocolate from Russell Stover and Godiva to Walgreens and your neighborhood Piggly-Wiggly, is stocked and ready for the last-minute lovers trekking to the stores tomorrow. I hope all the oversized-teddy-bears with heart-shaped-eyes that exist in the world have been purchased with “special someones” in mind. I hope tomorrow there are couples who will sway to the timeless love lyrics of Barry White, Frank Sinatra, and Celine Dion. I hope these couples end their evenings with unbelievable-can’t-get-enough-mindblowing-sex.

On the flip side of this coin, I also hope that all those single guys and gals out there have a fabulous day. I hope these singles aren’t overwhelmed with their current relationship status. I hope these singles don’t refer to tomorrow as “Singles Awareness Day”. I hope (and urge) these singles to avoid all social media outlets – Yes, I’m talking your Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. These sites will only be riddled with things you don’t want to see. I’ll save you the time, here is what you’re missing:

  • Status updates: Happy Valentine’s day to the best boyfriend a girl could ask for! Here’s to many, many more baby! (Insert some sort of annoying Emoji)
  • Pictures: (These can vary) Usually, the pictures will be an array of vases of flowers, chocolates, engagement rings, etc.

I’m telling you, stay away from these sites. Back to my hopes — I also hope that these singles have other single friends to lean on, other single friends to buy tacky gifts for and share a bottle of wine (or three) with. I also hope that there is unbelievable-can’t-get-enough-mindblowing-sex for the singles. I don’t discriminate, sex for all!

As for me, I will be spending Valentine’s day with my traditional plans. My best friend (who happens to be in a long-term relationship and still says I’m her Valentine’s date now and forever — I know, I know, I am one lucky bitch) and I will go to our local Olive Garden only to wait an ungodly amount of time for a table, order wine, appetizers, and entrees. Then we will venture to our favorite fro-yo establishment and treat ourselves to the “big” portion cups – You know, because it’s a special occasion and all. Gotta love tradition. Then I’ll drop her off to her apartment, live-in boyfriend, and puppy. I’ll then drive home, most likely listening to Taylor Swift, and open a bottle of Riesling when I arrive. If I get really crazy, maybe a swig of Zquil. Hmm… I guess tomorrow will be like all my other Valentine’s days. Geeesh.

Well, time has gotten away from me during this post (actually I’ve been catching up on my DVR while typing — Big things happened on Nashville this week, folks. I really hope I’m not the only person in the world watching that show…) It is officially February 14, 2013.

Here’s to another Valentine’s day.

xoxo stacey

Am I doing this right?

My good friend, Wikipedia, shared with me that a blog is, “a discussion or informational site published on the World Wide Web and consisting of discrete entries (“posts”) typically displayed in reverse chronological order”.

Well, Wiki, thank you. That long-winded explanation can be easily surmised by saying, “a place where anyone, at anytime, from anywhere, can post their mindless, irrelevant, and mostly insane bullshit for the world to see”. 

And here I am. Jumping onto this ship. The blogging ship. A ship that’s clearly going down in flames. And these aren’t your typical flames. You’re probably picturing some majestic ship, sinking with billowing-smoke-filled-flames…slowly descending into the depths of the ocean.

Not quite.

This sinking ship pretty much consists of a few bamboo twigs, strung together with dental floss. Think something “Lost”-esque (made by Hurley, not Sawyer). Now I know you’re probably saying, “Hey, who does she think she is??” or “I know plenty of great bloggers!” or “I have an AMAZING blog!” or, probably the most frequently asked, “Who IS this girl?”. First, I’ll get to “Who I am” later… Secondly, I somewhat agree with you. There are some good blogs. There are some interesting bloggers. However, when I was at my local CVS the other morning and I overheard the thirty-seven-year-old cashier going on and on about her blog dedicated to Honey-Boo-Boo, I decided I had to do something. 

But what was little ol’ me to do? Obviously, my first option was to write a strongly worded, hand written letter to President Obama. Asking kindly for him to shut down all blogs. And while he’s at it, could he push a special button that would disable the “comment” section that follows every, single story on the internet? That would be great, thanks. Well, as my first option did not immediately pan out with oval office stamp of success, I decided to go in the complete opposite direction. 

If you can’t beat em’, join em’.

So here I am. Officially starting a blog. Weird. On a more serious note, I actually do have some things that I feel like sharing with the world and now, the internet is my oyster (or however that saying goes…). 

Here we go World Wide Web, get ready for my tales of mindless, irrelevant, and mostly insane bullshit.

til next time, stacey