#ICannotBelieveISaidThat Spotlight


Since hearing about word vomit on Mean Girls in my tweenage years, I did not realize how much of thing this was until recently moving to Pennsylvania countryside, where I know no one except my mother, father, two baby brothers and dog. No wing friend to rein me in has meant major uh oh word vomit no-nos.

I drove 1,575 miles over the course of two days home to Amish territory from Austin, TX. This was post twenty-hour break up (yes it actually lasted that long, and we needed to break for dinner, The Voice and sleep) from my double-dealing-old-assed-vain -balless-wonder-nightmare of a boyfriend (if I am allowed to call him that, it is a lot of pressure after only eight months of dating). Upon departing for my road trip, Sir Performs-A-Lot, decided, crying, desperate, he wanted me “to stay in Austin even though he didn’t want to be with me… he wanted me around just in case his feelings change.” He found my last nerve, and smashed it. (There are lots of other reasons I was back and forth about going home. For a fuller story see To Infinity And Beyond).

A week later, and I was happily settling in at home. He had checked in a few times because he suddenly cared about my well-being and safety. For whatever reason, this feeling of “awww he cares!” began to overwhelm the “what a lousy self-centered jerk” thoughts I had been feeling over the last month. Trying swallowing these feelings did not go over well.

He called before going out that night. “Hey Jilly! How’ve you been??” My guts twisting, missing him… loved the way he called me Jilly, “Yeah alright… happy to be home.” Then, came the monsoon of an idea that washed though me too fast to rein in. It hurled out my mouth, through the telephone and into his ear, “I want to know what you think of flying up here and driving me back down to Texas next weekend.”

He started to drown in my word vomit. I could not get a word in. “How could I THINK such a thing so soon!?!? Its only been a week! There’s been no time to enjoy being single, Jilly!!” Really I had no clue what had come over me. I was dumbfounded with myself. I didn’t want to leave home and go back to Texas?! Let alone spend another moment with this punk-a$$ed-m-f-er. I had just pawned off my entire apartment, settled into my home state and met a cute boy. I couldn’t believe I asked him to fly across the country to bring me back right after I said it, and two weeks later I am still in disbelief.

The call was lost (giving him benefit of the doubt). I called back three times. No answer. All I wanted to do was take it back!



Pow!Der Play

leisure, news, skiing

I did not go down a slide until I was three years old. Feeling out of control is a nightmare. Since bearing an itchy neon green arm cast for eight weeks after wiping out on an icy sidewalk in middle school, I’ve had a love-hate relationship with cold weather in its entirety. In accordance to my New Year’s resolution, I decided to try something new that scares me (which seems to be all the buzz on social media). What better way to combine the fear of sliding, feeling out of control, and ice then to ski!?

If you are anything like me, the few hours leading up to such an infamously dangerous activity, you look up fatality statistics, the recovery period for various bones to be broken, how many mph will I be hammering down this mountain, how to brace myself on the lift to avoid plummeting several feet into ice, and what to do in the event of frost bite. I do not advise this.

The worst-case scenario is rarely going to happen exactly as imagined. There is no point in guessing the play-by-play. All that can be done is to prepare to be the best you possible in order to surmount any obstacles or down hill plunging that you may face. Next time, I will prepare to be inspired by Lindsey Vonn.

Things like skiing, eating well, succeeding in school and training, or writing a blog post require confidence. While being an informed participant has its perks, there are some things that will only knock one off their rocker and are better just not to know. I know that when putting on skis and sliding down a mountain, there is a reasonably high chance that the first few times, I am going to fall on my bum. When I am trying to eat well, I should look into the kinds of foods that are good for my body, and a general idea of the foods that are not as good.

Preparing to fail becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. That first twenty minutes in my skis, I could hardly move, and I fell, a lot. It wasn’t until my instructor helped me unclench my white knuckles and take a deep breath that I decided to try unwind, have confidence in myself, and take the obstacles as they were presented to me.


Boys, chat, funny, help, humor, news, text, tips

Men are from Mars, and women are from Venus. Sometimes it seems that we speak completely separate languages. Below are a few of my favorite bad texts that I have actually received from the boys in my life, and ways that these texts could have been written to have been at least better received.

  1. “Don’t worry! I haven’t forgotten about ya!” Two weeks post-date and day after matching on Tinder. Can one think anything besides – playyerrrrr! when reading this?

How about, Sir Lady Slayer, “Sorry we haven’t been in touch, thinking about you, how about we get together for another date soon?” Because even if you are a lady killer, you can at least try to be a little charming about it.

  1. Sorry I missed your call earlier!” … Two days post-call. Late night on Christmas Eve. No other sentiments. If we weren’t arguing before, we are arguing now.

Alright, Mr. Grinch. Lets try, “Merry Christmas! Sorry I couldn’t get back to you sooner. Will call ASAP. XO” A seemingly genuine XO thrown in there will always help to save the day.

  1. “Ok. Was with someone last night and unsure how to proceed given circumstances and recent experience with you.” From recent ex-boyfriend. I had to read this twice and pray it was a joke. It wasn’t.

Hey a$$hole! A simple “F@&K you, lady! I want you to eat sh*t and die” would have gotten the message across that you would like me to feel hurt without the deep emotional blow. What? You’d like dating advice? How about – try not to be such a pretentious d*ck. (There was no response to his text due to what felt like a de-habilitating brain hemorrhage post-reading… probably for the best).

To be continued… #TT

I Don’t Wanna Be A Tinderella

Boys, chat, dating, experiment, humor, online, tinder

I’ve been itching to see what all of this Tinder talk is about. Swipe left. Swipe Right. Moments. Taglines. Matching. Tinder is an entirely different world…. So is Pennsyltucky (relative to everywhere else I have been). Combining the two in this app has certainly not been a boring 48hr experiment.

You’d think after presumably bountiful attempts to pick up women on Tinder, he would have a clue as to what might work, and what doesn’t. Am I missing some sort of bad sexual innuendo? Is Mr. Seafood just being straightforward about solely wanting a Tinder date? I will never know… evidentially you can “unmatch.”


Others are just soooooo cheesy. Just so you know, Mr. Simon Cowell Wanna Be, its a ten to you. And I would never date a one.


This guy just needs to crawl out from his rock. Good, bad, or ugly year for the Texas Longhorns, they are champions at heart. Jerk.


I was also pleased to find the occasional super friendly Pennsyltuckyian Tinderer particularly cheerful to a stranger on Monday morning.



bread, diet, food, health, humor

I am starting a diet tomorrow. So naturally, today I make two giant, fresh, perfectly-dense loaves of plain white bread with my mother, thaw a stick of salted butter, fix us each a cup of tea, and start brainstorming the changes that are to be made in my diet… starting tomorrow. One loaf of warm buttery heaven later, and all I have decided is that I wish whoever was Dr. Atkins’ spokesperson was wildly less successful. All diet science aside; bread is truly amazing. I would’ve loved to be the founder of bread.

The only ingredients one needs to make bread are flour, water, yeast and salt. These few simple holistic elements interact in complex ways to produce this warm fluffy ecstasy. Ingenious.

Bread pairs flawlessly with any other food choice. (In the dough, on the bread, between pieces of bread, or stuffed into the bread). Bread can be easily adjusted to suit any palate. It can sweet, crunchy, savory, fluffy, dense, nutty, chewy… the possibilities are endless! Even when it is not supposed to be good anymore you can turn stale bread into croutons or crackers.

If you want to gauge your level of intimacy or compatibility with a significant other or friend, bake it or buy it, but definitely break the bread together. That instant insulin spike and energy felt after any blissful encounter with bread always yields instant joy and focus.

Here is the link that my mother and I use to make bread: http://www.kingarthurflour.com/recipes/king-arthurs-classic-white-sandwich-bread-recipe

Generation Y’s Girl Guide to Zen

leisure, relax, tips

Since being back home in my zany household post-graduating college, bad break-up and in the midst of trying to create the start of a life plan, I have stumbled upon a few atypical ways to zen out that have proven to be wildly successful.

  1. A Time to Kiln (during the little kids school day) – It is completely empty and you are forced to choose a coffee mug, plate, ceramic kitty cat or seasonal item to paint. There are zillion different colors to choose from to paint your soon to be master piece. Because it is during the school day there is no one there, and there will more than likely be happy music playing.

2. Get your nails painted – There is absolutely no choice but to sit back, put the phone down for at least twenty minutes, and let the stress be massaged out of your soon to be pretty princess like hands.

  1. Organize the closet – If you are anything like me, the closet looks like a mad house. I recently found one of those Lizzie McGuire one size fits all scrunchy shirts that hasn’t worn since there were still new episodes of Lizzie McGuire being released on The Disney Channel. Going through these items, folding, hanging, sorting, putting aside some to donate, and maybe some in a memory bin, eventually becomes rhythmic, relaxing and extremely productive!

To Infinity And Beyond!

austin, Boys, graduation, help, new year, news, peace, strong, tough, travel

Starting over is tough. New normals are tough. Making decisions that are best for you is tough. Saying no to toxins that you voluntarily pursue are tough. Ultimate happiness requires you to be tough when it is much easier to quit or give in.

New years are infamous for resolutions and new beginnings. This new year has proven to be quite the doozey despite still being in the first month of the year. Having graduated in Austin, TX this past May, I made it my mission to spend until January to begin the career of my dreams (with no real specifics in mind.) Meanwhile, I worked as an administrative assistant at a local dermatology clinic, answering phones, fielding angry patient complaints and assisting in various odd end duties. Dream job?—not so much.

Back in May, this seemed like a reasonable goal. Then, the reality of friends graduating and moving their lives elsewhere or back home, taking on financial independence with the nearest family relative 1,575 miles away in Pennsyltucky, and clueless as to what I even want to do sunk in. I spent the next eight months spinning my wheels on websites like CareerBuilder and Indeed relentless searching for what my passion might become. I missed my best friends that all seemed on the fast track to success, my family, and devoted most of my free time to dating a too-old-wanna-be-rock-star-no-talent-balding-dumb-lying-sack-o-shitake-mushroom. I found myself, just before the new year, in a rut, panicked and desperate for clarity (or mere oxygen.) I had no real social life, no real sense of what I enjoyed and remained stuck in a job I hated, with a boyfriend, who, by the way, would make me sleep on his old-man-white-leather-uncomfortable couch with a food stained ripped bed cover when staying over, all the while, missing home was palpable. As an end-of-year inventory, my independent life of a mere eight months was registering as a massive fail.

After coming home for the holidays, I found myself in the taxi car ride back from the airport transfixed on the Austin skyline. I loved this place that I had called home for the last four and half years. I think of all the morning sunrises over these buildings I saw while rowing on the lake with my teammates, and the 3AM stumbles back to my apartment giggling with my girlfriends. An overwhelming visceral sense of belonging ran through my veins. I saw my reflection in the taxi cab window. This place was not good for me anymore. This boy was not good for me. Home is a place in my heart and my mind and I can have it anywhere. I was not finding it in Chapter Two of Austin, Texas. Then came a sweeping sensation of terror that quickly balanced out my idealistic romanticism. This frenzied tango sent me into a packing and personal item purging tailspin for the next three days.

Without skipping a beat I walked into my apartment and started throwing my clothes into bags, put all of my furniture on craigslist and called my landlord to tell them I would be out by Jan 1. I started to pack my car to make the 1,575 mile drive home. I needed a fresh start, I needed my family, I needed my childhood friends and my little old yellow lab, Percy. I had made an effort over the last eight months, and I learned that I just needed to stop equating being tough with being stupid. I needed to take a step back, return home in order to move forward again.

After a packing whirlwind, a ten-hour argument with my boyfriend (oh, wait, I am not permitted to call him that—too much pressure for him) that “didn’t want me anyways… but thought I should stay just in case his feelings change,” and a broken driver’s side mirror later, I was on the road headed home. My family couldn’t wait to have me back (they were not the biggest fan of the new life I had started to create for myself), my head was spinning, and my music blaring. Two days of driving and crying later, and I was home. Seventeen days later, and I am feeling good with what initially felt like an impulsive decision. I have my family back, I have my heart and brain re-centered and restored, and I am beginning to rediscover my ambitions and passions once again.

While I do not believe everyone should purge all of their belongings and move across the country when things are not going as planned, sometimes the toughest decisions are to give in to that nagging sense, that fight or flight intuition that for most, is pretty accurate. It has been tough to start over and return to who and what I am. These eight months of trying to impress my lousy boyfriend and unknown audience, and all the while slowly losing my sense of pride and authentic self, made clarity just beyond my reach.

It is a constant struggle with highs and lows. I need to remind myself to stay tough. No one else can do this for me. A year from now, I hope to look back and say, “I remember how hard that was and this makes this moment of joy, so much sweeter. But I am healed now. Never again.”