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Singletons do Baby Showers.

I'm done with baby showers. #SorryNotSorry

I’m done with baby showers. #SorryNotSorry

Last weekend, I drove the 800 miles to my home state of Indiana. I was invited to a baby shower for one of my best friends; a girl I’ve known since 6th grade.

In December, I offered to host a shower for her, but she told me it would be easier for her other friends to host it.

Her other friends owned homes and were married. I felt like all of the sudden, I wasn’t welcome; my lifestyle was seen as a failure, even by someone who’s known me most of my life.

I felt weird that I couldn’t help my friend celebrate one of the biggest moments of her life, but I also didn’t want to stick my nose where it wasn’t welcome.

I RSVP’d to the shower, and drove the 12 hours to get there. I arrived with another friend and my mom. At the shower, there were the two hostesses, my friend having the baby, and her mom.

I kept waiting for more guests to arrive, but no one ever did. We ate, played games, opened gifts, and reminisced on the old days.

While it was great to see my friend, I started wondering where our friendship was headed. We had tons of great memories together, but when would we really start being friends who celebrate our adult lives together?

I sat there, grinning through conversation I know nothing about: bottle nipples, breathable bedding, and baby baths. I felt like my friend had moved on, and I was left behind.

I was hurt; I felt like I was losing a friend, when it would really just take a little extra work to keep our friendship going.

I had to go to a second baby shower that afternoon, so I’m sure I looked like a giant jerk when I left the shower early. But I also felt confused as to why I was one of three guests at a shower that I wasn’t allowed to host.

I would have rather taken my friend to dinner, given her my gifts, and had a real conversation about her son on the way.

But my friend and I had no other plans to visit each other while I was in town, and I’m not sure when we’ll see each other again. The shower felt awkward, and I cried as soon as I walked out of the door. It felt like a big goodbye.

I know I’m pretty clueless when it comes to kids, and I really hate it when they cry. And yes, I’m single with no guy in sight. But does that mean I can’t have mom friends? It’s becoming a clear reality.

A friend of mine suggested that maybe there’s just a crossroads in life when we move on from our childhood friends and have the friends we’ve made as adults.

As sad as it is for me to admit, maybe she’s right. I have no idea what it’s like to be a mom, and perhaps I never will.

It’s the Great Divide of adulthood: parents vs. non-parents.

The day after the shower, I celebrated the freedom I have of not being a mom, with eggs benedict and bloody Marys.

It seems like every time I go “home,” something big has changed. But I know life is moving however it’s supposed to, and of course, I’m happy for my friend and her growing family.

I don’t know if I’ll go in that direction, but I’m enjoying my time as a singleton, nonetheless.

If you don’t see me around any baby showers for awhile, please don’t take it personal. Chances are, I’m just accepting the fact that I’m in a different club — and I don’t want to get in trouble for my potty mouth.

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About that spark…

'Cause baby you're a firework...

‘Cause baby you’re a firework…

I’ve been on OK Cupid for almost a year. It’s not my favorite way to meet a potential boyfriend, but I just look at it as having another stick in the fire.

A few weeks ago, I met up with guy no. four from Ok Cupid. We messaged for a few weeks before meeting face-to-face, but the messages were short. He said he really liked to just get to it and meet the person before getting into any serious conversations via online messaging.

I really appreciated that — no sense in wasting time.

So, we met at Nino’s, where he had a reservation.

He was definitely the same person in his picture (always a plus), and we had a really nice dinner. Over wine, salad, and seafood, we talked for hours.

On paper, it was a pretty perfect date. He was polite, the food was great, the atmosphere was a little romantic, we had plenty to talk about, and we laughed a lot.

But I didn’t get that feeling. I wasn’t sitting there wishing he’d kiss me at the end of the night.

This isn’t the first time this has happened to me, and I’ve noticed it’s a pattern when it comes to the men I meet online.

When you message someone online, it’s impossible to tell if there’s going to be a physical spark once you actually meet in person.

The thing is, I was really disappointed when I didn’t feel that spark! As we were eating, I was thinking to myself, “Holly, this is the type of guy you should be dating.”

He’s smart, in shape, has a good job, goals, and he seemed to have good, genuine intentions.

I think some of my friends mistook the lack of spark for superficiality, which isn’t true. But while physical attraction isn’t everything in a relationship, it is a part of it.

And, I’m well-aware that I’ve dated men who are in no way conventionally hot, but I’ve found them to be very hot and the sparks flew.

I’m not superficial, but if you think sexual chemistry, or that physical connection isn’t vital to a relationship, you’re denying our nature as humans. We were created to have sex. Period.

At the end of the day, I want to be dating someone that I just cannot wait to make out with. Is that horrible? Yes, I’m hoping to connect with someone intellectually, but it has to be there, physically.

“Don’t you hate it when that happens?” My gym buddy could relate to me.

Yes, I hate it so much I almost feel guilty for feeling this way.

Truthfully, I’ve yet to feel a spark with anyone I’ve met online. There are times when I wonder if something is wrong with me. But instead of dwelling on it, I always tell myself that perhaps the person just deserves another chance.

A spark can grow over time, right?

I usually go on a second date with the person (if they ask, of course) to see if there’s something there or not.

After the dinner at Nino’s, we hugged goodbye, and when he got home, he sent me a text saying he had a good time.

I never heard from him after that, and I wonder if he felt the same way I did. It was a great date by the looks of it, but maybe missing that vital part of what makes a relationship exciting.

And it’s okay if he didn’t feel it, either. Because everyone deserves that feeling; that spark of something new and promising.

Pic of the Week.

Roooooooad trip!

Roooooooad trip!

I spent a decent amount of my weekend driving to and from Indiana. I got up Friday morning around 3am and drove the 12 hours to Bloomington, spent Saturday attending baby showers, treated myself to a day of Sunday drinking, and hit the road Monday morning at 4:30 to make it back to Baton Rouge.

It’s been YEARS since I’ve made the drive from Louisiana to Indiana, and I always get a similar feeling when I do it — I’m excited for it when I hit the road, and then about 10 miles into the trip, I realize it’s a long road ahead. Literally.

The cool thing about road trips, though, is that they have this weird ability to temporarily free you from your problems, as you’re driving away from them. It gave me a chance to listen to a ton of music, catch up on old episodes of Johnjay & Rich, and I even listened to a few chapters of an audio book (“How to be Single” by Liz Tuccillo).

Although it was an exhausting drive, it’s a little thrilling to know that if I ever wanted to, I could totally get to Indy in 12 hours and spend a weekend with my friends.

It probably comes as no surprise that I don’t visit Indiana that often. Usually once a year, maybe twice if I’m up for it. And even though I haven’t officially lived there in 10 years, Indiana has this incredible way of delivering life lessons to me — sometimes in the form of a beautifully painted sunset.

It seems like every time I go back to the Midwest, the people I once knew so well have changed. Some for the better, some for the worse, and it always lends a little perspective.

On Sunday, I joined my best friend for brunch before we packed a picnic and ventured to the Indianapolis Museum of Art’s 100 Acre Park to see “Funky Bones” — an outdoor art installation featured in “The Fault in Our Stars.”

It was the simplest day: Bloody Marys, a picnic in a park, a dog, a few pieces of art, and a beautiful sky. It’s the best reminder of why we’re here. These are the moments to live for.

It’s not often (at all) that I get a day off from working; lately I can’t even seem to get five consecutive sleep each night. But I was also reminded of why I work — so I can afford to appreciate the road trips, the days off, and the bottles of wine (heh).

Growing up sure is tough at times, but we’re all doing it, right? Perhaps not willingly, but I think of growing pains are starting to fade.

Where’d You Go, Bernadette? 

Cool cover, huh?

This book was one of the first I read using my iPad. “Where’d You Go Bernadette?” was on my reading list for what seemed like forever, and I couldn’t wait to read it.

“Comedy heaven…. This divinely funny, many-faceted novel…leaves convention behind. Instead, it plays to Ms. Semple’s strengths as someone who can practice ventriloquism in many voices, skip over the mundane and utterly refute the notion that mixed-media fiction is bloggy, slack or lazy…. The tightly constructed WHERE’D YOU GO, BERNADETTE is written in many formats-e-mails, letters, F.B.I. documents, correspondence with a psychiatrist and even an emergency-room bill for a run-in between Bernadette and Audrey. Yet these pieces are strung together so wittily that Ms. Semple’s storytelling is always front and center, in sharp focus. You could stop and pay attention to how apt each new format is, how rarely she repeats herself and how imaginatively she unveils every bit of information. But you would have to stop laughing first.”— Janet Maslin, The New York Times 

Author Maria Semple is also a screenwriter, possibly known for her work on Beverly Hills 90210, Mad About You, and Arrested Development. She has also written a second book, “This One is Mine.” 

“Where’d You Go Bernadette?” is the story of a very peculiar woman — though she is annoyed by a lot of the same things you and I probably are (or maybe it’s just me), which makes the book that much more hilarious.

But aside from just being about Bernadette, it’s a story about family, and it also says a bit about our culture. It’s an updated story of the way things are. I’d definitely recommend this book (I bought a copy for my mom, and she agreed that it was hilarious).

As always, I’ll leave you with a few of my favorite quotes from the book:

  • You’d think she was the first lady of France, with her silk scarf flung just so and huge dark glasses.
  • One of the main reasons I don’t like leaving the house is because I might find myself face-to-face with a Canadian.
  • If you’re so hell-bent on placing blame, I suggest you look in the mirror.

Becoming Strangers.

Hey girl, I never want to talk to you... EVER.

Hey girl, I never want to talk to you… EVER.

I’ve had a crush on this guy, Brian, for more than10 years. He went to my high school, and last year we reconnected.

He lives in Indiana, and we had a date night when I was in town last summer. It was fantastic. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wonder about the potential of a serious relationship with him.

After our date, we continued to keep in touch. I sent him cards in the mail, we read a book together (and called it “Book Club”), and made plans to meet up again in May.

Around Valentine’s Day, he confessed he wished we were able to celebrate together. Uncharacteristically, he apologized and told me he knew he hadn’t been the nicest person to me, and he appreciated my company.

He even told me that he checked his phone every day to see if I’d texted him. It was very sweet and I was touched.

I asked him if he’d be interested in having a “FaceTime date,” so we could see each other. He said yes.

The day of our date, he said a work friend had come in town and wanted to do dinner. I said we could reschedule. He asked if I was mad, and I said, “Of course not.”

His friend was a guy, but I told him if he’d have ditched me for a girl I might have been a little jealous.

Brian didn’t reply, but I didn’t think much about it.

The next day, about an hour before our FaceTime date, Brian sent me a text saying he didn’t want to talk to me, ever.

“Your text freaked me out,” he said. “We aren’t even dating and yet I will date other women.”

Huh?

I tried to explain that I was just playing; I never thought or said we were dating; and we were both certainly allowed to date anyone.

But my text went ignored. I had done something so terrible, it didn’t even deserve a response.

Honestly, I get rejected all the time. The time I spend fretting over it is relative to how much I cared.

This time, I crawled into bed when the sun was still out, and I cried.

In the midst of my blubbering, I started to wonder, why are we so quick to cut people out of our lives?

Sure, I pissed Brian off. But was it something bad enough to warrant The Ice Age treatment?

I don’t know why he told me all that sweet stuff and then closed the door on me, only weeks later.

It seems like he was trying to tell me he was dating someone else, but why not just say that?

Because of the way he left things, I’ve got no closure, and only speculation.

A few weeks ago, I went to the midnight premier of the latest Nicholas Sparks’ movie, “The Longest Ride,” and one of the main characters said something to the effect of, how sometimes the people we are closest to can become absolute strangers.

I’ve dated a lot of people that have just fallen off the face of the Earth. And I understand that’s the risk when we get close to people. But it makes me sad.

As I get older, I realize just how little time we have. The days and weeks are flying by and we can’t find it in our hearts to give someone a second chance?

Note: this idea does not apply to any situation that includes abuse, addiction, or infidelity.

I doubt I’ll hear from Brian again, and my closure will just have to be the confirmation that he’s not the one. I need someone who’s willing to forgive.

Pic of the Week.

Younique 3D Fiber Lashes & my new python makeup bag (!).

Younique 3D Fiber Lashes & my new python makeup bag (!).

I’ve been wearing Younique Moodstruck 3D Fiber Lashes all week! My friend Kendra sells Younique and asked me if I’ve ever tried any of the makeup. I hadn’t.

While I’m open to trying new things (I LOVE getting things in the mail, too), I’d heard the Younique products were expensive, and if you know anything about me, it’s that I always go for bargain makeup — Covergirl is… well, my girl.

Wearing two coats of Younique (post-workout).

Wearing two coats of Younique (post-workout).

But, Kendra was kind enough to let me try the mascara… and I am LOVING it. Now, you’ve got to understand my usual lash routine before you can appreciate my week with Younique.

I have pretty good natural lashes. I don’t wear any kind of fancy mascara; it’s whatever I can get on sale. Recently, I’ve been wearing CoverGirl Natural Lash in Black. I usually put on at least two, if not three coats, and sometimes I add a clear waterproof coat (on days my allergies act up).

And before I tried Younique, I was satisfied with the two-three coats of mascara. Now, I will say that I’ve never seen a picture of someone wearing Younique mascara that I was particularly impressed with. The lashes were always very straight and spidery, so I was skeptical.

So, Kendra sent me the Moodstruck 3D Fiber Lashes, which consists of two tubes: one is the transplanting gel and the other is the natural fibers.

Doing one eye at a time, you apply a coat of the gel and before it dries, you apply the natural fibers, and then finally, seal it with another coat of gel.

One coat of this looks about the same as three coats of the regular stuff. I wasn’t totally impressed until I put on TWO coats of the Younique.

You can also put on a coat of your regular mascara, let it dry, and then do the Younique, which is what I’ve been doing. If you use an eyelash curler, I’d say do it between your regular mascara and the Younique. As for the spidery-look (I happen to like the lashes a little thicker), you can avoid it by using a lash comb.

I didn’t have any issues with the fibers falling, and it didn’t feel different than wearing regular mascara. I do have contacts, and it didn’t prove to be a problem.

If you want to try the Younique lashes, they do offer a guarantee, so you really can’t lose! To order from Kendra, click here.

Introducing the friends.

Couples' night!

Couples’ night!

Alright, I’m going to admit that I’m really bad about this whole “Introducing the significant other to your friends” thing.

In the past, I get really excited when I meet a new guy and we start hanging out (who doesn’t?), and I want him to meet my friends, whom I love so much. I don’t mean for it to be a serious thing, although it is a good idea to see if he fits in with the crowd.

What ends up happening is that it doesn’t work out with the guy, we stop talking, and my friends (or I) never see him again. And I’m left feeling like a big jackass because I just introduced a guy to my friends who ultimately was a blip on my life’s radar.

My friends have assured me that I shouldn’t feel like a jackass — they’ve been single, too, and they know how it goes. I still feel stupid.

In my recent dating adventures, I told myself that I wasn’t going to introduce a guy I’m seeing/talking to anyone, until things are serious — as in, we’re exclusive, and in order for THAT to happen, we have to have been talking for at least three months.

I know, rules. But if I don’t crack the whip, I’m just going to stay single forever, right? I still might 😉

Anyway, I did a little Google searching to see what the interwebs had to say about the matter, and I found a few things.

For starters, YourTango.com suggests that meeting the friends too early can actually put pressure on your FRIENDS, because they feel like they’re pressured to make relationship decisions for you. I’m not sure if this is true, but… they do suggest waiting to introduce a guy until you’ve been on at least three dates (duh) and to keep it casual for the first meeting.

I found some decent advice on April Beyer’s website, which suggested asking yourself WHY you’re introducing your girl/guy to your friends — approval? Locking in the idea that you’re a couple? April suggests waiting until it feels natural, which sounds like a solid idea.

It’s safe to say it’ll be awhile before I introduce a guy to my friends, if I’m ever that lucky. But when I do, I’ll make sure I’m doing it for the right reasons.

Single Girl Recipe: Eggs.

Cute colored eggs!

Cute colored eggs!

I know everyone’s got different opinions about eggs; and the health benefits of them are always in question. Is it the good cholesterol or not? What about the fat content?

Well, I’m of the school of thought that eggs are a great source of protein (did you know one egg has 12g of protein and just 1 carb?!) and they are inexpensive. Sounds like a perfect combo to me!

YUM.

YUM.

I go on kicks where I love eggs in various forms, and sometimes I’m just not feeling them. But lately, I’ve been seeing these beautiful pictures of soft boiled eggs on Instagram (I’m talking to you, Crunchy Radish, and BarbellsNBeauties) and they look delicious!

So, I had to figure out how to make the perfect soft boiled egg. Enter: Google. I found several different sets of instructions, and really, it all depends on how “soft” you actually want your egg. I wanted a hard egg white, and a soft yolk.

Usually, when I hard boil an egg, I put it in the pot, cover with cold water, and turn the burner on high. I let the water reach a boil, then turn off the heat and let the egg sit in the water until it reaches room temperature.

For my soft boiled eggs, I put a pot of water on the stove and let it reach a simmer (small bubbles). Then, I put my eggs in, and left them in for 6-ish minutes. I got them out of the water, and let them cool so I could peel them.

It was my first try, but they were nearly perfect! It was a little softer than I wanted, but I peeled them, and put them in my dish (red quinoa and mushrooms) and popped it all in the microwave for 30 seconds and that did the trick!

While a soft boiled egg is a great addition to a salad, you can devour it with just about anything. Below are some recipes that include this new favorite of mine:

What are some of your favorite ways to eat eggs?

Exes: Married With Children.

When your ex straight up moves on... with a wife and a kid.

When your ex straight up moves on… with a wife and a kid.

Sometime last week, I wandered over to my ex-boyfriend’s Facebook page. It’s something I do when I’m feeling rather low about myself, even though looking at his page usually makes me feel worse. Call me a masochist.

Right away, I saw what I figured would be there: his profile picture was a tiny baby. His baby.

Because that is what people do; they get married, and within two years of being married, they have a kid.

When I found out my ex was getting married two years ago, I also found out via Facebook. I was stunned, to say the least, because we’d just broken up a year before.

It was a shitty way to confirm he was cheating on me for the greater part of our four-year relationship.

When I confronted him about it, he lied of course, saying their relationship just moved very quickly.

Finding out an ex is getting married is different for everyone; the reaction is probably relevant to how things ended.

Almost all of my exes are married, and as pathetic as it sounds, my heart broke a little when I found out about each one getting engaged.

I don’t believe any of my exes were “meant” for me, I think it’s more of admitting to myself that they found some sort of happiness with another person that I’ve yet to discover.

But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t terrified that maybe I’ll never find that level of love, commitment, and happiness with someone.

This particular ex isn’t the only one of my exes to have a child. I think the nature of our relationship is what makes it sting a little, even years later.

We met in college; we were both bartenders at a place under the overpass. Our relationship was fun-loving from the start. It didn’t take long for me to sleep with him, and because of that, I fell for him very quickly.

Although he told me he loved me, his actions showed me that we weren’t on the same level. I loved him more than I’d ever felt for anyone else. And that’s still true today. Enter: the bitterness.

He always told me marriage wasn’t “for him,” and he never talked about wanting children. Those are things I wanted, and to see him married, with a child… it feels like everyone around me has moved on and up, while I’m still here. And still single.

As a singleton, I constantly have to remind myself that just because someone is married, doesn’t mean they’re in a perfect relationship. And just because I’m single, doesn’t mean I’ll never find someone.

Perhaps seeing an ex move on is just a refreshing sign that people can change. Or maybe it just proves that he/she is great at living one giant lie after the next. Now, who wants to hit up happy hour?

Pic of the Week.

All the proper fixins' for a movie premier!

All the proper fixins’ for a movie premier!

Thursday night, I could not wait to finish with work, jump into my sweats and walk right on over to the movie theatre for the midnight premier of “The Longest Ride,” a film adaptation of the Nicholas Sparks bestseller.

I was really excited for several reasons: 1. the book was fantastic. I have very, very fond memories of laying out on my terrace, getting a tan, sipping on a wine spritzer (no, seriously), and falling in love with this unique story, 2. SCOTT EASTWOOD IS FINE, and 3. I allowed myself a cheat and got a junior popcorn, with butter.

Um, hi.

Um, hi.

But seriously, that second point needs to be mentioned one more time… because how have I not noticed him nor his hotness before now?

Anyway, “The Longest Ride” is the story of two couples — very similar couples — in different time periods, whose lives intersect in a very unique way.

The movie and the book tells both of their stories, while in turn, offering a tale of love… as only Nicholas Sparks could. Read more about the book from a previous blog post, here

I think this movie struck me in an interesting way, because some of the issues in the story are easily things that could happen to anyone. Lately, I’ve been having a lot of questions and uncertainty when I think about love and my future. The movie touched on those issues, and although it was a little overwhelming at midnight on a Thursday, it was cathartic.

While I’ve seen all of the movies and read nearly all of Sparks’ books, this one is definitely one of my favorites (I just love “The Last Song”). I don’t, and won’t, spoil the movie for you, but per usual, don’t forget to pack the Kleenex!

7/50 Shades: Girl Next Door.

Second product on the right, folks.

Second product on the right, folks.

Although shade no. 7 is a gloss — I just cannot pull myself away. I blame this completely on Bonne Bell, for getting me addicted to shiny, glitter glosses delivered to my lips via sponge applicator.

Girl Next Door by Hard Candy is sheer, with a touch of silvery shimmer. It doesn’t have a scent or a flavor, really, but it is a tiny bit sweet. Mega plus? It’s thick, stays on for awhile, and it’s a lip plumper.

I can never REALLY tell if these things work, but I love the idea of it, regardless. But it did get me wondering how they work? I went to Google for the answer, and there was WebMD to my rescue.

According to WebMD, some over-the-counter lip plumping products contain ingredients that cause blood to flow to the lips, such as cinnamon, ginger mint, or wintergreen. When blood flows to the lips, they appear slightly larger than normal, or “bee stung” for a few hours.

Hey, that sounds pretty good to me!

I like to use Girl Next Door as a “top coat” to some of the other pink lipsticks I’ve mentioned before. It shines up a lipstick, plus adds the plump. Best of both worlds!

Me & my bullshit, part two.

Drop the mic, bitch.

Drop the mic, bitch.

Read part one of “Me & my bullshit.” 

I find a tiny bit (okay, a medium bit) of comfort in recognizing the fact that the road many writers, amateur and professional, travel is one that’s alone.

The craft of writing is introspective — even fiction writers often say their stories come from some place real — and looking within isn’t something that happens at a conference table or in a room full of cubicles.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what success means to me — not in terms of money, but in terms of what every day is like for me. I’m still working to get where I want to be.

While Ryan’s words really, really hurt me, I know that I cannot change who I am to please him, or anyone. I have always promised myself and my readers that I will remain honest, even if that means I’m not the most popular person.

I also know that there’s a big, big difference between someone like me who works every single day, chasing my dreams, and someone who sits at a job, letting the days pass them by. Complacency is not for me.

I’ve also been thinking a lot about successful people, and I’ve noticed that many of those people, who are SO successful in business, are also misunderstood in many other aspects of their life. Perhaps that’s just how it goes.

Take Steve Jobs for example. Chances are you’re reading this from a device that he invented. I’m writing it on one. And I’ll Tweet about it on another one later today. In his biography by Walter Isaacson (a genius writer that I’ve been lucky enough to interview), there are many mentions of how Jobs went against the grain in nearly all areas of his life — even in unflattering ways.

At the root of the reality distortion was Jobs’s belief that the rules didn’t apply to him. He had some evidence for this; in his childhood, he had often been able to bend reality to his desires. Rebelliousness and willfulness were ingrained in his character. He had the sense that he was special, a chosen one, an enlightened one.

— Walter Isaacson, “Steve Jobs” [119]

There are other successful creatives I can relate to — Amy Winehouse and her broken heart (and the ability to turn that into beautiful music), John Green in his writing processes, and of course, my love, John Mayer, in his ways of being so, so introspective and insecure, that it gets him in trouble socially.

And while I know (haters, this is for you) I’m not nearly as genius as those people, I do know that I’m not a dumb ass. I’m not the girl who lost her job. I’m not someone wishing to be a writer. I’m someone just trying (and often succeeding) to make it. And by it, I mean my dreams a reality.

My past is littered with guys like Ryan. Guys who tell me how great I am, and then disappear for no valid reason. One of the biggest questions I had when Ryan sent me his douchey text was this: Why are we so quick to cut people off?

It’s that easy, especially hiding behind a fucking phone screen, to write someone a message and cut them out of your life forever, because you don’t feel like dealing with a human. Another question I had? If my behavior was so scary, why didn’t he ask me if I was okay?

And that’s the difference between being selfless and selfish, my friends.

I know I won’t stop writing — let’s be honest here, there’s nothing else I’m really cut out for. And I know it’s not going to be easy. But when the road gets tough, and the guys continue to be assholes, I’ll probably just write more of these posts about my “bullshit.”

You know the greatest thing about that guy at the gym who thinks my column is bullshit?

He read it.

If you’re nice to me I’ll never write anything bad about you. 

—Amy Winehouse

Fresh Friday: Warm Cotton.

The perfume for non-perfume wearers.

The perfume for non-perfume wearers.

“Inspired by soap,” is what the package says, and that’s certainly what it smells like! Warm Cotton by CLEAN reminds of the way it smells outside, in the summer, when someone is doing their laundry. Very fresh, clean, and cozy, in a sense.

As described by Sephora, “Cozy up to CLEAN Warm Cotton Eau de Parfum, a fragrance that captures the comforting scent of just-out-of-the-dryer freshness. Blending the crispness of freshly laundered linens into an understated fragrance that is soft and subtly sexy, CLEAN Warm Cotton is perfect for the modern woman who is confident enough to let herself—not her fragrance—command attention.”

Warm Cotton has notes of Citrus, Watery Green Pear, Verbena, Floral Essences, Fruit Essences, Marine Essences, Jasmine, Orange Flower, Musk, Fougere, and Amber. A perfectly subtle scent for spring and summer!

In other news, I hope you all have a fantastic Easter weekend. To me, Easter isn’t a big deal, since I’m not a kid, I don’t have an Easter basket, and I am not celebrating anything religious. However, I am excited that business has slowed for the weekend and I’ll be able to enjoy it, and perhaps spend some time outdoors. I even bought myself a bouquet of coral tulips to celebrate.

Follow me on Instagram and Twitter @OrangeJulius7 to see what I’m up to this weekend! Cheers, y’all!

On Baggage: Give Me Back my DVDs.

It's more fun watching TV on a free flat screen!

It’s more fun watching TV on a free flat screen!

I watch a lot of TV. Not in the sense of me, sitting on my couch eating popcorn while binging on hours of TV, but if I’m home, my TV is usually on.

I’ve got one TV in my living room and one in my bedroom.

The one in my living room is a near-60-inch, flat-screen, that is leftover from a relationship I had two years ago.

My then-boyfriend said he had an “extra” TV that wasn’t being used, and I could put it in my apartment. I really didn’t need another TV, but he insisted, and it arrived a few days later.

About two months later, I dumped him, on account of him being a complete drunk, not to mention he had a side-chick.

I was nice enough to pack up all of his clothes and random crap he had around my apartment, and leave it on his front porch.

But I wasn’t sure how to get the TV to him. It’s big enough that I can’t safely carry it by myself, and I didn’t want to just leave it outside his house.

I told him I could arrange a time for him to come pick it up, a time when a guy friend could be there with me. My ex was violent and I was scared to be alone with him.

But my ex conveniently couldn’t arrive during the allotted time. I soon got the hint. The TV was his thing. It was his excuse to talk to me; his way of finding out when I was home and what I was doing.

He even got the bright idea that I could just leave my apartment unlocked while I went to work and he’d just pick up the TV. Um, how about you’re crazy?

It was creepy. I wanted him out of my life.

Instead of leaving my apartment unlocked, I dragged the TV into the hallway of my complex, covered it with a beach towel, and went to work.

As predicted, I got a text from my ex saying, “Can’t make it today.” He wanted to reschedule.

Nope.

I told myself that if I got home and the TV was still there, I was keeping it, and I was never speaking to my ex about it again.

The TV was the final link between us and I wanted it broken (not literally, though I would’ve gotten great pleasure out of tossing it from my window).

When I got home, the TV was there, untouched. I dragged in back inside, and have been enjoying trashy shows on it ever since.

Recently, I got a message on Facebook from my ex’s brother, asking if I had the TV, because it was actually his.

Well, sucks for you. Two years out from the relationship, and I’m still hearing about the damn TV. Bye, Felicia.

This is why it’s best to get rid of everything related to the relationship right away, even if it means making a donation to Goodwill.

You live and learn. For now, I’ll continue obsessing over “Secrets and Lies” on my giant-screen TV.

Pic of the Week.

Allergies be damned.

Allergies be damned.

I spent most of last week in bed. And not in the way you’d expect, or wish upon a person like myself (by that I mean a person who hasn’t gotten laid in awhile). I spent my week in bed sneezing, coughing, sniffling… basically anything that irritated my cat Blanche.

Spring is here, and that means one thing: ALLERGIES.

I didn’t have allergies until I moved to Louisiana. Even then, I didn’t suffer from any of these allergies until about two years ago. I felt like I always needed to carry a box of Kleenex with me. What I thought was a cold that would just never leave, was actually allergies.

So, last week was terrible. I was trying to drink fluids, get rest, and get things cleared up, all while feeling guilty that I wasn’t really working. The good thing about being your own boss is that you don’t have to call in sick. You just… stay in bed for four days.

The bad thing about being your own boss is that… no one can cover for you. Basically, no work gets done. I did lay in bed and conduct a few interviews via phone (no, I’m serious). I asked Blanche to sort my emails, but clearly those didn’t get done.

Outside of sleeping and catching up on TV, I spent a lot of time at Whole Foods. I used the sniffles as an excuse to eat copious amounts of spicy chicken noodle soup from the Asian counter. That shit is awesome and if you haven’t tried it, make plans to get to a Whole Foods, pronto.

Turns out, spicy chicken noodle soup isn’t really a cure for allergies. So, I bought some herbal pills that I’ve been eating ever since. I also got some local raw honey because there’s, like, a one percent chance that it’ll get rid of my allergies.

I’m not sure what I’m allergic to, and that’s the other thing about being your own boss — there’s no health insurance, so fancy tests like allergy ones, aren’t going to happen. We’re just going to assume I’m allergic to Blanche, since it was about two years ago that she showed up and shit hit the fan.

But since I am a loving cat lady, I’ll continue to live in the prison of my own making — that made of cat hair, pipe cleaners, and tuna cans. But hey, we’ve got the local honey.