CAUTION: Don't Feed the Strays

Well, sweet readers, I am back from Las Vegas with only minimal scarring. lawlllllz. Just kidding-- it was an absolutely incredible trip and I couldn't be more grateful to have gone and done Sin City with mi madre and main hoez in tow. We danced, gazed up at downtown lights, sat on the hottest of hot Aussies, saw the sights, drank the drinks, and managed to not end up incarcerated. Overall, I give this trip my twentysomething stamp of approval.

Now, I have a bundle of sorority sisters and hometown friends that have lived to tell their Vegas stories. But what everyone failed to mention is that there is totally something in the water. I have made this assumption about the tap water in Austin, TX on account that my grandfather, the truest of true Republicans, moved there and has molded into a raving Democrat. I could care less who he votes for...but if you knew the old man, you'd be thrown off too. But the LV water is not polluted with political agendas, or heroin, or chlorine. The water I swam in and drank from made me ... AFRAID.

Yes. I am admitting right now that I became a certified victim of FOMO (fear of missing out) this past weekend. I never thought I would be that girl ...ever. I never dreamed that I would be so wrapped up in being everything for everyone and never missing one event or drink or text. But shit sure enough, I got FOMO and I got it bad. I refused to be too hungover to function. I refused to not want to do something. I went to the pool even when I wanted to nap. I ran towards the stage when my Thunder from Down Under bf waved me up even though I was a ball of 5th grade "hes so hot" nerves. Why? Because of FOMO. It's real, people... just ask Taylor Jackson. Like clockwork, however, my horoscope chimed in Monday morning:
author side note: I am an incomplete, raging hot mess of a human if I don't read my horoscope each and every single morning. I don't know how the rest of the world functions without an astronomical guide to their day, but I fail miserably at it.
Here's what I started the week out with:
"Just like hopes and dreams, fears need to be fed to grow big and strong. Did you know that, Pisces? ... There is a fear in your heart now. It's a fear of failing again. It's a fear of being disappointed again. Don't feed that fear, Pisces. Don't indulge it. Don't treat it better than your hopes and dreams. Starve it and you will have everything you want."

"GET THE HELL OUT OF MY HEAD. YOU DONT KNOWWWWW MEEEEEEE!!" is an accurate account of my reaction. But that was false...because the universe knows everything. It knows that like every other twentysomething, I am really am terrified (and it has nothing to do with agua in Nevada). At that moment, I was just scared that I would be hungover for the day or that I had slept through breakfast. Those are minimal fears, but I still gave into them ANNNNND never got a nap in (which I regret now). But the reality of it all is that I am terrified all day, errrrr day.

I am afraid of not making the most of this last year in college. I am afraid that something ridiculous will happen and I actually won't graduate on time despite taking a million classes this summer as safe measure. I am afraid that I won't be able to find the perfect person to replace me as nanny to the Nenon family. I am afraid that I will graduate and have ZERO job offers. No offense to my parents (this is just a formality because I know no offense will be taken), but I am afraid that I will have to move back home. I am afraid because I have no clue where the next chapter is going to take me. Sure... I have the PERFECT summer plan that includes that aforementioned Missourian best friend of mine, but that is just that...a summer plan. I am afraid that I am going to lose the relationships and people that I love so dearly when I close this collegiate chapter of my life. I am afraid of 145893479 things day in and day out.
BUT... above all, I am afraid that I am not going to do something with my life that matters.
And that's the kicker about us twentysomethings... we are so eager, so desperate to matter to the world. We want to make a difference, we want to make a mark, we want to leave a legacy. The chances of me curing cancer are... slim. The chances of me becoming the next Bill Gates... even slimmer. The chances of most people being legends are small, but what my generation is missing is this: what matters is subjective.

The chances of me doing fundraising and public relations for a nonprofit organization are actually pretty damn high. The chances of me getting married and raising a clan of my own, continuing the legacy of brilliant parenting instilled in me by Steph and Ray, are not out of reach. The chances that I stumble, fall, and pick myself over and over again are inevitable. And guess what? All of that matters. We, the Millenials, are insatiably compelled to matter. We want the world to take us seriously, to treat us like the adults we think we are. But what matters most is that we do whatever is it that is best us for individually...what makes us the happiest. We, as a generation, keep getting blamed for our selfish ways, but for the first time in my life... I'm jumping on this bandwagon. Being selfish is okay if that means you are taking charge of your own life, refusing to let The Man or anyone else kick your ass.

There's an old saying: "How do you get rid of a stray dog? Stop feeding it." So... stop being so damn scared all of the time. Stop worrying that you don't matter, that you won't matter. If you want to make a difference, BE the difference. Taking a stand for yourself in your own life is the single greatest thing you can do as a twentysomething. Stop feeding the strays. Stop feeding your fears. Starve them and you will be surprised at the happiness that blossoms.

...and if that doesn't work and you're still like "blahhh, poor me. my twentysomething life is such a mess and everything sucks and is so hard and i'm sad. blah.blah.blah" my advice to you? eat some pie. people that eat pie are 46% happier than people who don't.
(that's made up, but i bet you really want some pie now, weakling.)

I'll spare you the trouble

HELLO FROM VEGA$$$$$!!!
We have been in Sin City an entire 24 hours and let me tell you... THE STRUGGLE IS REAL.
I distinctly remember yelling "Bitch, don't kill my vibe!" leaving Bellagio's club HYDE around midnight. NO clue why. #sorrynotsorry.

Vegas tip #1: GO TO THE VENUS POOL AT CAESAR'S. Sure the margaritas are literally $1 per ounce...as in I paid $40 for a 40oz marg but did I have to get out of the pool every 20 mins for a refill? You bet your ass I didn't. Invest in a Grand Marnier floater. You won't be sorry. And if oodles of insanely attractive people and huge drinks isn't convincing enough... this is a European style pool closed off by huge trees and tents from the rest of Caesar's pools. And yes people, but European style I do mean the pool is top-tional. Lots of well-endowed (and us, the less endowed crowd) ladies threw back their obscenely expensive drinks and let it hang loose for a little. If you're feeling like you need to be liberated, do it. We only lasted 20 mins without our bikini tops but it was too wild of an opportunity to pass up because WHEN IN VEGAS, DO WHAT VEGAS CRAZIES DO.

Vegas tip #2: **ladies only** GO TO THUNDER FROM DOWN UNDER.

Need I say more? I am seated on Tyler's lap--only after I proceeded to make googly eyes at him and his rock hard abs the ENTIRE night. I am not ashamed. Being in the front row of this show was beyond entertaining. They're just so cute and delicious and hunks of pure sweaty hotness. PS- Tyler and I are a thing. You can't stop love at first lap dance. 

Vegas tip #3: Purchase the VIP club package along with your TFDU show tickets.
You will get tons of passes to really hot clubs and most of them come with a time frame of free drinks, open bars, etc. We'll be at Hyde tonight for the vodka bar. God save us.

And last tip of the day: HYDRATE.
If you want to last, to not miss one single second of the beauty that is Las Vegas, you have to drink water. No one at the bar will judge you for hydration. PLUUUUUSSSS:
If you go to the bar and order a water, that adorably cute Clark Kent lookalike will offer to buy you a big girl drink after you finish your water and you will stand there talking, laughing, getting straight up smitten with him for even longer.

This is all for now..because I need to go shopping and find a bloody mary. But if I have learned anything in the last 24 hours, it is this:
If your twentysomething years were made for anything...they were made for Vegas.

Will the real adult please stand up?

Calm down, Slim Shady, this ain’t your time. This is, like it or not, the time when twentysomethings are forced to stop drinking, eating and acting like the cast members of National Lampoon’s Animal House. And let me tell ya…it kinda blows. No one wants to pay their own bills, say Adios to tequila Tuesdays, or show up to a cubicle five days of the week from 8am-6pm (because 9-5 doesn’t exist anymore). But that’s not the hardest part by a longshot.

Making the transition from teen to collegian to adult is either slow and seamless or closer to ripping off a Band-Aid. I cannot attest to the ease of the first option because well…I NEVER get that lucky …like ever. There was a moment during my sophomore year when the universe just chimed in, “Oh haiiiiii Em. How you doin? PS- you’ve been cut off. Go ahead, finish off that bottle of $9 merlot and soak up the last remaining moments of simplicity because you’re headed for the 8^th level of hell- Adulthood.” Can I get a “Hell to the Yes”?!?! Awesome. But really though people, I would be lying if I told you that growing up was easy or fun or C. all of the above. The only thing that has been my saving grace is the relationship I have with my mother.

The majority of you, sweet angel baby readers, are friends or are lucky enough to be acquainted with Steph. The Queen of Sass has been my rock, my heart, my very best friend since the beginning of time (aka February 28, 1992). But while most of you see us as the epitome of a pristinely functional mother-daughter relationship…we have our issues and they mostly revolve around my sassy twentysomething self. You see, not only is it hard to maintain dignity and purpose as a human when you are transitioning to adulthood, but making that leap while in any relationship pushes both parties to the limit.

Needless to say, the conversation of what an “adult mother-daughter relationship” looks like came up on Tuesday. Currently, I’m sitting next to the other half of our real-life cliché-- the tree that this acorn fell from, waiting for the stewardess to serve us vodka sodas on our flight to Las Vegas. We are meeting 4 of my closest hometown friends and their mothers for the “we are finally all 21” weekend bash of the century. With the inevitability of this weekend blurring into one giant drunken stupor, Steph and I had to finally come to terms with what this adventure and my transition into adulthood would mean for our relationship. And can I just say, we couldn’t be happier! In an effort to model you readers into shining stars of society, Sassafrass and I came up with some overarching rules.

So, in the eternal words of Andy Cohen: Here’s what:

1.      Just because you’re best friends does not negate the origin of the relationship: parent to child. I vowed to let her cut me off when I begin to embarrass myself and to let her go home at night when she’s done so she doesn’t have to witness me embarrassing myself.

2.      You can and should certainly call a girlfriend out when she’s being a total bitch. That is, however, never the appropriate way to handle tensions between parent and child…from either side. Calling your mom a bitch WILL get you bitch slapped. (I do not speak from personal experience. I am not and will not ever be brave enough to legit call my mom a bitch. I prefer to remain alive).

3.      Sometimes, it’s okay to let your parent stop being a parent and just be a crazy, awesome friend. They spend all day, every day with their parenting cap on…but you’re adults now who can put that aside every now and then to just let it all hang loose.

4.      Take and give advice with grace. When Steph gives me advice, I tend to take it personally. But hello—it’s not. More than likely, she’s been there and done that. She is just speaking from experience and for that, I have to be grateful and appreciative. Put your ego aside, put away your desperate attempt to prove you can make it on your own and open your ears.

5.      Most importantly of all: let each other be who they are. Steph and I are the true ying and yang. She is loud, zany, balls-to-the-wall, and ass-on-fire 98% of every day. I have the habit of falling to slightly more reserved levels of those attributes unless I am 100% comfortable with the people and situation. (If and when I am comfortable, consider this a blanket warning). We not only let each other be who we really are, we appreciate each other for our differences and let the other be the spotlight in their own elements. We also, above all, encourage the crazy sides of each other because when we’re together and on a roll, there ain’t no stopping the crazy train.

 

Being an adult can be scary and stupid and really just plain unnecessary at times. But if you have a person in your life that has been there from a time before hell froze over, hold on to them and your relationship for dear life. You’ll need them more than you can ever anticipate.

 

 

"Party of ...one, please"

I-n-d-e-p-e-n-d-e-n-t do you know what that mean?

She got her own house

She got her own car

Two jobs, work hard, you a bad broad.

Hey. Remember that person you thought you couldn't live without? The one that held your soul, your hopes, your dreams in their delicate fingertips. You fell pretty damn hard for them, didn't you? You saw more than just next week's future... you saw NEXT MONTH'S. But woaaah, they bailed. OUT OF THE BLUE. Never saw it coming.

**author side note: Dermot Mulroney in The Wedding Date is correct, like it or not, when he said, "First of all, there's no such thing as 'out of the blue'."

So what do you do now? You are twentysomething. Despite people getting married later and later in age, you didn't dare think that applied to you. HELLO, being married by 24 is like so totally perfect. Except now, you've  lost the one person you couldn't bare to live without. But before you throw in the towel on life, please take a second and look in the mirror...at the BREATHING human in the reflection. What do ya know? You're still living and shit!! 

"I cannot live without you" is a trending cliché for the high school crowd because at 16 you're not thinking about anything other than how awesome it is make out behind the bleachers. Who can blame them? Relationships (and scandalous make out sessions) at that age are intense and in-the-moment. But the frightening part is that this cliché isn't reserved for teen girls chasing their heartthrobs anymore ... nope, us college ladies are victims too. Seriously. It's sad and lame and really doing a dirty number on our credibility as a gender. Come on gurlz... Don't let those Lil Boosie lyrics go to waste. It's time to snap out it and starting standing strong as the sasha-fierce, independent women that we are.

Trust me, I know it's hard. But even Cher believes in life after love. The thing is that we go to the same colleges, get the same degrees, and have the same opportunities to be successful. None of this matters, however, unless you are willing to step out on the ledge and take the giant leap to your destination. Do not wait for another person to come along and secure your place in the world. Sure, you need a ticket as validation for paid parking, but you DO NOT need another human's praise and "luuuvvv" as validation of your worth.
Be the risk taker. Be the heart breaker. Do the world on your own terms.
It is only when you allow others to make your choices for you that you really lose ...or in some pathetic cases "live". Don't be a statistic and more than ever, don't be a coward. The RIGHT person, the peanut butter to your jelly, the ying to your yang, won't say "No baby, stay in Texas and do my laundry after you graduate. Paris will always be there and I promise we can travel the world when I retire." That person is an asshole and you deserve better. If you want to pack a bag and run away to Russia, do it. If you want to take on the fashion scene professionally in NYC, do it. If you want to flip burgers at the Hardee's in Gunshot, Tennessee, do it. Nobody really cares what you do as long as you OWN IT.

To say I am excited to be a young, professional twentysomething woman taking on the "grown up" world is an understatement. My ecstatic outlook is not because I'm itching to get out of college (no way, this place rocks because both beer and rent are cheap). It is because the next chapter of my life is all on my terms. I make the decisions for me and myself only. Good, bad, stupid, or brilliant-they're all mine and I nevah, evah want to take that ability for granted.

If an effort to further inspire you broads, check out my new tab at the top: ICYMI:Ladies Edition. You'll thank me later!
And if you're single and still feeling not-so-empowered, CLICK HERE RIGHT MEOW

Uncle Si Knows Best

Invincible is defined as “being too powerful to be defeated or overcome” according to a simple Bing search. *Yes, I use Bing and own a PC and like to wear turtlenecks in the winter. So what? Haters gonna hate* Putting your snide judgment on my turtleneck and technology choices aside, the unfortunate reality of “invincibility” for twentysomethings is more of an epidemic than a virtue. We drive too fast, we drink too much, we eat McDonald’s chicken nuggets, and we lack, for the majority, a sense of accountability. All of these things are because we have developed this invincible mentality that shields us from the truths of the world around us and when things go a-wry, we usually never see it coming.

Being “surprised” by the people in our lives and their actions never bodes well. You feel duped, stupid, and the most heart-wrenching of all, betrayed. A best friend starts dating your ex; a classmate doesn’t pull their weight on a project worth 78% of your course grade; an idol gets beat up with his own golf clubs by his own wife. The “YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME” scream is an inevitable and reasonable reaction because these people suck and you tend to have a little sense of optimism left for mankind. But …. COME. ON. PEOPLE. There’s no way you did not see these things coming. Because if it this person looks, walks, talks, or even smells like an asshat, they’re probably an asshat. Wait, my bad… this trope usually references ducks but you catch my drift. Crappy people make crappy decisions and the less-crappy people are the ones who suffer.  And even at the ripe age of 21 and author of all this mumbo-jumbo, I should know better, too.

The “bff” will rationalize her new found love with your new found ex as “well, it just happened”; that anxious classmate that HAD to be your lab partner but never spoke two words to you in the last 2 years totally knows you’re a sucker who just wants a good grade at any cost; even killer sponsorships and a fan base of the highest caliber couldn't save poor, poor, sexually deviant Tiger Woods... because he had it coming.

My thoughts are this: stop being an invincible idiot and be smart enough about the world around you to see the ducks (and asshats) coming. Don’t spend all day watching the Kardashians. Instead, find a decent local news channel and tune in on the daily.  Put down the Cosmo and pick up the NY Times. When you enlighten and expand your vision of the world, you can actually recognize the “ducks” a little better. Once you spot a duck, take some advice for ol’ Uncle Si on Duck Dynasty: “It’s not you, it’s me? You’re damn right, heffer!”.

Everyone gets duped, but if you know the signs and open your eyes to what's really going on, I promise it won’t suck so bad.

 

OiNK, OiNK.

There is an age-old saying, "Putting lipstick on a pig doesn't make it any less of a pig." You can dress things up and add all of the right accessories you want, but at the end of the day, it's still a smelly swine. And not a day goes by that this cliché doesn't ring true, especially in the collegiate world.

May I bring your attention and cursor to the grandest of all examples: RICH KIDS OF INSTAGRAM..Holy sweet baby Jesus. I hope therapists take black AMEXs because while living the Hamptons high life and actually waking up in a new Bugatti is pretty neat, there's no way these kids don't have issues. I spent a solid three hours browsing through photos on this site and let's just say... you gotta see this stuff to actually believe it.
But newsflash: the majority of Millennial (hip youngsters ages 18-29) have issues theses days that warrants a shrink ... I, myself, am a walking basket case 94% of the time. You can buy an expensive car, but you still can't buy true love. You can dress in designer wear, but still have zero self-esteem. You can preach the words from the Bible, but it is all negated if you are in CVS buying the morning-after pill.(Thou aren't so holy then.)

 

My main Brit, WC, knows what he's talking about. One of the strongest convictions you can have is to be true to yourself. STOP putting lipstick on your pig. 567 Instagram uploads do not make anyone envious of your life. Pretending to not know the limit in a Calculus problem won't get you a boyfriend, ladies. No one will care if you were spotted at Reservoir every weekend or if you had the perfect Jon Hart backpack in college if you fail out and end up as your parents' burden in the basement. It's okay to not have your life together, to not know what next week may bring, to not be the most fabulous person on Earth. But you have embrace something: Be smart. Be brave. Be scared. Be kind. BE YOU.

Once you own your soul, take it to the edge and push through to greatness.

misery loves company

I would be lying if I said that I get any return on my tuition investment through the university library. Mary Couts Burnett Library, here at my illustrious beacon of learning, is lovely, I swear. There is  never a shortage of day-old sushi, Red Bulls, and people making out in The Stacks (aka the basement, the typical fantasy location of all collegians... NOT. #youretackyandihateyou). But, I do not swipe my ID and trek into the great unknown without a knife at my back...and I am not alone.

Please do not be fooled by our minimal use of the library as indication of lack in academic success. Horned Frogs take their education very seriously, myself included. But with today's technology and our incredibly innovative professors, I do not have to sift through the Restricted Section to research Nicolas Flamel.
*I should've apologized in advance for any Harry Potter references. I can't help it. Sorry not sorry*

But this summer has been a completely different story; Maybe it is because I am on the brink of graduation or because there are not 50 BILLION people in the loud section creating a common area for all Greeks. Either way, the populous of Club Lib in the summer months is about as hoppin as Rock Bottom on a Monday night. OR... *cue cliché*...
the reality may be that absence really does make the heart grow fonder.

Shocking, isn't it. Could I possibly be enjoying the library this summer because I have strategically avoided it for three solid years? Have I morphed into that sad, sad almost-alumni desperately clinging to anything purple or university-related as a sure-to-fail coping mechanism? YES. I am that pathetic human and guess what, people...I'm damn proud. I have worked really hard for three years at being 2kool4skool. If I wasted my last year of college being calm and collected, the epitome of nonchalant... I would hate myself forever. And I will go out on a limb online with my millions of blog followers to testify that I will not be the only senior surfacing at random events on campus, caught hanging out in Club Lib, or actually participating in Go Purple Fridays (obviously, the last one is just for the free Chick Fil A,). Why? Because  misery loves company.

If you're one of those cuties about to start your junior year, feeling on top of the world, making sure you're not tied down to anything or anyone because you've got a bad case of FOMO, Godspeed. Upperclassman life is grand, glorious, and Blue Mesa happy hour is just the cherry on the sundae. But those days are fleeting and then you will be sitting at home on a Sunday night dreaming up big post-grad dreams, soothing your aging soul with an 8-tracks playlist called "Troubled Tenacity", and eating carrots. This is it people. This is the end. There is an actual light at the end of the tunnel and it shines bright with hopes of finding a decent job and not moving back in with my parents.
So my advice? All aboard the crazy train. You won't want to miss the last leg of this trip and trust me, you won't be alone. (I'll definitely be there with the champs in hand)



help a sista out: http://www.surveymonkey.com/s/GSD3BBW

2013 Opening Ceremonies

Oh hey there. If you are reading this, you are probably my mom... or saw her Facebook post promoting this little venture of mine and felt obligated to give my ramblings a quick read. Either way-- WELCOME!

My Missourian best friend, Rebecca, has giggled for 3 years that my life deserves to be recorded and sold to MTV so that my experiences (better described as tough lessons) can be shared with and mocked by the world. That sounds melodramatic but it's not without cause; The world I live in is eternally chaotic, hysterically ironic, and purely blissful. I don't have to make this stuff up because it is as real as my over-grown roots. My only intentions are to share my abundance of knowledge, maybe brighten your day, and if it all works out-- salvage what little is left of my sanity.

The things you should know about me are as followed:
1. I just moved into a house off campus that is adorable, green, full of shenanigans, but not dishwasher-equipped. Pruned fingers 24-7.
2. No one and nothing comes before my family.
3. Email me if you excel at blow-drying hair. I'm hiring.
4. A cold, rainy day gives me the warm-fuzzies.
5. Mexican food is a lifeline in my book.
6. Khloe is my favorite Kardashian.
7. I cry every single time
8. FACT: Prince Harry of Wales is waiting for me..and no, I am NOT threatened by rumors of his relationship with Cressida Bonas. Bring it on, girl.
9. Follow me on the Twitter for nifty live tweets during my strat comm writing class, Windows8 updates, and dry humor in between..
10. I have four crippling vices: A painfully eclectic taste in music, Louis Vuitton, Gilmore Girls, and Ménage a Trois California Red Wine.

Since I began my "journey of self-discovery" or whatever college is supposed to be at TCU three years ago, I have become a jack of many trades: Microsoft intern promoting Windows operating systems on campus, TCU Athletic Ticket Office *favorite* student worker, severely-invested nanny, overcommitted Delta Gamma...oh and I guess I squeeze a little academia in when there's time. But I have learned a little more than just the top 3 tailgate tents for home games in all my twenty-something-year-old wisdom.

Today's lesson: Feast > Famine

"One and done" is nice in theory. "I'll have only one bean and cheese taco since I'm like petite or whatever" or "Oh Julie, you know I'm trying to cut down on drinking during the week so just pour me one glass of Shiraz and I'll be #gucci." I know you catch my drift. But WHO REALLY ONLY EVER HAS ONE OF ANYTHING? Tacos come in twos and wine comes in a bottle... indulgence is your only option. Go on with your bad self.

Now, here's the way the universe works for all twenty-something-year-olds:
1. You have too much money, too much time, and too many people telling you you're hot.
OR
2. You have no money, no time, and no one loves you.

The likelihood of scenario 2 happening is statistically five out of the seven days in a week (ideally, Sunday- Thursday). As for the other two days of the week: on Friday, scenario 1 is a given and Saturday...well, you're too hungover to be of any use to the world.

So here's the 411, the Bear Grylls of survival techniques: BE SELFISH.

If you have the money, go out. Do not sit at home saying "Oh no, I'll save my money for a rainy day". I know you really want a new watch or a shower curtain without mildew, but so does everyone else. YOU WILL SURVIVE, Ladies and Gents. I swuuurrrrs it.

Of course times will be tough. You'll get a electric bill for the month of June and want to cry only in hopes of selling your tears. But so what? That builds character. I am NOT... I repeat, NOT... encouraging you to get Ciroc bottle service at a swanky downtown club like you're Diddy or Kanye because you're not a hip-hop mogul. You're a poor twenty-something-year-old with $100 to spend. So buy a round of shots for your amigos and guiltlessly INDULGE.

Life is too short to spend hoarding money under your mattress. Be smart, be strategic, but HAVE FUN. These are your selfish years and if you want to survive them, you must embrace them.

So when the time comes and you're looking at a feast, don't fret over a potential famine. Always know your limits, but push them hard. Never again will recklessness be acceptable.