Blog Addict

Ok, I have a problem. I have become addicted to reading blogs. The internet to me isn't about facebook, twitter, the news or even www.people.com anymore...it is about taking part in other peoples' lives through their blogs. I am fascinated about the views, opinions, day to day life, recipes, habits, struggles, and humor that I learn from these people I have never met! I have always been a person interested in other peoples' normalcy's, and I think blogging has increased that fascination.

I also get so many good tips about health, eating, exercise, traveling, work, hobbies, ect. Like check this out from one of my new favorite blogs, Peanut Butter Fingers:

I can get a personalized workout plan for free! Isn't that nice?

I also get to meet bloggers really cute kids and feel like I know them. Check out this cutie, Ms. Brooke, from Hungry Runner Girl:

Cutest mini-runner EVER.

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I promise I am not a creeper. I also email/message the bloggers and felt like a celebrity when one emailed me back! And if you read the comment sections of posts, you would realize I am not the only one who feels attached to these people/their lives.

I love how blogging depicts the normal ups and downs of everyday life. Facebook and twitter only show what people want us to see, but I feel bloggers are much more real and honest about their lives. Yes, mostly what people write about is positive, but the good bloggers also incorporate stories and feelings showing all their sides, good AND bad. I try to do that on this blog too, and if I had a more widespread reading base I would do it even more (when you have to post something every day or every other day, your moods are shown much more). I definitely feel that when I look back on my posts in certain months or years, I get taken back to what I was struggling with and feeling. Facebook doesn't show you that. Blogging to me is much more real. If I had a smart phone (yup, still don't!) it would be even more real because I would probably take a gazilllion times more pictures, but it's probably good that I don't.

It is secretly my dream to be able to quit my job and make enough money from blogging. That would also mean I would have to be doing interesting enough things to warrant blogging full-time, but that is beside the point. Perhaps in my quest to fulfill this dream, I will challenge myself to do a post a day during the month of October! Do you think I can do it?! I will have to be creative and/or you will just get way too many details about my mundane life!

My Boobs are Trying to Kill Me

I recently found out that a younger sorority sister of mine was diagnosed with breast cancer at the end of last year at the age of 25. It is just mind-blowing that a perfectly healthy, young person would get such an aggressive form of cancer that requires a double mastectomy, chemo, radiation and reconstruction. She is choosing humor and honesty as a way to cope with the next 6 months and has begun her own blog to document her journey. I now have it linked on the right side of the page, but I highly encourgae you to read it. She is so open, honest and funny, and a GREAT writer. Keep her in your thoughts, and I also encourage you to visit the blog of another friend's organization, Still Easier Than Chemo, as well.

I'm 25 and My Boobs are Trying to Kill Me

I went for a long walk today, and even tried a light jog. It was slow, it was embarrassing, I looked like a fool because I wasn’t wearing any of the right equipment, but I DON’T CARE. I am constantly amazed at the mood-lifting power of a little exercise and a little sunshine. Thank you, Lord, for giving Southern California 330 days of beautiful weather a year. And also for inventing iced tea. Amen.

The body is an amazing thing, and I think even more so in the wake of a cancer diagnosis. Here’s this earthly vessel, this flesh and blood that I only get one of, this little 5’2″, 100 pound sack of meat and offal, that one moment tried to kill me and the next spent four weeks miraculously healing me from a traumatic surgical wound.

Of their own volition, my cells saw the holes in my sides where the drains had been, the pokes in my hand and arm where the IVs went, and patched them up, little by little rebuilding what had been destroyed.

One month before my diagnosis, this body carried me to a 1 hour, 51 minute finish in my first ever half-marathon, a time that shattered my goal of two hours and exceeded my wildest expectations of what I was capable of achieving. From August to December, I had the incredible privilege to be a member of Richmond’s X-Team, a group of incredible individuals who wake up each morning at 6am to dedicate an hour of their day to working out in the grass and dew. I was diagnosed on a Friday; the Wednesday before, I ran 17 miles, prepping for my first full marathon. All that time, all those hours I was building muscle, eating kale, doing push-ups, running laps, my body was simultaneously improving and dismantling itself on a cellular level. What a paradox this life can be.

It’s such a cliche to say that having a brush with death will change your outlook, but I’ve found that it’s a cliche for a good reason. I’m not saying I treasure every single second of life, because sometimes, I’m still pissed off about the DVR not recording this week’s episode of Girls or opening the fridge and being out of Greek yogurt. But overall, being alive rules. It just rules, you guys. 

Basically, my post-cancer plan is this:
Step 1: Live.
Step 2: ???
Step 3: Never die.

I’ve been staring at this post for a while, feeling like it’s not quite up to snuff. I was staring at my computer and my notepad for a while this morning, trying to come up with something awesome to say, and failing over and over again. (I think I did okay in the end, though, right guys? Guys?) Frustrated, I went back to just Googling medicines that I have to take, which is something I do with alarming frequency. I’m on something called Tamoxifen, which is part of my fertility drug regimen and will also be a part of my post-chemotherapy five-year hormone therapy. I’m not joking, one of Tamoxifen’s side effects is “reduced cognitive function.”

Are you kidding? “Reduced cognitive function” is like a get-out-of-jail-free card. Assuming my cognitive function doesn’t become so reduced that I endanger myself by, say, injecting myself with vodka seltzer instead of my fertility drug cocktail, no one can get mad at me for being an idiot for the next five years!

So if you thought this post sucked, blame the drugs, because they’re literally making me dumber.



It's stories and people like this that make you think twice about what you are complaining or stressed about and choose to live and fight for those who can't.

Why You're Single

You’re single because you’re single. It’s not because you texted too much or too little or waited 33 minutes to respond because he took 23. It’s not because you met up with your ex that night at 5 a.m. that no one knows about, or because you kissed another boy after a date with a loser.

You’re not single because you spit food on that date or tripped coming out the the movie theatre. You’re not single because you hurt your first boyfriend really badly when you were 15 or because you have yet, to this day, to apologize. It’s not because you were secretly jealous when your friend got a boyfriend or that a guy you dated for two months now has a really cute girlfriend and looks really happy. And you’re happy for him. But still ill that he found someone before you.

You’re not single because you slept with your ex boyfriend. You’re not single because half the world found out when you didn’t even want to remember it yourself. You’re not single because you think the guy your friend wants to hook you up with is ugly or not tall enough. It’s not because you’re not willing to put up with someone who doesn’t brush their teeth on a regular basis.

You’re not single because your standards are too high. Good for you for having standards. It’s not because you didn’t like that really, really good guy who wanted to take you on a date and you just weren’t feeling it. And it’s not because you like to wear pajama pants as soon as you get home and wash all the makeup off your face. You’re not single because you didn’t learn enough from the past or would rather chill on a Friday night with your blanket and a cold beer than shower, get ready, and go out. You’re not single because something is wrong with you.

You are single because you are single. It’s really as simple as that. You haven’t made the connection with another heart yet. You can get dolled up, dress cute, cut your hair, dye your hair, tweeze your eyebrows, put on lipstick and you may still. be. single. You can go out to a bar hoping to meet the love of your life and not find a damn one in the place attractive. And it’s going to remain that way until it’s time for you to find one. Stop hoping for it. Start living the life that you do have instead of wishing for things that you don’t have. There will come a time you’ll meet a boy and you’ll have to give up some of this single freedom you currently have. Start being more thankful. Start doing that now. 


I thought this was a very nice article to dedicate to all my amazing single friends (and to myself) who are great just the way they are!

Thanks to Thought Catalog for this.

My Friend's Blogs Rock

This was such a wonderful post from my friend Elyse at  4theloveofblog.blogspot.com/ that I had to repost!

Come, sit next to me here.

It's been a tough week huh, buddy? We've got rainstorms, morbidly obese cat deaths, fashion disasters at the Met Gala, socially conservative relatives who are confused by how Netflix works yet somehow figured out how to "unfollow" someone on Twitter, and US citizens now fighting a 4-front war in Iraq, Afghanistan, Yemen, and Facebook newsfeeds. Times are tough, and I feel like we're all just waiting for the next political world event to just come along and take a crap on us. (They never did catch that Anthrax guy, right?)

In an effort to make myself feel better, I'd like to present for your procrastinating pleasure...Things That Would Occur in My Perfect World. Sorry if I seem stabby... I have a major attitude right  now, and not "attitude" in the RuPaul sense. 

 -I could stand to have about 80% less Instagram on my newsfeed.
Wait. Did you take a bathroom picture of yourself in the 1940's? ZOMFG!!1! Do you have a time machine?! They didn't even have smartphones back then!
Oh, it's a 99-cent app you downloaded on the toilet? Ahhh, you trickster.

- To the next person who publically declares childbirth to be "A beautiful, wonderful, MAGICAL experience" and attaches National Geographic-esque pictures: I hereby sentence you to no less than 1 hour of explaining Tumblr to my parents. Bring a snack.

- No more overly-symbolic ornate wedding crap. I just don't care. Even though you inlayed your Save-The-Date card with real cork from the bottle of wine you drank on the night of your engagement, it's going where the rest of the Save-The-Date cards go. On my refrigerator. The SIDE of the refrigerator. Behind the Dominos and Merry Maids coupons. Held up by a lewd Stewie Griffin magnet.

- Anytime a socially-conservative buffoon appears on a late-nite talk show, we would get what we actually want to see: the host heckling and making fun of them for an hour while the audience claps and throws things. No more politeness. Jay Leno, I don't care what Rick Santorum thinks about the new Avengers movie. But I WOULD like to see a pro-choice, pink-haired lesbian mom from The Bronx impale him with a 2x4.

- Someone should just come out with a "Stoned Hippies with Acoustic Guitars: The Immaculate Collection" album so I know what to get all these kids for college graduation.

- In the iPhone 4s commercial featuring Zooey Deschanel, when she looks out her window at the rain and asks her phone, "Is it raining?" the phone would answer,"No, God is taking a pee." And then say "I've found a list of juvenile sight loss specialists fairly close to you."

- The formula: 50 Shades of Grey + Mean Girls + The Notebook. Regina George gets smacked around in a dungeon, Lindsay Lohan is hot again, and Ryan Gosling....watches, I guess...

- Anyone who "bravely defended their faith" by supporting Amendment 1 would be forced to take a Community Chest card: It might say "Go Directly to Heaven" or it might say "Move Forward 10 Years. Explain to your Homosexual Son/Daughter Why You Think They Are Inferior to Society. Pay $1,200 Annually in Therapy Bills." 

And in my perfect world... I would like to  have the facebook newsfeed go away. I don't care that you worked 14 hours yesterday, that it's your last day of classes, that you are so in love and freakin' happy as can be, that you floss in between your toes with socks or that you are SO EXCITED ABOUT SOMETHING YOU ARE DOING! ZOMG ME TOO! Well, I need a million dollars, ants to stop crawling in my windows, and my cat to stop attacking me in the middle of the night. But I'm not telling the whole world about it (through facebook at least).

I love you Elyse:)