Crazy Girls

When I think back to the guys I dated over the years, I know a number of them would probably call me a crazy bitch. I should probably be insulted by this, but ultimately, it just doesn’t bother me. Because it’s true.

It’s not uncommon for a girl to go psycho on the guy she’s dating or fucking or whatever-ing. I just think that when a girl acts crazy, it’s because the guy is making her crazy. He gives her reasons to doubt the relationship. He gives her reasons to feel insecure and unloved. He gives her reasons to come undone. 

Girls, and guys too for that matter, tend not to act insane for no reason whatsoever. I suppose there is the rare person who flips out over literally nothing, but I think that is far more rare than we’ve been led to believe. Rather, as human beings, it's in our best interest to maintain the status quo.

Rocking the boat is usually more effort than it’s worth.

When you have something good, you just want to hold on to it. You don’t want to be suspicious or doubtful or angry. You trust.

Maybe I’ve just never had the chance to trust before. Maybe I’ve never given anyone a reason to trust me. I guess what I’m saying is, it’s pretty fucking sweet when you find it. 

What's YOUR Number?

It frequently comes as a surprise that even the sweetest, dweebiest, nerdiest guys have had considerably more sexual partners than I have. I mean, I’m not that bad to look at and I’m certainly no angel, yet I’ve shown restraint with my lady parts to avoid becoming known as the town slut.

But then I hear these stories, and it’s like, with guys, the more casual, emotionally unattached, and depraved the hook up, the prouder they are.

• Duuuuude I fucked some girl last night (high fives ensue) 

• Duuuuude I think she pissed on our floor (snicker snicker) 

• Duuuuude is she still here..? (looks of horror all around) 

HA HA HA. How is this a thing?

When a girl has a one night stand (or a casual fling or anything remotely “unacceptable”) she instantly wants to undo it. The morning after, heels in hand, she is quick to flee the scene of the crime.

A girl feels the need to rationalize, to justify, to erase.

She wonders - is there a loophole in the system that will allow this guy not to count as a notch on her bedpost?

• Maybe it was just the tip? 

• Maybe he didn’t finish? 

• He wore a condom, right? So it barely even counts... 

The fact that women even feel the need to make such ridiculous (and patently false) justifications is sad.

Why can’t we just screw proudly and not give a damn how many penises are in or around us?

3 Drunk Foods You Should Avoid

First, let me be frank here and say that there are obviously way more than three foods you should steer clear of after a night of heavy drinking*. But, for the sake of time, and to avoid worsening my raging hangover, I’m going to just stick with these for now.

Jumbo Slice 
Unless you want to spend the next morning literally watching zits develop around your mouth and chin, you should avoid the greasy treasure trove that is jumbo slice. I’m not saying it’s not delicious. The salty, chewy, virtually sauce-less blanket of cheese-laden dough seems like the most genius of ideas at 3 am. But it’s not. Your drug-addled brain should not be making dietary decisions that will affect you for the coming weeks. You should particularly avoid this late-night mistake if you have any events coming up, as you can pretty much guarantee your skin will be wrecked, your stomach will be in turmoil, and your muffin top will be muffin-ier for a full seven days post-jumbo slice binge.

Black and Orange Burger
The thing about Black and Orange burger that makes it so hard to avoid, is their business model is set up to encourage late night drunken visits. Their hours are unique in the DC burger business, meaning they’re open until 3 am when the bars close. Brilliance. However, unless you want to spend the morning after boozing cemented to your toilet, it’s probably best to avoid this popular jaunt. Though there’s something magical about those grilled onions…

Amsterdam Falafel 
Nutritionists might actually encourage the drunken fools of Adams Morgan to hit up Amsterdam Falafel because these Mediterranean chickpea treats are likely the healthiest fast food one can find in DC after midnight. However, the pita pockets can be crammed with whatever toppings you find appetizing - and after a long night out, that might be every topping. So now you are essentially using a small piece of pita as the boat to transport tzatziki, hummus, babaganoush, mayo, ketchup, and vinegar-y onions into your mouth. This ungodly combination of sauces will almost certainly make you upchuck falafel into the already puke-strewn streets of Admo. Of course, if you’re fortunate enough to keep your food down, your garlicky, oniony, ketchup burps will likely trigger the gag reflexes of the lucky few located within your immediate vicinity.



*Full Disclosure: I love all these restaurants and frequently consume Jumbo Slice, Black and Orange burgers, and Amsterdam falafel. I’m merely informing DC partiers that they will suffer the consequences if they choose to frequent these DC institutions after 3 am.

Revisionist History

It’s not me, it’s you.

Now I see how I deserve to be treated. Now I see what it’s like to be my own person. Now I see why my friends and family couldn’t, wouldn’t be supportive of you in my life. Honestly, I’m in my mid-twenties and I’m at a point where I can’t be dating wildly inappropriate people anymore. It’s time for all of us to just grow the hell up.

You made me feel inadequate every step of the way, but fortunately I see now how completely deluded you were. I’ve got a lot to offer. And I think on some level you knew that. You knew you had something others wanted. You muted me so you could shine.

Did you mean to hurt me? Did you enjoy watching me unravel? Deliberate, frequent jabs at my hair, my shoes, my cooking. You showed no mercy, taking me down any way you could – persistent, patient. You mocked my defining characteristics. You decimated my quirks. You deflated me. You rendered me as directionless and insignificant as secondhand smoke in urban air.

And the jury is still out as to whether I can ever forgive you. The damage is done and I won’t let myself forget how small you made me feel.

You’ve set the bar - and the only place for me to go is up.

How Google Search Results Sum Up the Difference Between Men and Women

They say men are from Mars and women are from Venus but by they, I mean some pseudo-therapist who made a gajillion dollars in the 90’s by calling himself a relationship counselor and writing a book.

As annoying as the book sounds, it’s true that men and women have their differences. When it comes to things like socializing, money, and football, I sometimes feel like guys are speaking a foreign language. What do you mean you might make fantasy playoffs? What sport are you even talking about? And how does a playoff exist if the whole thing is made up. CAN SOMEONE PLEASE CLUE ME IN.

Anyway, that got me thinking about all the ways guys and girls are different and one thing I kept landing on was online search behavior. When I google, I look at shelter puppies and pinterest and celebrity gossip. What do guys search for? Porn? They probably have all their favorite sites bookmarked by now though, right? Well, here’s how I imagine it might look for the average Jack and Jill.

Ladies: 

• Calories in a Starbucks pumpkin spice latte 
• Pumpkin muffin recipe 
• Calories in pumpkin muffins 
• What to do with leftover canned pumpkin 
• Harry Winston engagement rings 
• Google maps 
• UTI symptoms 
• Ryan Gosling shirtless 

I’d say this list pretty accurately reflects my search queries on a random Tuesday in November. Now for the dudes.

Gentlemen: 

• Two blonde sluts 
• Amateur 
• Spankwire 
• Pornhub 
• Morton’s menu 
• Directions to Morton’s 
• How to unclog a toilet when the plunger won’t work 
• Can I have sex with my girlfriend when she has a UTI? 
• Spankwire 
• Pornhub 
• Amateur 
• Two curvy sluts 

If anyone finds themselves offended by this list and my sweeping generalizations, please feel free to contribute your search results in the comments section below.

3 Socially Awkward Situations that Arise from Working at Home

While there are innumerable perks to working from home, there have been some uber weird moments recently where I’ve been caught off guard by my own ridiculousness. Here are a few that I’ve taken note of in the past month. I’m sure there are about a billion more.

You’re home to greet the maintenance guy. 
While at first this doesn’t sound like a bad thing, when you become buddy buddy with the building janitor it’s all the more awkward when he shows up to plunge your toilet. In my defense, I’ve managed to go three full years without having to call a plumber, so I think my commode was just ripe for a good ol’ clogging. When Carlos showed up at my door, plunger in hand, I sheepishly directed him towards my bathroom mumbling something about my roommate being at fault… But Carlos knew. He knew.

You don’t say words out loud. 
When you’re home alone for days on end, there is no reason to speak unless it’s to answer an errant phone call from your grandmother or shout expletives in reaction to yet another FB engagement announcement. I communicate with my coworkers almost exclusively via email, gchat, and digital chat rooms, so we very rarely say actual words. When I finally experience a form of human interaction (with the local barista or my parents or my roommate) I tend to talk a mile a minute and viciously over share. Tasha – my latte master – has heard the non-abbreviated version of my grandfather’s funeral, my sister’s five-year business plan, and my high school friend’s prenuptial agreement. I just can’t keep words inside when I’m finally given the chance to speak. It’s like explosive word vomit every time I see another person (hmmm maybe that’s what destroyed my toilet…)

It becomes acceptable to not wear clothes until mid-afternoon. 
I don’t really like clothes. Never have. I find them itchy and constricting and unflattering on my figure. If I had a tailor who could fashion me zip-up onesies made entirely from lululemon’s stretchy luon fabric, I’d be much more amenable to staying covered up. But, home alone with no plans other than to write from my couch? Why do I need a bra for that? Who said pants have to be a mandatory garment? The other day I sat in bed wearing nothing but an oversized sweater until 2 pm. TWO PEE EM. I’m not sure if this represents a lowly lowly low or an epic high.

Is this what winning at life feels like?

5 (More) Dating Deal Breakers

Odor
It’s not that I don’t want you to smell bad – which is obviously step one – I also don’t want you to try too hard to smell good. None of that asthma-inducing cologne, please. I can handle a nicely-scented deodorant, but mostly I just want you to smell clean. Like laundry and human skin. Is that too much to ask?

Height
I’m short, so this is a completely unjustified deal breaker for me to have, but I just can’t deal with small guys. Look, I’m sorry. I wish I weren’t this way. It would be a lot easier for me to find my eternal soul mate if I could expand my love network to include those 5 foot 9’ers out there, but ya know what? It’s just not gonna happen.

Non-complimentary
I’m sure you think as a smart, employed, “together” lady, I don’t need to be buttered up with over-the-top praise… but I want it. Tell me I’m beautiful, tell me I’m effortlessly sexy, tell me I look hot in the skin-tight dress I put on with the intention of looking awesome for you, and see where it gets you. Most likely you’ll be taking off said dress.

Too nice
I want a partner-in-crime not a honey bear. I’m generally a nice enough person, but I can be a bitch when someone or something pisses me off. If you’re constantly making me feel bad about my occasional meanness, I don’t want to be around you. So, grow a pair and add some snark to the conversation. If I mention that so-and-so gained 10 lbs, your response had better be “looks more like 20”. Zing!

Wandering eyes
Yes, she has boobs. So do I. Stop mentally undressing every female in your line of sight. If you’re the kind of guy who is constantly and non-subtly checking out every tit that presents itself, I’m going to turn and run the other way - taking my fantastic rack with me. Even if you don’t act on those lustful looks, I don’t want to feel like I’m constantly competing with Girl X who’s shaped like a Barbie doll. Appreciate what you’ve got – me – or don’t be with me at all.

Who's the Other Woman - Me or You?

Hello there. We've never met, but I hated you once.

You’re like me, but better. All those important feminine features you’ve got are undeniably superior to mine.

Your hair is long and shiny, and not only in your going out photos, but in casual, everyday pics too.

Your arms look starving-model-skinny from every angle – not just the shots where you put your hand on your hip and jut out your collarbone.

You have dark hair and dark eyes and a smattering of freckles just like me, but on you it all comes together in an edgy, smoky tableau of hipster awesomeness.

And somehow you’ve mastered that sultry “I’m-gonna-suck-your-d” look without coming across as a whore. I’m impressed. You’ve got me beat.

He never told me about you, so I assumed he was mine...

THEN I found out you existed. And it’s just oh-so-clear he has a “type”. Laughable, really. I mean, look at us.

While you were moving and then job hunting and ultimately achieving greatness in Palo Alto, he xanaxed his way through a pseudo-relationship in DC.

DID YOU KNOW THAT? Would you want to know? Has he uttered my name even once?

Our six degrees of separation have ruinously collided, leaving us unfortunately intertwined, side-by-side, bed partners and kissing sisters. Zero degrees.

4 Scenarios I Imagine When You Don't Text Back

When you don’t text me back right away, I play it cool like I don’t even care. I’m all, whatever, he really likes me, it doesn’t mean anything. A little later and still no text, I’m like, ugh I have better people to be texting anywayyy. But when a few hours go by and I still don’t get a reply, four very specific scenarios go through my mind.

1. You discovered your soul mate in that weird java coding class you take on Wednesdays and you’ve swept her away to Las Vegas to consummate your love. Your phone is, of course, turned off on the airplane and reception in casino chapels is always patchy – thus creating low odds I’ll get a text back.

2. You took a shortcut through an alley on your way home from the office only to be roughed up by thugs, robbed, shanked, and left for dead. Crimson blood pours from your eyes and ears and your mangled, broken arms make it impossible to reach into your pocket for your phone. As you slip in and out of consciousness, you can only murmur Kaaa... Kaaa... in the hopes that Siri might hear your grief and place your call sans touch.

3. You have been personally invited to lead the President of the United States on a midnight Segway tour through the pentagon. Your swanky department of defense job paired with your talent for tour-giving makes you the perfect guide for POTUS to become reacquainted with the building and its slippery hallways. You’d reply, but you don’t want to offend the prezzie or anything. Plus, it’s kind of hard to text from a Segway. They have a delicate equilibrium you wouldn’t want to disrupt with frenzied thumb-tapping.

 4. I stole your charger last night to plug in my phone so yours died at work today. You make it home safe and sound with every intention of charging your mobile device, but the beer in the fridge is calling your name and the lean cuisine in your freezer isn’t going to microwave itself, so you toss your phone on the bed and go about your evening like a normal person. You heat up dinner, open an IPA, turn on ESPN, and forget about the fact that there’s a girl 2.2 miles away who maybe wants reassurance that you’re not dead in an alley or exchanging vows in an Elvis chapel.

Coming to Terms with the Ex Files

He was yours first, I suppose.

And it doesn't matter whether you dated for 10 days or 10 years because the fact of the matter is, you beat me to it. You marked your territory before I even knew there was land to be found.

Though I envy you your history and your inextricably linked lives,  I don't envy you because you lost him. You turned your back. You let what you had wilt and decay into nothing. Well, not nothing. I found some scraps, I picked up the pieces. I spotted the stomped on seedling of a heart and nurtured it and cared for it and now it's mine. And dammit, I earned it. You don't deserve him if you couldn't figure out how to keep him yours.

He kisses me like his lips were made for mine, so I can't imagine how yours compare. I want to ask him whose lips win, but I don't, because even if he chooses me, I'd rather not turn his attention back to you for even a second.

As we get older, everyone's past becomes greater. I wish you weren't so much of his.

The 6 Types of Guys You Date In Between the Good Ones

There were a few men who entered my life briefly since the demise of my last Big Relationship. Then, I found You.

I’ve dubbed these fellows: "The In-Betweeners”.

1. Ugly boy – Ugly boy happens right after a big break up. He’s just there. He’s available and persistent and desperate for vagina. Ugly boy has the intriguing effect of making you feel ugly too. Rather than feeling more attractive in comparison to him, he has the unique ability of pulling you down to his level. Not a keeper.

2. Racist boy – Racist boy is the quintessential southern republican. Of course, there’s no way of knowing such insanity lurks behind those baby blues when he buys you a drink Saturday night, but when he makes a disparaging comment about your heritage between sips of $1 Bud Light the following Thursday, it’s clear it’s time to leave.

3. Pretty boy – Pretty boy is pretty and not much else. End of story.

4. Boring boy – Boring boy (also known as “perfect on paper” boy) is cute and successful and polite and nice enough, but utterly, mind-numbingly dull. He’s the reason you got sloshed on a Tuesday. Apparently, the secret to withstanding more than 20 minutes of Boring boy is Sangria. Who knew?

5. Jobless boy – Jobless boy is always the life of the party. He’s available to do WHATever whenever because he’s unemployed and up for anything! His enthusiasm is contagious and makes you want to quit your job and travel the world. But then the money runs out. He’s stuck at home and you’re stuck with him.

6. Apathetic Jewish boy – Apathetic Jewish boy is intelligent, interesting, and handsome. He’s passionate about his government job and comes off earnest and caring to friends and family. He’s husband material. Until you learn he likes to numb himself with Valium and ejaculate on your tits.

Hurricane Sandy: The Bitch Makes Landfall

It's raining.

Unless you’ve been in a cave, or currently live in burkina faso, you’ve probably heard about the frankenstorm currently blowing her way across the east coast. I’m one of the few NOT off work today, but for my fellow hurricaners, here’s a list of five things to do when you’re stuck inside.

1. Getcho drank on. So, work’s cancelled, there are abundant road closures, and likely no cable to distract you from the mind-numbing drip of your leaking ceiling. What should you do to entertain yourself? Drink, of course. Wine makes board games, network TV, and awkward roommates instantly hilarious. Pop the cork and proceed to get crunk. Cheers to The Sandy Fachina.

2. Reheat any and all leftovers. There’s a chance your power will go out. Or perhaps it’s already made a not-so-graceful exit? Pull a Giada and create “easy ten minute meals” using whatever you can scavenge. Gorge yourself now while the fridge still works. Two-day-old lo mein tastes better with a side of peanut butter pickle sandwich anyway.

3. Obsessively track the storm at weather.com. Or, for unprecedented levels of storm excitement, check out Tom Skilling’s FB page. He's adorkably enthusiastic. Monitor national and local closure coverage and determine with meteorologist-level accuracy whether you’ll get to sleep in again tomorrow. Or, mentally prepare yourself to stumble into the office hungover and headachey from greasy food and boozey booze.

4. Do a victory dance when work is canceled. AGAIN! Break out into a one-man Zumba salsa party in your living room. Burn a calorie or two.

5. Make a hurricane baby. Or at least practice making a hurricane baby. Liquor up, pop that birth control, and have fun making whoopee.

Let's Talk About BJ's

One of my friends is a total slore (slut+whore for those of you unfamiliar with the term) and a touch anorexic. But I love her. Whatever.

Anyway, I was only a little surprised when she asked me over lunch the other day how many calories I thought there might be in a mouthful of semen. I was drinking a coconut water at the time (which, I’m sorry, totally tastes like jizz even if you’re not in the middle of a conversation about it) and proceeded to laugh/choke/spit a cloudy stream of it all over my sandwich.

Soggy bread in hand, I mulled over the possible nutritional benefits of man milk. It’s just protein, right? But, like – how much protein? Like an egg? Or a small piece of chicken?

If a vegetarian is nutrient-deficient from inadequate meat consumption, can she increase her protein intake by giving a guy head? Just how many blow jobs would it take to replenish a protein-depleted individual? Suddenly math gets interesting…

And ok. What about vegans? They shun animal products in favor of a strict plant-based diet. But …we’re animals. Should a vegan avoid performing fellatio to prevent errant spermies from slipping down her throat?

Next time you hear some activist-hippie-plant-lover yammering on about their wholesome, life-affirming diet, ask them about their sex life. If nothing else, you might get them to shut the hell up.

Oh – and in the end, I googled it. 15 calories and 150 mg of protein per mouthful. Approximately.

The Times They Are A-changin'

I get bored easily. Really, really easily.

Like, if I paint my nails gold in the morning, I’m picking it off by 3 pm, and re-painting them charcoal gray before bed. And it’s not because I want my nails to reflect my mood and mornings feel sunny and sparkly and bright, it’s just that I like switching up the little things.

So, it strikes me as odd that I’m so slow to make big life changes.

Once I settle into a routine, I feel compelled to make it work. I have overwhelming patience for flaky friends, dead end jobs, and miserable living situations. In college, I paid $1000 a month for a grimy, possibly asbestos-ridden, mouse-infested unit for THREE years because it was kind of sort of near my boyfriend’s apartment… And we had an awesome beer pong set-up... And moving’s such a pain… And Chicago’s really cold… And wah wah wah.

So is my impatience for the little things caused by my unending tolerance for the big stuff? Or, does my general steadiness lead to these sporadic bursts of mini-change?

Relationship Advice: If There's No Room for This Article of Clothing... Leave.

Remember when you held up my tiny tank top and asked coldly what it was doing in your drawer? You glared at me like my shirt was a grenade moments away from annihilating your entire neighborhood, rather than the innocent piece of black fabric I knew it to be.

God forbid I take up two inches of your precious closet space.

If this had been days or even weeks into our relationship, I might have understood, but this was several months of regular sleepovers and the official label of "Girlfriend". So why were you so possessive of your space? Why couldn't you make room for me in your life? Were my actions so outlandish and overly-familiar that you felt the need to lash out over a shirt?

That silly shirt has since become a symbol of everything I'm looking for in future relationships.

I want someone who knows my tank tops have nestled in few drawers other than my own. I want someone who recognizes how lucky he is to take off my shirt. I want someone who feels proud to have an article of my clothing tucked away in a corner of his room – a guarantee of future visits.

You might not have thought about it that way. In fact, I’m pretty sure you never grasped the enormity of the situation at the time. But your spiteful, entitled attitude should have sent me running.

I kick myself for trying to make you like me when clearly, you didn’t even like my shirt.

What Women Really Want from Men

So... what do you all think about this? Offensive? Funny? Spot-on?

Just saw it on a dating site and it cracked me up. I love the first part about women 21-25 wanting a guy who's the "Total Package". What? Like, women who hit 26 suddenly stop having standards and will settle for anything?

I guess it really comes down to priorities. When you're 22 and have no money, you won't hold it against a guy if he's dirt poor too. But, if you're 30 and have your shit together, you expect the same from a boyfriend.

Anyway, check out this infographic and let me know what you think in the comments!


Sugardaddie.com – A Millionaire Dating Site

Drinking Habits of a 24-year-old

It’s Sunday morning and I’m not hungover.

Not even a little bit.

When did everyone start drinking craft beer at parties? When did they start caring about IPA’s versus lagers? Where the hell did all the everclear-laden pink panty droppers and date-rape drinks go? I swear, I drink beer to sober up after a long night of boozing. Beer is just bready water after all (or watery bread?). 4% alcohol? Pshawww. That’s like my shampoo…

These days, my friends pop Advil like it’s their job the morning after a rough night. They chug water, lie in bed, and moan about not being 18 anymore. Really, guys? Weak.

I guess my semi-small stature prevents me from consuming especially large quantities of any type of liquid, but I do think I’m better equipped to handle alcohol than the average 5’3 female. In four years of college, I never once vommed mid-party. But now, with everyone around me acting all subdued, I don’t want to be the wacked out drunk girl doing shots from 3-year-old bottles of Jaeger.

So, I sip my chilled beer calmly and engage in pseudo-intellectual conversation with skinny-jean-be-clad hipsters. I’m enjoying myself, sure, it’s just that now it’s in a mature, dare I say, adult manner? I guess a diminished alcohol tolerance is just one of the many signs that I’m finally starting to grow up.

It's GO Time!

Today is the last day of my first job. So, it’s the end of an era, really.

I feel like there should be some sort of graduation ceremony with speeches, buckets of bubbly, and a wild party to cap off my accomplishments and carry me through to the next phase of my professional life.

Everything comes to an end (duh). And I tend to like the idea of endings because they are expected and inevitable. But change is scary. It seems like everything I know about my life right now is falling apart like some doomed relationship in an Adele ballad, and I’m just moronically forging ahead hoping to find something different, better, best.

I am quick to fall into a stable routine and I’ve never been the type to disrupt the status quo. But I've gone and done it.

As huge as this feels, I have to keep reminding myself that leaving your first job is expected and normal and frankly pretty mundane in the grand scheme of things. I’m happy, and healthy, and employed. I have wonderful friends, and great coworkers, and family members who support me no matter what.

This transition is a bit daunting now because I’m right in the thick of it all, but as things mellow out, I know I’ll be happy with my decision. Life is pretty simple, after all. Just do what you love.

8 Ways to Ruin a Potential Relationship

1. Introduce him to your parents on a day when he and your dad happen to be dressed identically. Are madras shorts making a comeback or something? They probably shouldn't be...

2. Circle his bicep with one hand and exclaim (loudly! in public!) “Aw, look, my fingers can touch!” Even if it’s clear his arms could use some bulk, he doesn’t need you to remind him.

3. Make jokes comparing his manhood to rigatoni. Just because it’s your favorite kind of noodle, doesn’t mean he’s ok with being compared to the choad of the pasta world.

4. Offer up a pair of your ex-bf’s boxers after a Saturday morning shower sesh. Turns out every guy ever in the world would prefer to wear increasingly scummy undergarments for a weekend than step into another dude’s junk holder.

5. Go apartment hunting on craigslist and email him links to one-bedrooms you like. Even following with “not yettttt (winky face)…” doesn’t make this ok.

6. Facebook stalk him immediately following your first date and tell him how adorable his cousin-from-Wisconsin’s kids are. Bonus points if you can name drop the family pets in later conversations. Nothing freaks a guy out so much as overzealous fb research.

7. Explain in excruciating detail the amazinggg dream you had about him last night in which he emptied your dishwasher and took out the trash. No, those aren't euphemisms for something sexy.

8. Tell him you have a strict life timeline that has you walking down the aisle when you're 26 (just two years away, sweetiekins), pregnant at 28, knocked up again by 30, and popping out the last kid before 33. I mean, a little planning never hurt anyone...

Confession: I’m not saying I’ve done ALL these things, but I’ve definitely done more than I’d like to admit. Oopsies.

The Morning After: Big Bear Traditions

Last weekend I met a Very Important Person in your life. I was nervous - trembling really - when I crossed the threshold and saw her standing there. I wanted so badly for her to like me. I wanted her to see how good we are together. I wanted her to instinctively know that I was worth your time and attention.

Last weekend I met your barista.

Our Saturday morning coffee runs tend to become something of a hipster safari. The pretentious caffeine addicts nurse their soy, double shot cappuccinos and peruse the weekend section of the paper with a kind of detached appreciation.

Though you regale me with stories of epic handlebar mustache sightings, I've merely been privy to a disturbingly large number of men with scraggly facial pubes and pit stains. It’s been weeks now, and I have yet to see a truly impressive, lip-framing fringe.

But that’s okay. Because with you, there’s always next weekend.

I've Got a Case of the Mondays

I miss you on Mondays because we eat and drink and breathe shared air for fifty straight hours until the bus rumbles me away from you and I'm all alone.

I miss you on Mondays because my body has to relearn the weight of its limbs without yours tangled in mine.

I miss you on Mondays because weekday workdays overflow with comedy GOLD and my texting thumbs can’t tap out the stories to you fast enough.

I miss you on Mondays because I’m stuck with just the food in front of me, when I’d rather fork tomatoes off your plate and steal the bubbles from your bubble tea.

I miss you on Mondays because I live weekend to weekend and the workweek just interrupts time that could be spent in your steady presence.

I miss you on Mondays because I can’t get enough of you. Because you make politics interesting. Because you laugh at my jokes. Because you don’t mock the lululemon poster in my bathroom. Because you bring me ice cream when I’m sick and wine when I’m happy and kiss me in public and tell me I’m beautiful.

Do you miss me on Mondays?

The Ghosts of Boyfriends Past

I see you less and less in strangers. You used to pop up everywhere.

You were the passenger in the back of the bus with his face smushed against the window watching the asphalt rush by. You were the waiter at the restaurant with the too loud laugh and smirky smile reciting the evening specials. You were the friend of a friend at last Friday’s party, just in for the weekend and mixing drinks like a pro. I saw you everywhere, I saw you often, and my stomach would plummet each time.

Because I would want it to be you as badly as I didn’t.

I spent this weekend revisiting our old places with someone new. In case you're wondering, I experienced a kind of wistful déjà vu but none of the sadness I was expecting.

The scent of fried dough and buttery popcorn thickened the air while the vendors smiled blandly and methodically ladled food onto outstretched plates. My shrimp lay nestled in their bed of creamy grits, no different than six months ago. But this time around, I didn’t need any comforting from my comfort food.

Eyes Wide Shut: I'm Sleepwalking Through The Fall

After a whirlwind work week (oh shit, it’s only Wednesday?), my brain has reached epic levels of fogginess. I honestly don’t even have the attention span to read a thought catalog article in its entirety anymore. I can’t even begin to approach the nytimes and honestly, even gchatting feels like a chore.

You know you’re tired when, while perusing facebook, you forget what site you’re on and absentmindedly open a new tab on your browser: oh, hey facebook.

You know you've reached new levels of exhaustion when, as a non-coffee-drinker, you chug a latte for breakfast and experience not alertness but a fleeting non-asleepness. Your eyes droop heavily against the sugary caffeine buzz and all conversations (even those directly involving you) become irritating background noise. You discover you can’t focus on any one sentence but rather hear every sentence overlaid with every other sentence until they form a pleasing hum of garbled speech that sounds almost exactly like one of those sleep-inducing sound machines set to “level 1 – rainforest”.

You know you’ve hit the point of seemingly no return when you fall asleep sitting up in bed holding a tub of Ben and Jerry’s chocolate brownie fro yo at 7 pm and sleep undisturbed until 8 am when your alarm blares loudly and insistently for 15+ minutes. The tub of ice cream is now a tub of warmish brown syrup but your bed is miraculously stain-free thanks to a slumber that more closely resembled a coma.

I suppose this is typical of a Big Girl job. Business naturally ebbs and flows and every day can’t be a perfect nine-to-fiver. My goals for the next month are to not get sick, not gain weight, and pay my bills. Doable? I hope so... ZZZzzzzzzzz

You're Probably Just Fooling Yourself

Fantasy is nearly always better than reality.

In high school, I had a crush on a boy in biology class. He was cute and didn’t know it. He was left handed.

I remember daydreaming about his beautiful, artistic fingers and dying to know what matters of profundity they were forever producing in his marble notebook. Sometimes, when I snuck a glance in his direction, he’d catch my gaze and smirk - and then go right back to ignoring the teacher and furiously moving his pencil across the page.

He was kind of a punk. Or however punky one could be at a DC private school. His clothes were scruffy and grimy and usually involved some number of chains crisscrossing from a belt loop to a wallet to who knows where. His hair was greasy, teeth unbrushed, and he generally gave off an air of unshowered-ness, yet I was entranced, enthralled with this boy and his perfect artist hands.

He wrote poetry, so I wrote poetry. He cared about music, so I pretended to care. He liked to draw, so I signed up for an introductory art class. I wanted to become someone he could maybe love.

He complimented me once. It was Halloween. I went to school dressed as a goth, and I remember the prickling sensation of his unrestrained scrutiny.  Class dismissed. I stood to leave but he caught my arm as I walked out the door. We locked eyes. “You look hot,” he muttered.

And that was it. The fantasy imploded and his appeal utterly vanished. The cerebral, sexy, brooding man I’d dreamed up in my head was nothing more than a high school boy with a penchant for too-tight plaid pants and underwhelming personal hygiene. He was no artiste! He was but a mere mortal.

Fantasies seem to have a way of undoing themselves.

10 Characteristics of My Anti-Dream Guy

1. Visible earwax. You’d be surprised how many guys haven’t figured out that this is a crucial part of general hygiene. I don’t care how you deal with it, just deal with it.

2. Dandruff. Head and Shoulders shampoo works wonders (or consult your physician today!). Oily white flakes make me gag.

3. Dirty teeth. Brush them. Even if you’re convinced you never have bad breath, brush your teeth. If I see sticky plaque build-up or food stuck for hours, you’re dunzo.

4. Poor grammar. Talking, texting, emailing – the medium of conversation is irrelevant. Figure out the difference between “to” “too” and “two” and “their” “there” and “they’re” or you're just going to come off as a dumb hick. Seriously, if you’re a college graduate and you haven’t nailed this down, you’re not worth my time.

5. The anti-texter. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. If you like me and you’re compatible with me, you’ll respond to my texts with an appropriate and hopefully humorous message. (FYI I like gifs of animals having sex. Or pooping.)

6. Neck jewelry. A leather rope, a guido gold chain, a cross – Sorry dude, not for me!

7. Moodiness. You’re gregarious and exuberant one moment, sarcastic and sullen the next. DING. NEXT. I can’t deal with ups and downs. I don’t want to be a part of the rollercoaster ride that’s your idea of a Tuesday. Be one person. Preferably a happy one. Bipolar tendencies are exhausting.

8. Closed-mindedness. Everyone is entitled to an opinion. You’re not going to know everything. You will be wrong sometimes. And if you truly believe otherwise, then you’re an arrogant asshole. Buh-bye.

9. Wearer of speedos. Sorry impossibly sexy probably homosexual European beach goers – you are not my cup of tea. Put on a pair of oversized swim trunks like an Amurrrican and we can talk. Otherwise I’m just going to ogle the outline of whatever you’ve shoved into that banana hammock and debate your grow-er/show-er potential in my mind. Not conducive for a lasting relationship.

10. Cheater. Yes, we’ve all done it. Long distance relationships suck. College drama is fun. Make-up sex is the best. Yada yada yada. But come on guys… we’re past that. We are in our twenties now and trying to be better people. And if you’re not, well, go find a girl who doesn’t care where your dick’s been.

Making Things Happen in the Kitchen

Would you say your pesto is the besto?

Today I used my food processor.

I’ve had it since Christmas but always found the thought of unearthing it from its deep dark corner of the cupboard a bit disconcerting.

A work event this morning took me to a nearby suburb (at 5 am thank you very much) but when the health fair wrapped up and we stumbled into the sunlight, I had a chance to catch my breath and look around. We were standing next to a Korean Costco. Best. Day. Ever.

I’m terrible at decision making, so despite the abundance of exotic foods, I hastily grabbed a few things I recognized (Kiwis! Jicama! Basil!) and tried my best not to embarrass myself or offend anybody (it was like sooo many jokes waiting to happen).

I’d been craving pesto which I knew belonged in food processor land. So I went for it.

Turns out my Kermit-green chopping machine is pretty much the least threatening appliance in my kitchen (um, hello terrifying electric kettle that hisses at me when I just want to enjoy a nice cup of tea). The pesto was 100% delicious, easy to make, and the machine's blade stayed a reasonably safe distance from my fingers.

I wonder what else I’ve missed out on because it seemed too daunting to attempt on my own…

Right now I’m feeling immensely proud of this admittedly not-so-impressive pesto endeavor. But whatevs. Go ME!

My Dream Guy Criteria - 20's Edition

Do you have a Dream Guy? And I don’t mean Ryan Gosling or Wentworth Miller (look him up, I call dibs), but do you have a hypothetical perfect guy pieced together with the best parts of every man you've ever known? I do.

These days, my list is pretty fluid (Thanks DC for my ever-plummeting standards) but when I was younger, I had pages upon pages of “ideal husband” material I was convinced I couldn’t live without.

Today, I stumbled upon an old journal entry listing my dream guy criteria from when I was 12 and I realized... not much has changed. I still want funny and smart and kind and tall, but I do feel like I need to edit it to eliminate the superficial items (tween me was adamant about finding a man with light eyes…today I’ll settle for brown) and add the newly important (good grammar – absolute must).

My dream guy and I better have some intense textual chemistry. I want funny, offensive, frequent text banter and I want it now. If I send something hilariously awesome, I better not get an “LOL” in response. In fact, “lol” in any forum is grounds for me never talking to you again. True story.

I also don’t want text updates detailing every mundane second of your day. I don’t care about your dentist appointment. I don't care about the weather. I want your droll observations about the randos pretentiously reading The Economist on their way to work. Or I want a link to your favorite overly attached gf meme on reddit. Is that too much to ask?

Is texting incompatibility a deal breaker? For me, yes. Here’s why: I see it as an indicator of life compatibility. Why would I want to be with someone who judges me for texting an inordinate amount when I have a lot to say? Or why would I want to be bombarded with boring updates I don't even want to read? Social connectivity via tech devices obviously isn't going away, so it's really just another medium for establishing and nurturing a relationship.

If you're not on my level, it's not gonna work.

The Early Stages of Dating

When you first start seeing someone, everything is rosy and good and nothing is dark and bad, and there are no tears or drama or jealousy. It’s the lovely, simple time before you even have your own feelings figured out.

You don’t want to seem needy and clingy and overly-attached, but suddenly all your friends seem lackluster and your new beau is the zenith of all that is fun and amazing in the universe and you just want to non-creepily spend every spare second in their company. So you make plans. First it’s happy hour, then food, then maybe a movie. Then it becomes all these inane activities. Let’s go rock climbing, let’s try trapezing. Ever hiked in the Shenandoah’s? LET’S DO IT.

Because when a relationship is first getting off the ground, you’re hopelessly reliant on organized activities to give your time together some structure. The gist of the plan is essentially meaningless, but there’s an unwritten rule that you’ve got to have one. Both parties must at least pretend there's an underlying reason for meeting up besides possibly wanting to exchange DNA.

So the Big Date is scheduled and details confirmed but fro-yo becomes dinner which turns into drinks which leads to morning coffee and suddenly you’ve powered through all the classic date night activities in a single whirlwind evening and you find yourself sprawled on a couch watching re-runs of sitcoms wishing you’d spaced things out just a little bit better. It’s like speed dating except with one person instead of a roomful of singles.

And now things aren't rosy and good or dark and bad but some kind of murky pinkish middle ground.

Is this (just) real life?

Dunzo.

Some say the opposite of love is indifference, but what about pure, unadulterated hate? What about a blinding desire to literally dismember the person you once might have loved even if you never said it out loud?

What if you want to slap the smarmy, smirking smile off his face with a smack so hard his cheek turns scarlet and your hand sears with heat but it doesn’t matter because the pain is entirely worth it? And he mostly deserves it.

What if you finally (kind of, maybe) understand where Chris Brown was coming from. It’s not his abusive behavior you condone by any means, but rather, you finally recognize the level of bubbling, aching hatred we can feel for other human beings.

And then it turns off like a switch. Just gone. You don’t love, you don’t hate, you don’t care. You’re released from something you didn’t even realize you were still connected to.

It’s over, it’s over, it’s over. Not even this mantra can convey your relief. It sure took a while - certainly longer than you’d like to admit - but all good things must come to an end.

Boyfriends and Bus Routes

Romantic encounters have exposed me to my city in an entirely new way. I’ve ventured to happy hours uptown, apartments downtown, bedrooms in northeast, and showers in southeast. I’ve traveled by car and bus and train. I’ve brunched on shake shack burgers at 10 am, inhaled greasy jumbo slices at 11 pm. Waffles on Sundays, bagels on Mondays. Barhopping and bedhopping and headaches and mucky morning mouths.

It occurred to me the other day that dating is the best way to get familiar with a city. It’s kind of like attaining fluency in a foreign language by becoming romantically involved with a local. Pillow talk has a way of improving one’s vocabulary…

Growing up in my northwest bubble did little to prepare me for the quirks of DC’s remaining quadrants, so the past few years have been particularly eye-opening. When I first moved back after school, I felt like a clueless tourist following my friends onto different modes of public transportation. I was bewildered, but they knew what was up.

Now, in the throes of post-college, single life, I finally feel like I have a sense of DC’s neighborhoods. Cross-city commuting can be viciously stressful when improperly executed, so mastering WMATA is really just a sensible hook-up strategy.

In school, it's all so easy. Everyone worth kissing is a stone's throw away. In the real world, the cute guys are often geographically undesirable. But here's my advice: Ride the bus. Get to know your city. Use a condom.

I’m Having a “Who Am I?” Moment

I realize more and more that you can’t please everyone. No matter how hard you try to be the person you think someone else wants you to be, if you’re trying, you’re probably already failing.

These days, I find that, depending on who I’m spending time with, be it my sister, best friend, or boyfriend-of-the-moment, I subconsciously start to mimic those around me.

When I’m with my guy friends, I play the part of the “cool” girl who mocks silly, psycho women who take men too seriously. When I’m with my girl friends, I’m all “guys suck, here’s why” and moan their very existence. Around my parents, I project an image of sweet wholesomeness but then immediately strip that off to morph into an emotionally turbulent 20-something when I’m around those my own age. I’m healthy at work – making vegan lunches and snacking on nuts and seeds, only to chug beer and devour chocolate in the company of those who couldn’t care less about eating well.

And it gets worse.

My laugh will change to resemble the laugh of the person I’m laughing with. My voice will adjust to echo the pitch and timbre of the person I’m talking to. My words and opinions edit and shift to more closely match those of the company I keep.

99% of the time, I’m not even aware that I’m doing these things. But now I realize I regularly abandon pieces of myself and snatch up what I believe to be the best parts of others. In the moment, I never feel like I’m losing my sense of self or aiming to please. It doesn’t feel like I’m projecting “like me like me like me” into the universe, but maybe that's exactly what I'm doing.

Maybe I’ve been like Gretel dropping pieces of myself like breadcrumbs.

Now that I’m aware of this, this continual loss of self, does that make it a crime to continue? Should I be more tuned in to those times when my voice lowers or my laugh quickens? Should I quit it cold turkey? Or, should I just accept that who I am is contingent on those around me?

I think I adjust my demeanor to allow personal relationships room to flourish. I just hope I’m not sabotaging myself in my quest to please.

I don’t want to be the sum of other people’s actions. I want to be who I am based on what I think and what I feel. But sometimes, I’m not even sure what that is anymore.

In The Mood for a Drive?

I haven't been on a true family car trip in ages and boy it sure makes us regress.

I'm suddenly belting out show tunes with my mom while my sis rolls her eyes and my dad calmly ignores us to focus on the road twisting for miles ahead of us. He loves his girls but sometimes, admittedly, we can be a bit much.

Seven hours is a long time to be around anyone let alone the crazies who share your DNA.

So the purpose of this trip is not entirely positive but we are making the best of it. It's all very little-miss-sunshine and we are getting a kick out of that. My sister hopped in, buckled up, and promptly fell asleep. I opted to ignore my parents for the first hour and immersed myself in a new book. My mom became navigator - struggling with our outdated gps (that British bitch keeps losing her connection and orders us to "make a u turn")... But my dad just drives. He's good at getting us safely where we need to go.

Our fifth passenger is what makes this trip bittersweet.

My grandpa's ashes are perched between me and my sister in the backseat. He's sealed up in something that looks a lot like the Tupperware in my kitchen which is both odd and comforting. Despite the inevitable sadness of the upcoming funeral and memorial services this week, we know he would want us to find the humor in this situation. It's too bizarre not to appreciate.

It's a long trip but it's not so bad.

Pandora is providing us with endless Taylor Swift ditties (thank god for tswift) and chocolate drizzle popcorn and grapes keep us happily hunger-free.

I think sometimes the best moments just sneak up on you. Right now my legs might be cramped and my bladder might be full, but there's something sweet and wholesome about being cooped up with your family. It's too bad it takes loss for us all to spend time together like this but I know it's what my grandfather would've wanted.

There's a lotta love packed into this little honda right now.

You're So Vain, You Probably Think This Blog is About You (Ha!)

When it rains, it pours.

It’s odd how you can feel like such a cookie cutter cliché of a lonely, single girl one day and then suddenly it’s like you’re fighting guys off left and right, scheduling back-to-back date nights, and surreptitiously replying to texts from potential love interests under the table mid-way through Sunday night dinner with your parents.

All of a sudden, you’re giving off some sexed-up, “you can’t have me” vibe and people sense you’re a hot commodity. While just a day earlier you would’ve pictured yourself grocery shopping and folding laundry on Sunday afternoon, instead you find yourself happily ignoring Nicholas Cage movies while a guy plants kisses on the nape of your neck.

…And then the Texts from Boyfriends Past start pouring in.

Almost as if they have some kind of radar that notifies them when they are slowly being forgotten about; the sexts, the awkward comments, the four consecutive ichat bubbles about unimportant nothingness. These were the texts I desperately needed three days ago when I wanted some reminder that I was missed – that I mattered. But my phone was obnoxiously silent. Until now, of course. Until I couldn’t care less.

I’ve never thought of myself as the type who needed “closure”.  I always liked the idea of being friends with an ex. But now, I’m doubtful. Why hold on to someone who didn’t treat you the way you deserved? Even if the split itself was amicable enough it doesn’t mean you need the toxic emotional angst that can accompany prolonged contact with an old flame.

Just let me be happy.

Five Lies My Parents Told Me

1. Sex. 
When I was little, I asked my parents what sex was after I heard my friend shout the word at the top of his lungs one day on the playground. My mom took me aside and explained that sex was a very special kiss between mommies and daddies that felt wonderful and made babies so that's why people did it. Well, imagine my surprise when I discovered it was a hell of a lot grosser than kissing, usually felt pretty mediocre, and rarely happened between mommies and daddies. In fact, that's probably the most overused joke in today's shitty sitcoms. Sorry honey, not tonight - cue the laugh track, bah dum, cha!

2. You can be anything you want to be. 
This one is a constant source of frustration for me. Yes, when you're young you can be anything you want to be and I wanted to be an Olympic gymnast. But then, once you hit puberty, you literally, physically cannot become an Olympic gymnast anymore. Like, you go to the Olympics when you're 12, you don't begin training then. So here I am, 24 and completely disillusioned by the parents who led me to believe I could pursue any dream at any time. I didn't realize there was a time limit to my dreams!! Now I'm obviously too old to be anything I want to be. Also! When I was a kid, I didn't understand that people were different races. I coveted my neighborhood friend's dark skin and wanted to be just like her. I now realize I will never be a black person. I mean, I guess I could try to tan my way to bronzed hotness, but I'd probably just wind up with a giant freckle blob and then peel. Gross. I guess I'm stuck being white for life. Thanks a lot, MOM.

3. You are beautiful. 
My parents always told me I was beautiful because I was a very cute child and it was a nice thing to say absentmindedly while tucking me in at night. Today, I realize I am not. There is a pretty obvious distinction between beauty and cuteness - a concept that current culture ensures is drilled into the minds of everyone with an X chromosome. Beauty is Frida Pinto. Beauty is Penelope Cruz. Beauty is Mila Kunis. Cute is freckles. Cute is round cheeks. Cute is me. I've come to terms with this now that I'm in my 20's and frequently mistaken for a 14-year-old, but it took some serious hits to my ego to knock me down a few pegs. I pretty much spent the better part of a decade thinking I was way hotter than I was. Awkward.

4. Santa is real. 
This is probably the most pervasive lie that parents in America tell their children. I grew up sort of non-Christian bordering on Jewish and celebrated Hanukkah from time to time so it's not like my parents had any obligation to go along with the elaborate lie of Christmas. I would have been perfectly happy receiving my gifts like any other normal child without the fantastical tale of a fat guy in a red suit lording over his elfin sweatshop. I don't even remember exactly when I discovered the truth about this holiday, but I don't recall being particularly upset. If anything, I just felt a little betrayed that mom and dad didn't think they could be real with me. Besides, I definitely didn't care about Santa as long as the tooth fairy was real. (I found $4 on my bedside table after I got my wisdom teeth taken out last year which I accept as substantial proof that she exists.)

5. He's only mean to you because he likes you. 
Yeah....he was mean to me because he actually hated me. Like, we were not friends. Oh and this carries over to grown-up life too. When guys are assholes, it's not because they have a crush on you. It's because they don’t want to sleep with you. Message received.

Day 3 on a Juice Cleanse

It’s amazing what a difference a day makes! Yesterday I felt drugged, like I ought not to be operating heavy machinery, but today I feel... perfectly normal and alert and great.

My coworkers tell me I’m glowing but I’m dubious because I gave up wearing make-up (and lotion and deodorant, shhh don’t tell!) as part of my personal detoxification regimen. I figured I wasn’t exactly sure how these alleged toxins planned to escape my body so I didn’t want to impede them in any way by plugging up my pores.

Day 3 of the BluePrintCleanse was the best of the whole program. I’m not sure if that’s because I know it’s all over soon, or if I really do feel rejuvenated. I don’t feel hungry, I don’t have a headache, I went to the gym in the morning, AND the juice drinking seems like less of a burden. Green Juice after my workout felt way simpler than making eggs or oatmeal or my other, non-cleanse breakfasts.

Also, I’m down 5 lbs. This is unheard of for me. I assume this is mostly due to water weight but even so, I haven’t seen this number on my scale in months. My stomach also looks much flatter. I took “before pictures” which showed a little belly pooch but this morning when I woke up I had almost an entirely flat midsection. So, from a vanity perspective, the cleanse works…

Two major factors kept me going: 1. the cost of the cleanse (why waste $200 on juices you don’t drink?) and 2. accountability (the very public blogging each day forced me to complete the three-day detox cycle – even when I really wanted to cave). Both of these were crucial for my personal success. I would recommend anyone curious about cleansing to commit to it this way. Tell your friends/family/coworkers/etc what you’re about to do (let them call you crazy – it will inevitably happen) and it will be much harder for you to back out.

A few notable things: My lips didn’t feel chapped at all during the three days (even without my usual chap stick application) which makes me think I was perfectly hydrated throughout. My skin was clear, which is a good sign, but my circulation felt inadequate. My fingers got freezing and turned white after holding a cup filled with ice for just a few minutes.

Overall, I like how very black and white the cleanse is. I never worried “can I eat this?”, “should I eat that?” I just followed directions and drank juices. Not that complicated. Also, there was no prep required on my part (in terms of purchasing fruits and veggies or juicing things myself). I placed an order online and the cleanse arrived on my chosen delivery date. So simple. 

And now that I’m in the home stretch, I’m feeling pretty proud of myself. I can be kind of a Type B, occasional underachiever so the fact that I successfully stuck with this for 3 days is something of a personal triumph.

Day 2 on a Juice Cleanse

Day 2 is undeniably the hardest day of the cleanse because it’s sandwiched in between the first and final day. On Day 1, all the juices were interesting - an experience, if you will - and by Day 3, I imagine I’ll be looking forward to winding down, but Day 2 feels endless.

I slept well (got up twice to use the bathroom but slept soundly from 9 pm – 6:30 am). And headed to the gym for a light workout (about 30 minutes on the elliptical followed by resistance work). I felt a little weak during cardio but powered through and drank plenty of water. When it was time for my oh-so-delicious breakfast (Green Juice) I poured it over ice and drank it as quickly as possible.

My stomach rumbled a bit throughout the morning but I don’t feel starving. I'm not 100% focused (I would not feel comfortable, say, giving a presentation at work right now) but I’m perfectly comfortable and not too cranky. Mostly, I just feel bored. I appreciate not having to think about food, but obviously, eating behaviors are so ingrained in our culture that I just feel anti-social with my juices. I think that’s the most difficult part about this cleanse. If my roommate or friends or coworkers were going through this with me, it would be a lot easier to stay focused on the goal and indifferent towards normal food routines. Without support, it's hard.

Around noon I feel like I’m crashing. Despite the P.A.M. Juice, I’m so tired, I can barely keep my eyes open. It helps to write about it if only to distract myself and give me something to do other than bite my nails or gnaw on the inside of my mouth. I daydream at my desk about going home, getting in bed, and sleeping my way through the next day and a half of this cleanse. Not realistic for those of us with desk jobs but maybe that’s how the celebrities get through it? On to Green Juice Part II now.

My temperature keeps fluctuating. Not sure if that’s typical of a detox but I’m hot then cold then freezing then fine. I keep taking my sweater on and off. Could just be the air in my office, but it seems worse than usual.

Bam. Made it through #4 – Spicy Lemonade. Poured it over ice again and it was actually tasty. My headache got worse though and the fact that there is no end in sight makes me pretty grouchy. Time for beet juice. Wahoo.

C.A.B. Juice is fine. Mostly my body just feels unhappy. My stomach is gurgling weirdly (is it hungry? Is it hurting? Is it confused?) and I have a splitting headache. Day two is every bit as hard as I envisioned. I’m not sure if all this is normal or if I have less willpower than the people who normally do cleanses. This is just a very strange way to go about life. Very isolating.

Sixth and final juice of the day and I’m officially 67% done with this cleanse.  I went for a walk with a friend after work which tired me out so despite how gross the Cashew Milk was on Day 1, I found myself looking forward to it today. Breast milk never tasted so good. My body was craving the thicker, sweeter consistency of Juice 6 and I found that I could almost pretend I was chewing if I let some of the grainier cashew pieces linger near my molars before gulping it down.

My body feels exhausted but sleep comes easily. Can't wait for Day 3. Let's wind this thing down!

Day 1 on a Juice Cleanse

Let's do this journal-style!

Juice 1 (GREEN JUICE) tastes like lemony grassy apple juice. It smells much worse than it tastes. Despite the cute, non-threatening bottle, it’s just so much darn liquid - took me about an hour to get it all down. I put it over ice in a fun, yellow cup so I didn’t have to see just how green it was and the ice kept it cold for the hour-long sipping sesh. Also, the cubes were a much welcomed crunchy treat at the end.

Juice 2 (P.A.M.) is delicious! I’d drink this on a regular day instead of iced tea. It’s a refreshing combo of pineapple, apple, and mint. Unfortunately, it’s also got 45 g of sugar! I know it’s “natural” sugar and not artificially added, but still. That seems like a lot, and just knowing what’s in it makes my teeth feel a bit grimy. (Bathroom break). No seriously, it’s crazy how many trips I’ve taken so far. Before noon I racked up 6 visits down the hall. Really putting a damper on my productivity. Also, feeling a bit unfocused and distracted. Not hungry exactly but not un-hungry. Tired and spacey. My tongue doesn’t feel great after the last juice. Sipping water gives me some relief but it just makes me have to use the restroom and frankly, I’m tired of getting up to pee every ten minutes. Feeling discouraged and haven’t even made it halfway through day 1.

Juice 3 (GREEN JUICE - again!). This one is rough getting through. I’m tired of beverages. Really starting to think of the cleanse thing as a way for celebrities to publicly starve themselves with minimal backlash. I don’t feel “full of energy!” or “glowing!” I feel tired and kind of weak.

Juice 4 (SPICY LEMONADE) has definitely got some zip! It’s surprisingly light and tasty and not too sweet, which I like. I should probably increase my water intake but the juices are so much liquid on their own, the thought of adding a glass of water in between each one seems impossible. At this point in the day, I’ve now made nine trips to the bathroom which I’d say is about triple my usual count. The time spent away from my desk in the restroom though is regained by not taking a lunch break or running across the street to buy snacks. In fact, the only time I’ve been away from my desk today has been bathroom breaks and one neighborhood walk. So maybe I’m being more productive after all. Getting nervous for Juice 5…

Juice 5 (C.A.B) is bright pink! If you like beets, it’s pretty tasty and luckily I LOVE beets but it’s also got a great gingery kick. A pleasant shift from the spicy lemonade. I’m not hungry anymore either. That completely vanished around 4 pm. I feel a tad bit shaky though and my mouth feels weird. I’m not thirsty exactly but my saliva feels different than usual. Kind of a gross thing to notice but it’s the biggest change (besides non-stop bathroom breaks) that I’ve noticed.

Juice 6 (CASHEW MILK) was the drink I was most looking forward to because I'd heard such great things. I'm going to be honest - it tasted like breast milk. Or at least, how I imagine breast milk would taste. I gagged my way through it and only managed to choke it down after putting it over ice and not breathing through my nose (the smell was the worst). I'm not a big milk fan and I'm totally grossed out by soy milk and almond milk so I'm not sure why I thought I'd like this but it just seemed like it would be a nice change of pace. Unfortunately, I was imagining milkshake deliciousness and this was merely sweetish, mucus-y nut water.

Having tried all six juices now, I'm curious which ones will be "favorites" and which ones I'll dread tomorrow. I have to say, the green juice was a lot better than I would have expected (maybe the key to this cleanse is low expectations...) but I'm not exactly looking forward to drinking it for breakfast tomorrow. Maybe if I get hungry enough, it'll start to seem crave-able.

Overall, I'd say it was an exciting first day with many strange feelings and tastes. I feel hungry but not starving. I'm not headache-y, but I was yawning more than usual on my drive home and I crawled into bed around 7:45 pm (with the last of my cashew milk). I'm curious to see how well I'll sleep during the cleanse and if I have energy to wake up and go to the gym as usual.

Oh - and perhaps most interesting... when I weighed myself before bed on Day 1, I was a full pound heavier. Definitely surprising.

More updates tomorrow!