September 24, 2015

Just Stop


Lately, in an unusual and unpredicted turn of events, I've been feeling very stressed.

(That was sarcasm, for those of you unfamiliar.) No, the truth is that I'm pretty much always stressed. Even when I don't have a particular reason to be stressed, I can find something to worry about. ("What if I have an undiagnosed autoimmune disorder?!") ("Does this mole look like cancer to you?!") ("What if all the polar bears die?!")

But this time, I actually have a reason. A few, to be honest:
  1. Derrick and I just signed a year lease at a new house, which means another opportunity to  pack up and move every physical thing I own. At least we get to pay a security deposit, though.
  2. Derrick and I just "unofficially" booked our wedding date and our venue. And by that, I mean we "unofficially" decided who we would be giving thousands of dollars to in the near future.
  3. We've both also been under an unusually high amount of work stress lately, which makes the whole security deposit/thousands of dollars thing really fun.
So this post? Sorry, but it's not really for you; this one's for me.

Nicole, just stop. Just stop Google-ing things. It didn't help when you suspected an autoimmune disease, and it isn't helping now. It's just a web of worst case scenarios, so give it a rest.

Nicole, just stop. Just stop trying so damn hard to be perfect. Sure, it's your biggest strength but also your biggest weakness. (And not just in a cliche interview answer sort of way.) You beat yourself up for your mistakes to the point where you can be downright unproductive. The more time you spend berating yourself for the past, the less you're getting done in the present.

Nicole, just stop. Just stop worrying about the small stuff. You know what matters when you're in the midst of life altering decisions? Your dirty bathroom counter.

(There's that sarcasm again.)

Nicole just stop. Just stop worrying about the small stuff, but don't neglect it completely. Sure, in the grand scheme of things, your eyebrows really don't matter. But if it makes you feel better, get those babies taken care of. After all, no one took over the world with unkempt brows.

Nicole, just stop. Just stop taking it out on other people. You're incredibly blessed to have confusingly patient people in your life who will not only take your misdirected irritation, but also rub your feet after... That doesn't mean you need to take advantage of it.

Nicole, just stop. Just stop giving in to the worry. Yeah, the worst case scenario could happen. You could end up a homeless bachelorette peddling around Florida on a trike selling tin cans. 

But probably not. So there's no point in worrying about where you'll get the trike now.

September 21, 2015

Five More Things You Don't Realize Until You're Engaged


I'm a firm believer in the power of jinxes, so I say this with a full "I'm intentionally not jinxing myself" disclaimer: I think that we may have decided on a wedding state, and possibly even a wedding date.

I'm probably not going to say where and when the wedding will be until after the wedding because, you know, internet creeps. (My bridesmaids are all hot so I can only imagine that some cheeseburger graphic T-shirt wearing internet creep would love to know where and when he can consolidate them all, you know, for stalking purposes.)

Anyway, Derrick and I have come a long way since getting engaged in April and it kind of seems like this thing might actually happen. So to celebrate, today I thought I'd list five more things you don't realize until you're engaged.

1. Dress shopping does not need to be like a TLC show.
Ok, so I've never actually watched "Say Yes to the Dress" before. But my experience with buying a wedding dress went like this: I walked into the bridal boutique and said, "I like X, Y, and Z things on a dress." The lady at the front said OK, disappeared for a moment, then came back out holding a dress with X, Y, and Z things on it. I tried it on and said, "Yes, very good X, Y, and Z's here. I would like to get this dress."

The lady (and my mom) convinced me to try on a few more (just to be Sure with a capital "S"), so I did spin around in a few ballroom dresses and form-fitting umbrellas. But in the end, I decided that I was Sure, and got the first dress that I tried on.

So unless TLC makes a show without a plot twist, climax, or literally anything interesting, I can say that wedding dress shopping does not have to be like what you see on TV.

2. At one point, every color will be your wedding color.
After getting my dress before even picking a date, I decided to just throw all of of Lauren Conrad's "12 month wedding planning calendars" to the wind. So the next thing Derrick and I discussed was our wedding colors.

If you remember, I originally decided that my wedding colors were going to be grey and yellow. But after some discussion with my mom and sister, we decided that a plum and gold theme might go better with my dress. So briefly, I was a plum and gold type bride... until I talked to Derrick. Derrick likes blue, and so I thought, "Maybe blue will do, too." So my colors were navy, cranberry, and champagne just long enough for me to realize that I was essentially planning an awkwardly American flag themed wedding. (To be clear, I love America, just not on my bridesmaids.)

I was stumped... until my mom redid her dining room with green walls and Georgia O'Keeffe's Oriental Poppies. If I didn't fall in love, it was at least a strong case of lust. Which is how we ended up here:


By the time we get married next year, I'm assuming that we will have made it through an entire 150 count box of Crayola crayons.

3. Everything that sounds too good to be true, is too good to be true.
Venue shopping can be tiring, overwhelming, and infuriating if you're on a budget. Because most "budget venues" are not what gets pinned on Pinterest.

Of course, this doesn't mean you can't still hold out for the Pinterest-worthy venue; you just have to go into it knowing that if that downtown art museum with marble columns is advertised at a Polish Sausage Making Convention Center price, it's probably a trap. Specifically, a trap to get you into the marble columned ballroom only to be told about the $500 napkin fee. 

4. You will become very judgemental.
Not so much the "I refuse to SoulCycle next to anyone wearing that hideous shade of not-Lululemon" type of judgmental; it's more of the "we're going to objectively rate all our friends' relationships now" sort of way.

One of my friends decided that she was only giving +1's to couples who had been dating for over a year. Another said that she was only inviting spouses. Derrick and I are spending our energy planning how to discreetly ensure that all of our friends are single by next fall, which I feel is a much more practical use of our time.

5. Wedding planning doesn't happen according to Southern Living's instructions.
A few months ago, my mom bought me a Southern Living wedding planner. One of the very first things in the book was instructions on how to use it: you were to sit down with your fiance at your scheduled weekly wedding meetings, because something as important as a wedding should not be planned via phone calls between work meetings.

However, despite Southern Living's passive aggressive suggestions, phone calls between work meetings is exactly when the (little) wedding planning we've done has taken place. And texts during lunch. And Facebook message before the gym. Because to my extreme letdown, life does not stop just because you're planning a wedding, even if you hold the Holy Bible of Coordinating Linens. Work is still there, still stressful, and still necessary. You still have to sign leases and take out the trash and dog-sit Jack Russells even though you're engaged.

So there's no point in worrying about if you're doing it right; you've just got to try to enjoy the fact that you're doing it at all. 

September 17, 2015

Why Not Me?


The summer after my freshman year of college, my best friend, Erika, and I took a trip down to DC to see the sights and do the things. And by "do the things," I mean "do the free things." Because college.

We walked around the Smithsonian museums and the monuments, and took a nice long stroll by the White House. After a while, we also took advantage of the free benches DC offers and sat down to people watch.

I don't have a great memory but I do remember this moment; I remember Erika saying, "Wouldn't it be cool to be one of those people?" as we watched the very important business women in very important business suits crossing the streets to their presumably very important DC jobs.

I remember this moment because I did what I usually do when Erika starts scheming our world takeover projects: I nodded and smiled and thought she was nuts. Because at nineteen, I realized that not every six-year-old becomes an astronaut, even if their mom helped them spell "astronaut" right. By nineteen, I had learned enough to know that somewhere on the way from first grade homework assignments to Mars, most six-year-olds become secretaries, or sales representatives, or human resource managers, or really, just any job that comes with benefits.

I don't  know if that means I was realistic or jaded. I guess nineteen is just when you realize that every mom is telling their daughters that she is the specialist, brightest, most beautiful future world changer out there. (If you're a lucky daughter, that is.) And once you catch on to those mothers and realize that we can't all be the specialist, brightest, most beautiful... you begin wondering, "Why me?" Like, why would I change the world? Why would I get a job at the capital? Why am I different?

Now, six years later, I'm writing this blog post in a hotel room before I take a cab to K street, two blocks down from the White House. I'm here on a work trip, wearing a very important dress with very important heels, and I am assuming that around noon, I will walk across a brick DC street to get a very important salad for lunch.

That's what some nineteen-year-old sitting on a bench would see, at least.

Really, I feel like that same nineteen-year-old I was six years ago. I'm kind of confused about how I got here and even more confused about where I'm going. I feel guilty about ordering overpriced DC salads, and I have three CVS blister pads on my right foot because these shoes are not so much important as they are excruciatingly uncomfortable. 

Basically, I've uncovered the secret: those "very important" people I saw six years ago weren't actually superheros; they were people a lot like me who were probably just making it up as they go.

Which makes you think: if it's possible for a regular human to be one of those DC dress wearers, why wouldn't it be possible to be one of those other people you thought you could never be? Why couldn't I be the author of a book? Why couldn't I write something read by millions, not just Mom? What if JK Rowling is just a regular person who did incredible things? Why couldn't regular me do incredible things too?

Basically, as I'm rolling around here in my comfy Georgetown hotel sheets, I realize now what nineteen-year-old me should have realized then: the real question you've got to ask yourself is, "Why not me?"

September 14, 2015

Things You Shouldn't Apologize For


I've heard that dog people are the best people.

And I get it: dog people do seem really cool. They seem laid back, like they don't mind dog tongues to their faces or dog hair on their pillowcases. They seem chill and outgoing and would probably never, ever order wine at a sports bar. Basically, they seem like the type of person I wish I could be.

But I'm not. I don't like beer, I'm awkward and shy, and I'm about as laid back as the Jack Russell puppy that Derrick and I have been dog-sitting for the past two weeks.

And I definitely don't think I'm a dog person.

I mean, I like the idea of dogs. Actually, before the past two weeks, I spent months sending Derrick pictures of pug puppies hoping it'd convince him to open our home to one. (Or seven.) I like the idea of little pug pups licking your toes, or an old lab cuddling up next to you on the couch.

But it turns out that owning a dog isn't actually like that. There's the occasional toe lick, sure, and sometimes they do calm down and snuggle.

But a lot of the time, they're just bat shit crazy.

They go nuts when the doorbell rings or the cat moves or their squeaky red bone looks at them funny or absolutely no reason at all. They get hair on my clothes and my towels and places that just confuse me. Their poop is smelly, they wake up early, and sometimes the puppy "goes" inside because, well, she's a puppy. Basically, they're more annoying than their toe-licking is pleasing.

Now, it's possible that I just feel this way because these dogs aren't my dogs. Maybe if I had my own (seven) pug pups, I'd take the smells and the yells and the chewed up flip-flops because they are my fur children.

Or maybe I'm just a cat person who likes wine.

But you know what? I'm not really ashamed of it. I mean, if we were all dog people, who would the cats ignore?

So this post is just for all you cat people out there: there's no reason to hide it and there's no reason to apologize for it. And while we're at it, here are a few other things you don't need to apologize for:

Not liking coffee. Even if it's spiced like a pumpkin, and even if it's trending.

Shopping at Forever 21. As long as those crop tops know their place, there's no shame in frugality.

Listening to country music. Or techno. Or top 40. There are some people whose opinions you should care about. Those who knock your music aren't those people.

Not traveling the world in your twenties. If you want to spend your twenties backpacking around the world, that's awesome. If you want to spend your twenties building a career, that's awesome too... no matter what that twenty-something EliteDaily blogger thinks.

Spending your money on decorative spoons. The nice thing about your bank account is that your name is on it. So if you really want some spoons? You own those spoons because you earned them.

Eating Paleo. Or vegan. Or Chocolatarian. As long as you're not vandalizing ice cream trucks or spitting in my tacos, your body is yours to treat however you choose, even if questionably qualified online strangers disagree.

Not getting married in your twenties. Or getting married in your twenties. Because like a lot of things, the only way you're not doing it right is if you're only doing it to be "doing it right."

September 11, 2015

Six Things You Learn from CrossFit

I don't hate trendy things.

I mean, c'mon, I'm a blogger who likes to brunch. I Instagram sunsets and use "brunch" as a verb. I'm basically one PSL away from total internet conformity.

So when Derrick teased me for starting CrossFit (which he thinks is an unforgivably trendy thing to do), I didn't really care. Sure, I could have done without him reaching for the milk with a "CrossFit refrigerator squat" but I like what I like; I can't help if half of America likes it too.

And I do like it. I've been going to a local CrossFit box regularly for about a month now, and I actually like it more and more each time I go. I like the the people, I like the workouts, I like the variety and the intensity. And I just sort of like saying things like "WOD."

Don't get me wrong; I still have a special place in my heart for running. That feeling you get when you PR in the 5K? If you've felt it, you know what I'm talking about. But the road to that PR sucks. It's many, many hours and many, many more miles doing the same thing. Over and over. And over and over and over and over. And just when you think you're "getting variety" with a track workout, you're not really varying anything: you're doing the same thing, only faster.

With CrossFit, you can still work toward that PR; you can squat a weight you've never squatted before or do more pull-ups than you've ever done. (Which in my case, would be one.) But the workouts aren't just the same thing at different speeds; every workout is different, and they generally all make me want to puke.

(I like what I like, OK?)

It's also fun to be learning new things, like how to do a snatch (and how to say that word with a straight face). So in the name of learning and questionably named exercise moves, I thought I'd let you all know about some of the other things you learn when you're WOD-ing.


1. How weak you really are.
Ever since I made the JV soccer team my freshman year of high school, I've had it in my head that I am a pretty decent athlete. And I am unquestionably decent, like Moe's is an unquestionably decent Mexican fast food joint.

But going into the CrossFit box is like experiencing Chipotle after a long spell of Moe's. For example, when the RX for a workout is 95# (in English: you're supposed to use 95 pounds of weight for the workout), I'm in the corner alone struggling with my 35-pound bar while the big burritos around me are pushing around weights more than half my size.

It's good motivation, but also makes you feel like a Joey Bag of Donuts.

2. Another language.
It was only a few days ago that I could finally read the WOD (workout of the day) without using Google. I'm not sure why CrossFitters are so adamant about their acronyms; it's not like doing a 10 min. EMOM of 35# KBS and HSPU makes it any easier, you know what I'm saying?

3. How you've been doing a squat wrong your whole life.
As a runner, a former JV soccer player, and a somewhat engaged participant in gym class, a squat to me has always been a movement similar to sitting in a chair that isn't there.

Not the case in CrossFit.

I mean, I guess it's sort of like sitting in a chair. But the chair is made for someone who's up to your shinbone. Because in CrossFit, a squat doesn't count unless you get your butt down past your knees. "Below parallel," if you will. It makes me wonder what else I learned wrong in the seventh grade gym.

4. How to count under pressure.
Sure, you think you know how to count. But get three rounds into seven rounds of 400 meter run, 5 push-ups, 7 burpees, and 21 lunges, and then see how your math is.

And just to make matters worse, sometimes you're CONFIDENT you've got this counting thing down... and then CrossFit throws you a curveball. Like when I was parading around the kitchen telling Derrick how I did a shoulder press with 75 pounds... only to learn the next day that my bar was 20 pounds lighter than I had believed. Damnit, math.

6. And further, that counting is hard.
But irony is not.

September 10, 2015

Five Things That Are More Important Than Blogging

Last Friday, I taunted you all with a promise of Taco Tuesdays. And then Tuesday came, and Tuesday went... and there were no tacos to be found.

The problem wasn't that there was a lack of tacos in my life. (I had tacos twice last weekend.) No, the problem was a lack of blogging.

I usually don't apologize for not posting because, well, I'm sure to everyone other than my mom it's about an "orange Starbust" on the upsetting scale. But I will apologize for this one because I can only imagine the pain of being promised tacos and then be left taco-less.

So I'm sorry.

It's just that blogging has been way down on the list this time. Like, at least sixth, after these five things:

1. Looking at wedding venues we can't afford
My dream wedding is in downtown Chicago with Taco Joint as my caterer, a Bloody Mary bar for dessert, and a 5411 Empanada truck as our midnight snack. But I can't afford that.

However, based on the info I could find online, I thought that the next closest thing could be in our budget: an art museum in downtown Fort Myers.


But sadly, once we went for a tour, I realized that I did not take into account the cake cutting fee, the bar service fee, the table fee, the door opening fee, the oxygen providing fee etc. etc. that quickly put this venue from in our budget to alongside the empanada truck.

2. Avoiding homelessness
Right now, Derrick and I are living in a town house for an amazing price because Derrick knows its owner. Unfortunately, this owner has decided that he no longer wants to be an owner and is selling the place. Basically, my time last week was been spent pretty evenly between theknot.com and Zillow. (With a little bit of panic sprinkled over top.)

The bright side is that it turns out my refusal to unpack these boxes in my living room suddenly seems a lot less like indefensible laziness to impressive foresight. 

3. Tacos
Just because I haven't been blogging about them doesn't mean I haven't been eating them.


4. Bachelorette Parties
I plan on writing another post on the unfortunate events that took place at my friend's Disney bachelorette party (which involved a camera charger and a man dressed as Goofy), but for now I will just leave it at this: My Labor Day weekend involved eating scrambled eggs amongst Lilo and Stitch, pineapple upsidedown cake shots, and punting screaming children out from under my feet.

5. House of Cards
I could say that I don't have time to blog but I hate when people say that they don't have time for something. Because no matter how busy you get, you can always find time if you want it bad enough.

Unless you're rewatching Season 2 of House of Cards. Then you don't have time for anything because how in the world are you supposed to blog when Frank Underwood is on the move?

Happy Thursday Everyone.
I promise the tacos will come eventually.

September 04, 2015

Call Me a Snob, But...

Last week, Derrick and I went out with his cousin and her husband for dinner. They are about the same age as Derrick and me, and also have moved around the country quite a bit since college. While we were trading stories about the places we had lived, obviously Chicago came up.

And just like we do whenever Derrick and I talk about the time we spent living in Chicago, we mentioned two things: the winter and the brunch.

Now, normally the first time I meet someone, I try to tone down how much I was into our Chicago Sunday ritual. Because starting a potential friendship with "I used to roam around Chicago taking pictures of Bloody Marys and reviewing them on my mostly irrelevant blog" right off the bat can make me come off as a bit... passionate.

And by that, I mean weird.

But it turns out that Derrick's cousin and her husband are really cool, so I decided to just go for it. I mean, if this couple friendship is going to happen, they were going to find out eventually because I was hoping to reestablish my brunch reviews here in Florida once things got settled.

And luckily, they didn't seem to think I was a nut. I basically took this as a green light; I was pumped to start reviewing. Actually, that very weekend, Derrick and I tried our first brunch spot since I've moved, The Survey Cafe. And before we even looked at the menu, I thought this was going to be a slam dunk. I mean, look at it:


So quaint, So original. So not IHOP. 

Derrick and I did the usual, me looking for the perfect picture while Derrick looked around for a waitress carrying his eggs. Unfortunately, our eggs coming out is where this review ends. Because I cannot, in good faith, write a positive review on Egg Beaters.

(I know that I sound like a big ol' breakfast snob but after you spend over a year in Chicago being served things like this:


Egg Beaters? C'mon.)

After this experience, I decided to call an emergency meeting with the staff at Just the Elevator Pitch to discuss how we were going to move forward. The meeting was short because it was decided almost immediately that we should have a backup plan in case the Florida brunch scene was all Egg Beaters and cold-ish potatoes. It was also short because there is no staff.

Anyway, the point of this post isn't to dis Florida's breakfasts, or even Egg Beaters in general. I mean, the Florida brunch scene might have a lot to offer if I just have some patience. Heck, maybe this post would have been different if I had just ordered French Toast instead of the BLT egg biscuit.

No, this all is actually an incredibly long-winded introduction to the new "series" I am going to be launching ASAP: Taco Tuesdays. Because while the Florida brunch scene remains questionable at best, I know that Florida can do tacos. And I'm not talking about those crispy shell, ground beef, midnight Taco Bell tacos. I mean the al pastor tacos with homemade soft corn tortillas and fresh cilantro.

Derrick and I have always enjoyed a good taco together but ever since I found this list, we've been on a mission. The goal? To find the absolute best tacos in Southwest Florida. Right now, we're averaging about two taco dinners a week.

And what better way to document this hunt than on the blog? I plan on making a graphic for the posts and everything.

Anyway, in case you're just skimming this post until you find my actual point, here it is: I like tacos a lot, and I plan to talk a lot about them on my blog in the future.

Also, no to the Egg Beaters.

Happy Friday!

September 02, 2015

This Is the Rant I Was Going to Post on Facebook About Target's New Toy Aisles


When I was in kindergarden, I loved the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I'd spend many an afternoon in 1996 cursing that a-hole Shredder while reenacting my favorite episode with my TMNT action figures. I'd do this for hours, stopping only to eat a Push-Up pop or two after lunch.

Then it'd be back to work.

This was in 1996, before Facebook, when Caitlyn was still a Bruce, so I imagine that I got those action figures from an unapologetic binary gender aisle at Toys "R" Us. Maybe I noticed I was in the "boys" section, or maybe I was just thinking about the possibility of a Push-Up later.

I don't really remember.

But maybe I should have, at least according to this article in Time about Target's decision to remove gender-based signs. Because according to this article, being interested in a toy that I was told is "for boys" was probably utterly deflating for me. Liking a "boy toy" very likely made six-year-old me feel embarrassed and chastised for who I am. At least that's what the article says.

But in reality, I can't remember ever feeling that way.

Maybe it's just because I was lucky enough to grow up in an exceptionally loving family, who loves me as I am and didn't chastise me for liking action figures and soccer balls. Then again, it could have just been because, at six, this didn't seem like an issue. I didn't think that the "boys" aisle was offensive or demeaning, or challenged who I was as a person. To  me, it's just where the Turtles were.

I understand that I am lucky; the children (and adults) who are belittled, embarrassed, or scorned for who they are face a type of cruelty that I have little experience with. I sympathize with those people, but I'm not familiar with their struggle. Which is why my first reaction to Target removing "boy" and "girl" signs was positive, although a bit unenthusiastically so; it wasn't an issue I've dealt with but if it did save at least one person from some unnecessary suffering, I was all for it.

But since that first reaction, a lot of things have changed. Now, I don't feel any positive feelings toward this issue at all.

Because it's beginning to seem like whatever progress Target was making in helping create a more open, understanding society has been overshadowed by the five giant steps it feels like we're taking back. It doesn't feel like a girl who likes Legos is any better off now than she was before Target made this "bold" move.

Because since Target has decided to create "gender neutral" toy aisles, this debate has overwhelmed social media. And like online "debates" often do, they bring out the worst in people; those people who have the (to me, completely baffling) opinion that girls should be chastised for not being a proper "girl" now have a relevant current issue to voice this opinion on. And some people who probably didn't even have an opinion before this are suddenly enraged that Target no longer considers Barbies a "girl" toy. Because what good is Facebook if you can't give your extremely unhelpful but heated insight on every social issue you hear about?

And those who are for the gender unspecific Target toy aisles don't seem like they're doing Lego-loving Lauren any favors either; instead, it seems like they're providing her with another reason she should feel offended and mistreated.

Like the Time article pointed out, children are very aware of "cultural cues." And now, they're learning that something as ignorable as a "Boys' Toy Aisle" sign is actually an offensive, demeaning injustice that will do irreversible damage to their sense of personal peace. This isn't something to be ignored, like six-year-olds of Targets past; this is an issue that we have to fight to save our delicate psyche from those whose only goal is to tear us down.

Of course, there are still the people out there who are talking about the issue and not using it to create more hostility. I just feel like they're getting drown out.

To me, this whole thing had a lot of potential for good. And maybe it still does. I still think that a gender-neutral aisle could be a good thing if people stop using it as a means to make their hateful opinion relevant, or as another piece of evidencing proving that the world will always be "them" vs. "me." It'd be awesome if we could see it as one corporation's way of rejecting common stereotypes, and use it to get some helpful conversations going. Or at very least, see it as one corporation re-organizing their shelves, and leave it at that.

But then again, what kind of Facebook status would that be?

Obviously, this is a heated subject but I'd love to hear what you think. Am I totally off base? Or do you agree?