Dry January, In More Ways Than One

The term “Dry January” hits its popularity right after New Years when people across the world find the motivation they lost two weeks after New Years last year, to finally achieve their resolutions. It’s commonly used to describe the act of abstaining from alcoholic beverages for the month of January. I’d bet both of my big toes that most people fall off the wagon around the same time they fell off last year.

I, like the rest of those people, thought that I too would give Dry January a go until January 4th when my friend, Tebbs, asked if I wanted to go out to our favorite bar for a drink. To be fair I had the second best cocktail I’ve ever had, it was a Cappalletti Spritz and it was divine. The first was a real, legit dirty martini and I’ve never felt classier. Like most people, my drinking coincides with my social life. Most dates revolve around meeting for a drink so I quickly gave up on the idea of participating in Dry January because I wasn’t going to be giving up on dating.

Until now. Please keep reading. Like most of my writing, this has nothing to do with alcohol and everything to do with being consistently rejected.

We’re halfway through January so I can’t really name it “Dry January” but I’m going completely dry for the next month. No drinks, no dates, no social media. I’m out. This impulsive decision comes on the heels of another failed first date where I’ve realized the emotional rollercoaster I’ve been on from what I just now realized is essentially speed dating without the table and a timer.

The highs are high and the lows are low but both are constant.

My dating experience to this point most often happens this way; we match on a dating app and make plans to meet. I get excited about the potential future and start building a narrative of the relationship in my head complete with conversations and trips. We meet and it goes great and then they ask me out for a second date. Metaphorically, at this point, I’m tucked safely in my rollercoaster cart with my seatbelt fastened and all hands, arms, and legs inside at all times. The incline gets steeper the more my excitement at potentially connecting with someone builds and around the second date or right before the second date I plummet directly down without my seatbelt into the tunnel of sadness that I feel when they reject me.

Maybe they had a change of heart and realized they shouldn’t have asked me out. Maybe they realize they’re getting ahead of themselves and that they’re commitment phobic but I’m not. Maybe they just don’t have respect for me as a person and are selfishly thinking about what their time is worth. What I do know is that it takes a lot of physical energy to ask someone out and show up for drinks or dinner on a Friday night. It also takes a lot of emotional energy to remain vulnerable and open, sharing my life story and dreams and my goals and favorite memories with person after person. It’s exhausting and it makes me question my self-worth which is something I realized I NEVER do when I’m alone.

I know that I’m smart/amazing/sweet/energetic/deep; I don’t need someone to tell me that when they’re rejecting me…I KNOW! For the last two years, I’ve worked insanely hard without realizing that I have on loving myself and who I am. And I do love myself. I’ve never been able to say that before. I love who I am and I’m proud of who I am now, but when someone rejects me I immediately question why and wonder what’s wrong with me.

To quote my friend, Tebbs:

Sarah, I don’t understand you, babe. You should always love who you are. You’re an attractive, smart, middle 20’s woman. I personally think you care a little too much about what a guy thinks of you. Speed dating like you do is kind of a gamble. The guys you don’t want, want you. The guys you do want, don’t stick around. I mean, I think you put too much emotional effort into it. The exhausting part would be taking what happens during an “app dating” and putting a dialogue behind it that makes you think you’re less of yourself.”

The only thing I changed in that text was the grammar (because he’s an engineer, not an English major), but I didn’t want to tell him that he was right. Tebbs, most of the time you make absolutely no sense but this time I got what you were saying.

I thought a lot about how I’ve been feeling and I thought a lot about how I want to feel and eventually, I came to the conclusion that the only necessary solution was a full stop to everything. People say that you can’t fully love someone else until you love yourself but I’ve been loving myself hard for almost three years now. I have so much love for myself which is why I need to explore how I’m letting a stranger’s rejection of my character affect my current sense of happiness and self-worth.

I feel like my frustration and unhappiness is the effect of being consistently rejected either directly or subtly through ghosting. It takes a lot of energy to remain open and I don’t want to become one of those women on a reality dating show that says she has a hard time opening up to people. I love opening up to people and I love getting to know who they are back but the only way I’m going to have the mental stamina to keep doing that is if I recharge my romance vehicle (it’s totally a Tesla). I want to be able to drive my romantic tesla into each and every new experience with hopeful enthusiasm and when I do get rejected, I want to have enough battery in the tank to turn up the radio and drive away with a peppy pop song on the radio, not a sad Norah Jones album.

I’ve bottled up so much self-love that it’s overflowing and I’ve become impatient with wanting to give the extra love to anything with two legs and a beard (which isn’t surprising given that I can’t even wait for my food to microwave the full minute). The right person can wait and the wrongs ones can too because I need to heal the scrapes and cuts on my heart right now and remember how amazing I am.

Setting personal boundaries gives me a very satisfying feeling of having accomplished something good. So with that…no more dating. No more drinks. No more social media until after Valentine’s Day. I’m taking an active 30-day time-out to regroup the troops. The only thing that’s going to be getting me “wet” is a bubble bath.

See you later.




Don’t be someone’s snack. Be their meal.

I don’t want to be someone’s snack.

I want to be their entire meal; breakfast, second breakfast, lunch, dinner, dessert, and that weird “meal” they eat with the fridge door half open at 2 AM when they can’t sleep.

I’m going to be honest here, which should be expected by now. I’m almost 26. This means that I’ve been on this Earth for over a quarter of a century. I’ve been dating for exactly 10 years and after 10 years of long-term relationships and (recently) an endless slew of flings (so many I can remember the face but I forget the name), I still haven’t met my person.

I grew up reading Twilight (definitely not a good book to base your expectations of what a healthy relationship should be, but it’s fun). I’ve read western romances, teen romances, and John Green novels. I’ve even read the entire 50 Shades of Gray series. I’ve read so many books that it took an equal number of podcasts to undo the insurmountable expectations I had created for someone who wasn’t even in my life yet.

They have to be taller than me, older than me, brown eyes, nice shoulders, dark hair, driven, muscular but not too muscular, enjoy coffee but not with cream, have worked on a dude ranch and moonlighted as a vampire with commitment issues that come off as romantic but not clingy. 

That’s a lot of expectations to go into your formative years with (by formative I mean 22+). I’ve talked about my relationship experiences before. I’ve talked about my long-term relationships and my experiences with dating apps. I’ve talked about my flings and my heartbreak. I’ve been through it all.

Long-term relationship–check
The “We’re Exclusive but I Don’t Want to Put a Label on It”–check check
The short-term, but defined summer relationship-You betchya’ass I’ve done that
The two-week hookup– Yes ma’am
An engagement–Yup yup. It’s my party trick that I throw out when the conversation gets dull…I like to call it my “David Blaine” move.

The only two relationships I haven’t experienced are an international one and a FWB (Friends with Benefits) and honestly, at this point in my life, I wouldn’t even mind either. Hit me with that commitment-adverse individual. I can handle them. I’ve read all of the 50 Shades books so I know what to do after all if they have a Christian Grey-style complex about opening up.

I’m not here to talk literature though. Relationships are exhausting. Dating is exhausting. It’s the same song and dance over and over and over and over with so many people you forget their names but remember what color shirt they wore or the seat you sat in at the restaurant.

I had a conversation with someone who I really liked. During it, they said that they hadn’t had a steady relationship since one long-term in high school and then they said, “But what do you do, you know?”

I know, actually, because I’ve been doing it since I was 15.

“Well,” I started, “You keep meeting people. You keep opening up and being vulnerable and honest and hope that eventually, you’ll meet someone who will open up and give you the same back. That’s what you do.”


I would have installed a flashing billboard if I could afford it because I felt like I had met someone who was giving me the same level of vulnerability and honesty back; except they weren’t. I was just reading the billboard wrong. It doesn’t mean that I stop just because yet another human I wanted to make coffee for in the morning and walk through airports with ghosted and then “dumped” me (I use dump extremely lightly because we were dating but not dating if you catch my italics). Sure I’m sad right now because I was extremely attracted to their looks and also to their mind….but….

You have to keep going.

The Earth did not start spinning once you met them. The sun did not start rising when you met them and it doesn’t set because they went dark on you and left. The sun rose for you the day you were born. It rises for you (and because of science but this makes a more romantic figure of speech). The Earth was already spinning when that person or those people came into your life and it will not stop spinning when they leave, and you will not either.

I’ve had happiness and I’ve held sadness so extreme I fell to my knees crying in the shower. I’ve experienced passionate love so intense it makes me crazy. I’ve held myself when no one else was around but I’ve had many, many people hold me too. If I shut down and said “FUCK THIS DATING BULLSHIT I’M GOING DRY” I would close myself off and move one step closer to becoming one of those drunk girls crying on the Bachelor to Chris Harrison about how I’ve been hurt in my life and that’s why I have a hard time opening up and trusting someone and I don’t know if I can accept this rose because they also told Brandi C. that they loved her too.

Dating and love is fluid. People flow into your life and if the oil to water ratio is just right they fill up your cup to equilibrium and stay for a while. If the ratio is off, then they get pushed out because they don’t fit into the ratio of who you are. It’s love physics.

I will say though that it’s exhausting. I’ve lost count of how many people I’ve told about my family or where I was born or why I moved to Iowa. I’ve lost count of how many people told me I look like Robin from How I Met Your Mother. I think it’s somewhere up near 23 people now (in fact I just checked my Hinge and now we’re up to 24). I’ve lost count of how many people I’ve done the song and dance for and lost count of how many people I’ve kissed. I’ve also lost count of how many people I’ve also ghosted.

What I do remember is the number of people I’ve genuinely loved and the number of souls I feel I let slip away; the ones I still reminisce about no matter how brief. Sometimes people flow into your life and even though the water to oil ratio isn’t exact, they stick around for a bit, but they stick to your ribs for an eternity. They’re the ones you had to say goodbye to even though it was too good, the ones you let slip away because you were too scared, the ones you owe an apology to, and the ones you wish would kiss your forehead one last time because the way they do it makes you glow.

Podcasts will talk to you about how social media and dating apps have changed modern dating. Books will give you inspirational quotes on self-love. YouTube videos will make you feel like the person through the camera just gets you. Nothing will make you keep going. You have to do that. You have to be the one who walks into that 48th first date with an open mind, a blank opinion, and a willingness to be vulnerable. You have to be the one to practice what you preach and tell them that you’re just not interested. You have to be the one to cut yourself (metaphorically) open each and every time you meet someone new and just hope that they will appreciate what you’re trying to give them and return it back to you tenfold.

I don’t want to be a snack. Snacks, while tasty, are quick to consume and easy to forget. I want to be someone’s entire meal; their Last Supper; that one plate of gnocchi they had on vacation that they keep trying to recreate but can’t quite because it’s not the original.

In the meantime, I’ll settle for being someone’s drunk pizza that they order every weekend because at least it’s consistent without commitment until someone can afford to pay extra for my guac 😉

With lots of vulnerability and love,




Young, Dumb, and Unaccomplished

The comics for this post are taken from @Steinbergdrawscartoons. It’s one of my favorite comic accounts online so I hope that you check it out. IMG_1891

These are hard times people. Social media has come through and fucked up everyone’s life. In a world where everyone appears increasingly more accomplished and is simultaneously, increasing in youthfulness how do you find happiness in your own accomplishments instead of finding misery in comparison?

No, seriously. I’m asking an honest question here. I’m clueless.

We’re living in the YouTube era. There are six-year-olds making millions on YouTube by reviewing toys. When I was six I was too preoccupied with practicing my Britney Spears talent show tribute and trying to get my kindergarten crush to give me cooties so I could brag about being hugged by a boy. I didn’t win the talent show but my kindergarten crush, Josh, did hug me which meant I had cooties. I definitely wasn’t reviewing Malibu Barbie for a sponsored YouTube video post.

We’re living in the Instagram era, too. Every night I tell myself that I’ll be in bed by 10, lights off and snoozing. Instead, I end up poking through the endless feed of images, with my thumb scrolling its way past endless bikini-vacation and smoothie bowl pictures. With each YouTube video and sponsored Instagram post I find my self-confidence depleting byte by byte; asking myself the one existential question….”What the fuck have I been doing with my life?!”IMG_1896

I’m almost four years away from turning 30 and almost five years away from lying about my age at the bar so I can maintain my “Future MILF” potential. If I died tomorrow, what accomplishments could be listed at my funeral or on my gravestone?

Here lies Sarah Marie Kelly. 
Best know as Kelly because everyone ignored her first name. 
A lover of mashed potatoes and sarcasm.
She will be remembered for the number of comments she received about the size of her ass,
her love for her dog, Charlie
and how much she loved mashed potatoes.

I’m a part of a generation that’s become known for its staggering student loan debt, ability to kill department stores and increasing value of social media followings. For those of you wondering I have approximately 363 Instagram followers and I’m pretty sure that 40% of those accounts are spam dog accounts and 40% are Russian Instagram bots. Only 69 people watch my Instagram stories and, those are the real MVPs of my life. Thank you for watching all the videos of my dog. I appreciate the support.

We wake up in the morning and immediately turn on our phones to scroll through social media; checking the number of views or likes on our latest posts to get the dopamine rush so that we feel like we matter. But who do we matter to? Would anyone notice if I stopped posting videos of my dog on Instagram? Will anyone remember that your PR at the squat rack was more than Brad 2.0’s in 2015? Are people really happy that you finally took a picture in front of a French bistro and that you’re “Just so in love with Paris…Je Taime!”

Why are we comparing our lives to someone who is comparing their life to someone else? Instead of feeling happy and content, some of us are walking through the world feeling as though we’re drowning because our accomplishments will never buoy us up above the accomplishments of others.


Comparison can kill, and it does. Nothing will ever be good enough if we keep comparing our accomplishments to the staged accomplishments of someone else.

I’ve lived 25 years of my life comparing myself to other people. When I was little I compared the size of my body to my cousins. They were smaller and naturally slim, while my aunt would tell me that I was more “big boned”.

Why can’t I be small like her though? I’m too fat now.

When I was in middle school I would compare my clothes with the other kids in my school. Their parents could afford to buy them Abercrombie & Fitch polos while I was wearing t-shirts from Walmart.

At 22 I was comparing my job and living arrangements to other kids who had graduated with me.

She’s an engineer and just bought a house, why am I renting an apartment?

At 23 I was comparing my relationship status with my friends.

They just got engaged and they’ve been dating less than we have. How come I’m not engaged yet? I should have been engaged by now. When am I going to get married? Come on.

At 25 I spent my hours on earth comparing my life accomplishments to the life accomplishments of others. I tally up my “accomplishments” and tally up the accomplishments of strangers or friends and try to calculate who’s come out on top.


I love being on top…but I’m never on top when I’m comparing my life to someone else’s.

I’ve wasted hours of my life thinking that I’ve done nothing with my life, instead of spending my life realizing and appreciating my accomplishments. I’ve spent hours anxiously trying to assign some sort of karmic value to my accomplishments in the hopes that maybe my life won’t be as uneventful and miserable as it feels it is.

My life feels uneventful because I’ve wasted it on unequal comparisons. My body is not the body of my cousins. My clothes were not the clothes of my peers. My relationship was not the relationship of my friend. My accomplishments are not the accomplishments of anybody else. They’re my accomplishments. This is my life.

We’re living in a time where society places a higher value on the number of likes a picture of our ass can get than our life accomplishments. It’s a time where social followings can be monetized and likes are currencies; a time that has capitalized on our insecurities for money.

We’re living in a time where our insecurities can be blamed on a social media platform instead of ourselves. If you compare your life to the life of a stranger or that one kid from high school who’s already married with two kids, you’re going to be spending the rest of your life thinking that your not worthy of your own success, because success is personal and everyone defines it differently.


If I remove the comparison, I’ve managed to graduate high school and college with a Bachelor’s degree and am working on a Masters degree. I’ve moved myself to another state; worked as a technical writer, a marketing writer, and a secretary. I’ve created at least 10 marketing campaigns for various colleges in the country. I’ve helped create one incoming class of future dentists. I’ve adopted a fantastic little dog. I’ve cried in the shower alone but I’ve woken up many times and pulled myself together. I’ve had $7000 in my savings and I’ve had $300 in my savings. I have stock in a great company and a car that runs. I have a mom who loves me, a dad who loves me, two fantastic grandparents who are alive and kicking and a large family that loves me. I’ve come out as bisexual. I’ve traveled to another continent alone where I climbed up Notre Dame and walked alone along the Seine in Paris. I’ve surfed off of the coast of Portugal and I’ve watched my favorite band play in another country. I have friends in other countries and friends who love me here in Iowa that I literally met on Craigslist (Thank God it worked out because that could have been terrible). I have a stable job, an income, food that I can afford to buy, and luckily, medical insurance and a retirement fund.

Most importantly I’ve been blessed in my life to have the flexibility to grow at the age that I am. That’s an accomplishment. I’ve built a life that can breathe and contract with my decisions. Those are my accomplishments and they’re hard to compare exactly to someone else’s.IMG_1898

When I die, no one will remember the size of my ass (it has received a lot of very positive comments though and I am subtly proud of it…my ego feeds a little off of compliments about my physical appearance).  No one will remember that I grew up wearing Walmart clothes or that I was still single or had only been to Europe ONE TIME by the age of 26. Instead,  I would hope that when I die, I’ll be remembered for the value of my personality and loved by the people I valued.

Two things are certain in life: everyone will be born and everyone will die. What comes in between will be different for everyone and in the end, we all end up doing the same thing. As hard as it is, try not to place a value on your accomplishments because when you die, they might not be the things people remember about you. If we keep comparing our accomplishments to the size of the accomplishments of others, we’ll always feel small.

Although, I wouldn’t mind being remembered for the size of my ass in an age of Kardashian butts.

With lots of love and compassion,





I wanted to save this for Pride Week…


Tradition dictates that I start this post off with a comic, but I honestly couldn’t find one that fit this post so please share if you have one.

I had this big grand scheme to save this post for Pride week here in Iowa which is supposed to be the weekend of June 19 but for the last year, I’ve been wanting to just write all of this and let it out.

Honestly, if you’re reading this and you’ve made it this far wondering what this is about, then whoa baby, congratulations to you.

I, SARAH MARIE KELLY LIKE MEN. AND I LOVE WOMEN. EVEN MORE THAN MEN. Yes, my friends, I’m bisexual. I had this big grand plan to save this for Pride Week because I thought that, while cliche, it would be “cute” to come out during Pride Week. Honestly, though I can’t take keeping it to myself anymore.

I’ve spent the last year and a half knowing this. I like women; and men. I wanted to create a post about this last year but didn’t feel confident enough to do it, so I thought I’d wait until next Pride Week.

The funny thing is this, my roommate (BTDubs, I really appreciate her for all of her support) but my roommate and my friends here in Iowa know this about me. In a moment of sober honesty, I explained everything to my roommate; I explained to her about my very first date with a woman and how much I thought that woman was beyond beautiful. I told my roommate about my struggles with thinking about how I should be straight and how I know how to date men; how I don’t know how to date women; and how I don’t want this one particular woman to think I’m using her. I told her about what I find attractive in a woman and how that differs from men and she encouraged and supported me. I’m really lucky to have a friend like her.

I was able to tell her that sober but I was only able to tell my friends here in Iowa when I was drunk. “I LOVE WOMEN!!!!!” I’d shout it when I was trashed (sorry Mom), but it was true. At first, I loved getting drunk on first dates with men and “accidentally” letting that slip. I remember one date, in particular, couldn’t quite grasp it although I knew he was trying. Maybe it was too much for him to think that he had to compete with the women in the bars ALONG with the guys. Sorry, bud.

Truth is, I’ve noticed lately that if you put a guy and a girl next to each other that I naturally gravitate towards looking at the woman. I don’t know why. I really don’t, but if we walk into a bar, I am 100% checking the women out in the room first before I scan the men. Que sera, sera.

It was never anything that I felt in high school. I remember the first time I kissed a woman in college; it was one of my sorority sisters (which sounds like a huge dude dream). I remember I expressed that I had never kissed a woman and on my 20th one of my sorority sisters made out with me. I liked it but I didn’t know what to do with it, so I left it alone and focused on screwing guys in frat saunas (that sounds bad, but this place is all about honesty).

It wasn’t until I was on my third long-term relationship and he kept making comments. “Why are you staring at her?” “You’re staring at her.” “See something you like?” “Stop checking her out.”

Those kinds of comments; the kind of comments that, a person who doesn’t know who she is, brushes off with a laugh and a reassuring “No. I was just admiring her hair and her outfit. It’s really nice.”

Honestly, it wasn’t until I was 24 and single and I had selected “Everyone” on Tinder that I finally realized that I actually do like women as much as men. The weird thing is that I really want to tell everyone. I’ve noticed in the media that straight, homophobic people have this weird complex where they say they’re okay with gay people as long as they don’t shove their sexuality in their (the straight peoples’) faces; but they have pictures and  comments about how much they love their partner or go on dates. It’s like it’s a part of their identity, but Heaven forbid bisexual/gay/lesbian/trans people express this same integral part of their identity. THE WHOLE FUCKING WORLD GOES INTO TATTERS PEOPLE! It’s like JC Penny’s is closing and they can’t get a $19.99 tank on sale for $9.99 anymore.

I’m not sorry.

I feel like it’s just part of me. Some might ask, “Sarah, I don’t go around exclaiming to everyone in a song and dance that I’m straight and that I love women as a man. Why do you have the need to tell me right now that you are a woman who loves women?” I don’t get it?” And to that I say, but you have been saying to everyone that you’re straight. When you walk into a room people look at you and see your gender (man or woman) and then correctly assume that you like the opposite (woman or man). You’ve kissed women in a bar as a man or kissed men in a bar as a woman and felt like you are allowed to do that. You’ve spotted someone that you are attracted to and not felt like you had to hide a reason to say hi like I have.

One time I was at a popular college bar downtown with a guy I matched with on Bumble. We were dancing on the very, very small dance floor when I saw this very beautiful woman. She was wearing a crop top and she was Black and I remember just thinking that she was just……beautiful. So I danced my way over to her and I smelled her perfume and it was amazing so I told her that her perfume smelled good. She grabbed my hand and started to dance with me and I felt the need to tell her no, that I was with someone even though I wanted to dance with her more than my Bumble date. It wasn’t because I was on a random hookup night with him, it was because I didn’t know how HE would handle me dancing with a woman I was attracted to. I felt like I had to hide it, but I wanted to dance with her and I wanted to kiss her because she smelled so good and she was beautiful. This is how a woman interested in a woman thinks.

Did you just picture someone you’re attracted to?

She smelled so good and she was absolutely beautiful and I still remember the way she grabbed my hand on that scummy college bar dance floor. I loved it.

I feel like I’ve spent 25 years of my life fucking guys, not even men at this point yet, assuming an identity of a straight woman. It’s not me. I am not her; I am not the persona of the “woman” I created. Honestly, I won’t feel like a true woman until I can finally and comfortably say that I am attracted to women too. It feels like I’m lying to myself if I don’t admit how I feel.

Have you ever kissed a woman? We are so….soft. I get it now.

College makeout sessions aside, the moment she kissed me, I realized why men love women so much. We’re so much softer than men. I didn’t feel the need to overcompensate with my sexuality. With men, I feel 100% confident in my abilities sexually. Give me a crop top and some red lipstick and let me loose and I will run them to their fucking knees.

Eventually, you realize that you don’t want to bring people to their knees, you want that one person who kissed you in your car. Give me a crop top and some red lipstick and let me loose on women and I have no idea what I’m doing because I spent, however, X number years being misunderstood and confused about dating women.

I guess my point to this post is 1) I didn’t want to wait to release this until June because that’s too far away to me. 2) Drunk words are sober thoughts and HUNNY, drunk me has been yelling this for over a year. 3) It’s me. I am attracted to men and I’m more attracted to women. I’m not sorry. Chances are yes if you’re checking her out so am I and no it’s not because I admire her hair. 4) For now, I am so happy to say that I identify as bisexual, but maybe later I might actually identify as a lesbian. I really don’t know yet because I’m still a little confused on my sexuality. It’s a weird world to navigate alone.

My point is that sexuality is a fluid concept. I really hope that people can understand that. No one should ever force you into one concrete black and white category. You can flow between two or three or four plus choices when it comes to sexuality because humans are complex creatures and people who want to force us into two distinct categories are assholes.

On a drive back from a weekend shopping trip to the nearest big city (AKA a 200-mile day trip just to get your Target fix in the UP) I asked my Mom how she would feel if I brought a woman home for Christmas. I was maybe 17 at the time and she said that she would be surprised but supportive. Now, I know that that is not so much a hyperbolic situation but more of a reality.

I’m bisexual.

I know that I’m attracted to men and I know what I’m attracted to women. If held to a final decision, I’d choose a woman, but that’s me. You don’t have to wait until Pride Week (although you can because it’s a totally safe time to come out).

Be who you are because chances are your friends already know and living a honest life is a lot easier and a lot more fun.

I think.

Lot’s of love and support,



Goodbye to my Clementine.

All images are from the absolutely amazing Barely Functional Adult Instagram account. Please take a peek at her scarily relatable drawings.


The worst part is the waiting. Patience is a virtue they say.

When you’ve loved someone so passionately for so long, you don’t want to wait to stop loving them anymore. You want it over immediately; to erase their memory and their touch and their smell from your mind just like in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Except you know that unlike Joel, you will not want to keep your memories of your Clementine at the end of the movie.

When you’ve loved someone so passionately for so long and you’re not allowed to love them the same way anymore, you want them gone. They’ve morphed from the most important person in your life to a virus that can’t die from your memory.

There is no emotionally healing antibiotic that will work on a virus. The only thing you can do is take it easy and wait even though you don’t want to.

Every day, as the sun comes up and your alarm goes off, you wake up feeling heavy and hurting like someone ripped out your heart. They should be next to me right now. You get up and roll over the side of the bed that used to be their side; you no longer have to spider crawl over a beautifully sleeping body in the morning. You brush your teeth and think of them. You get dressed and think of their new girlfriend. You grab your coffee and your keys and your coat and do not think of anything. For one brief and wonderful minute, your mind is quiet. You start your commute to work and the virus attacks and you replay your last conversation with them over and over and over until you walk in the door to your 8 to 5.

The virus, with its memories and pain, forces you to an emotional ledge and if you let your shield down for even a quick second, you fall over and everything spills out; the tears, the pain, the agony of loss and loneliness; it comes and you cannot stop it.

So you collect yourself and clean up your face and head home. And while washing yesterday’s dishes that you were too lazy to wash the night before you’re hit again. You think of their voice and their habits. How when you would come home from work they would be asleep on the couch with the dog. How it felt when you would lift up the fleece blanket, move your body next to theirs, and then feel the weight of their arm around your waist as you both took a quick nap. They should be asleep on the couch right now, but they’re not here. Why are they not here? Instead of crying like you should you tell yourself how stupid you are being; how they’re gone and they don’t want you. You picture what you think their new life must be like with their beautiful new girlfriend in their beautiful new apartment in a new city a thousand miles away; their new life that you have not touched. While their fingerprints are all over every space of your life now.

You brush your teeth, wash your face, peel off the shirt that you’ve blown your nose into all night long and you crawl into bed where the only temporary medicine you can find is sleep; and you repeat.

Every day for months upon months you repeat this cycle. Every bus ride home you tell yourself that they are gone and they are not coming back and you beg for someone to be able to erase your memories of this person because it all hurts. It hurts. You wouldn’t be stupid like Joel Barish. You don’t want to remember the way your Clementine felt. You just want it all gone. Except that’s not real life and no one can erase your memories one by one.

So you wait. You heal yourself with affirmations and friends. You replenish your confidence by dancing in front of your mirror and compliments given to you by strangers, co-workers, and friends. You finally start remembering the bad memories and not just the good ones and you recognize that all of this is okay and that you will survive. Until….

Until the day that you can finally consider yourself off of bed rest. The virus is gone and in its place, there is a new you. You no longer feel heavy like someone is trying to drown you from inside your own body.

Every day,  as the sun comes up and your alarm goes off, you wake up and you can finally breathe again. You brush your teeth and think of yourself. You get dressed and imagine yourself setting a cup of coffee down next to someone new. You grab your coffee and your keys and your coat and open the door to a crisp November morning. When you look them up online you’re no longer checking to see if they miss you, you’re checking to make sure that they’re okay too. The city you live in is no longer “Our City” but rather “Your Home”. Every restaurant and bar downtown no longer contain the poltergeists of past memories shared with your Clementine. When you finally feel brave enough to go to your favorite bar again, your mind no longer dredges up the memory of that one time you came here and he ordered a Manhattan because he likes good whiskey and you ordered a French 75 because you don’t and he was wearing……

Instead, you can finally be present in your life and appreciate where you are which was right in front of you all along. Now that the virus has left, your mind is no longer trapped in the revolving door of your past.


Instead of feeling agony when you think of your Clementine, you give the feelings attention and appreciate it all for what it is and give thanks for the pieces you’ve added to yourself; pieces that you picked up from them. The past year was dark and confusing and upsetting and now your emotional wounds have healed.  You finally understand and accept that you have been giving one person out of all the people in the World control over your well being, even if they don’t know it.

You’re finally happy and you survived and you will keep on surviving. When you’re 80 this moment in your life will not matter anymore and it will finally be just what it is which is a moment.  This is just a part of your life story, not your entire life story.BFA3

Your life did not begin with them and it will not end with them and that is okay because you are amazing and there is an entire world out there to see.


A letter to the next one.

Dear Next One,

Where are you?

I wonder what you’re doing at a certain moment all the time during my day. Do you wonder what I’m doing? Who are you? I wonder that too. At this moment in time, I have no idea who you are. Are you someone I’m talking to now? Do I pass you every morning on the bus to work or at work or in the grocery store when I’m trying to find the one avocado that I think is ripe but actually isn’t?

Where are you?

I have daydreams about what you might look like but your shape shimmers and takes different forms based on what I’m feeling. Sometimes you’re tall with brown hair and some light scruff. Sometimes you have brown eyes and sometimes blue eyes but you always hold me the exact same way while laughing with me. Other days you’re my height and softer with curves and soft features. Other days your hair is long and brown and your lips are painted red. You have smaller wrists than I do but a kiss that knocks me off my feet and a nose that scrunches up when you laugh at something I say. Some days your shape is of a man and some days your shape is a woman.

Who are you?

Have we met before? Will I recognize you when I meet you or will we pass each other on the streets or in a bar or in a hallway and not know at first? Who will speak first, me or you? Probably me. I’m tired of waiting for the next one. I want you now. I want to roll over in the morning wrapped in my white sheets with you next to me. I want to wake up before you and bring you a cup of coffee in the morning that you drink while you rub the sleep out of your eyes and tell me that you love me. There are street corners that I want to stand on with your arms wrapped around me while we kiss under a street light when we’ve had a few too many drinks together. There are corn mazes and holidays and pictures to take that I want to experience with you.

Why are you not here yet? I miss you.

Dear Next One, I need you to know that I am impatient for you to get here or for me to get to you but that I have zero expectations about anything anymore. I don’t care how life turns out, I don’t know if you’re someone I’m talking to now who hasn’t arrived yet in the form of “The Next One”. I don’t have any expectations about who you are or what you are or how we meet or how we’ll end because I’ve used up all my expectations on The Last One.

The Last One left me as a shell of a human, self-conscious and dubious of strangers, but I’m working on me until I meet you. Would you like to get drinks? Can I send you my number now, Next One, and ask you to text me back? Until I meet you in an unexpected way I will bid my time talking to strangers and hoping that they are you. If they’re not then please don’t be mad at me for enjoying the company. I need someone to fill the spot that only you can have once you get here. I don’t have any expectations about you or me or how you will get here. Just guesses as I pass new strangers each day secretly hoping that one of them is you.

I want to love you and I want you to love me.

Dear Next One, I’m waiting for you. I’m here and I’m breathing and I think about you every morning during my bus ride to work as I cross the river and walk through campus to get to my job. I think about you when I’m brushing my teeth and when I’m allowing sleep to pull me under into a lull. If I think hard enough I can trick my mind into dreaming about you. That’s where we’re meeting now. I hope one day soon that we can meet in person on a street corner or in a coffee shop or even in a hallway where we’ve passed each other before.

I’m ready to meet you. Please find me.





Make love to yourself.

When I was 14 I made a deal to myself that I would graduate college by 22. Get engaged by 25. Complete a Master’s and be married by 26. And have my first kid by 27. To put this all in perspective I am currently two months exactly away from turning 25.

According to my 14-year-old life plan, I have two…TWO…two months to fall in love with someone, convince them to fall in love with me, and then convince them to propose to me. Please let’s all take a moment of silence to pay our respects to this highly unrealistic idea which has quietly passed into the afterlife.

Thank you.

The only way this would ever happen is if I somehow convinced the youngest daughter of King Triton to sign over her voice in exchange for a very unrealistic contract clause so that I can steal her true love only to die by being impaled with the mast of a ship. That’s never going to happen. Where the hell am I going to find a mermaid?

My fourteen-year-old self got a very necessary slap to the face with this one.

At almost 25 I’ve recognized the promises that I can actually keep to myself and the promises that I just have to laugh at.

Married by 26? Please let us all take a moment to express our feelings.



I have cousins who have married before me and I’m older than them. Lord Jesus give me the strength to accept the ignorance of my younger self with humor. Please.

I can’t force someone to love me. I have too much empathy for others to be a psychopath capable of manipulating someone into loving me.

Here’s what I can control.

I did graduate college by 22. I will complete a Master’s by 27, not 26 but damn close enough. I will not be engaged by 25 or married by 26 and will most definitely not have my first child by 27 because my birth control is implanted in my arm and I have zero plans to remove that before 2019 when I’m…27.

Ohh heck no.



Sorry. I really needed to catch my breath there.

I’m two months away from 25 and I’ve learned 7 lessons in my very short life.

  1. When you’re trying to “work it out” with your ex, it’s never going to work. Please have more love and respect for yourself and give it up. You can be hopeful until the cows come home, but at some point, you have to accept that the cows bought a one-way ticket to Paris and they’re not coming home.
  2. Never shave the back of your head in an impulsive decision. It will take you two years to grow it out to the regular length of all your hair and you’ll regret it.
  3. Never accept your ex’s mattress, which used to be  “OUR” mattress just because you’re short on money. Every time you go to bed at night or bring someone home it will just remind you of that engagement that slipped by before you were 25.
  4. Buy a full-length mirror.
  5. Dig a pair of sweatpants out that make your ass look fantastic.
  6. Make a music playlist of disco songs that make you feel sexy.
  7. And make love to yourself in front of the fucking mirror.

Give up the notion that you are supposed to be engaged by 25, or married by 26, or have a child on your hip by 27. Get over the fact that kids from your high school have accomplished all of the goals that your 14-year-old self-made by the time they were 21. 

Take a minute to light a candle that smells sweet but woody at the same time. Light it and let it burn for a minute. Turn on some soft lighting. Put your sexy sweats on and your headphones in. Start your playlist and find a song that speaks to your soul in this particular moment. Sit on the floor with your legs crossed in front of a full-length mirror and sing to yourself.

Sing like you’re trying to impress someone sexy from across the room, but make eye contact with yourself.

Fall in love with you. Feel your own body. Touch it to the beat of The Emotions or Bruno Mars or Prince and keep eye contact for a whole song.

Realize that you don’t need someone else sitting on the bed that used to be “OUR” bed to feel sexy. Realize that you don’t need makeup or perfectly curled hair to be sexy and confident. Realize that anyone who is truly excited and thankful to be with you will be excited no matter what you’re wearing or how you look.

Don’t settle for less and don’t settle for pipedreams that you irresponsibly made to yourself at fourteen. Make love to yourself and develop high standards and respect because you deserve someone who can accept all of that.


Depression is a beast.

If you’re more of a visual learner, please enjoy these comics relating to depression. Maybe it will help some people realize that the symptoms of depression are a part of a medical diagnosis that people can’t just “snap out of.”

I wanted to save what I’m about to pour out and use it as a climactic chapter in the book that I eventually want to write, but writing is one of the only healthy outlets for what I’m about to discuss and I can’t hold it in anymore. Drinking wine makes things worse.

My life was set up in a way that I went from adversity (being raised by a single mother in a low-income household) to a possible success story. To set this up (because these expectations will play into the story later) I was raised by a single mother for basically my entire life. Sometimes she worked two jobs and took night classes, other times she worked one job and, I have no idea how, but she managed to pay for me and my school clothes plus a place to live and transportation for me from school to the private practice where she was a CMA (Certified Medical Assitant). Only a few second and third cousins on my Dad’s side went to, or are going to, college. Some cousins on my Mom’s side through marriage have had alternate hiccups in life.

Basically, I have been dealing with the pressure that my family naturally assumes that I am the “successful one”, the “golden child”, and the cousin-granddaughter-daughter-niece that will turn out successful and normal.

I’m saying all of this because these expectations have a huge impact in what I’m about to explain.

Please, listen.

Depression. Anxiety. Mental health.

I don’t know what to call how I feel right now, but I can say with certainty that I feel like I am being suffocated or that I am drowning; not physically but mentally. If I were to fire off words or phrases that immediately come to mind they would be:









Basically, I believe that I am depressed but I do not have a professional opinion. Before whoever is reading this fires off the alarm, I would like you to know that I have expressed how I feel with my roommates, my close friends here, and I have scheduled a mental health counseling session for next week. Just a disclaimer.

The reason why I am sharing this is that today I realized that I am coming to the end of my rope metaphorically. I can’t keep controlling my feelings and emotions from day to day because I mentally cannot anymore. In basic girl language, “I just can’t even.”

I’ve spent years doing what I thought was expected of me because I am supposed to be the one who turned out “normal and successful.” I say this because one of my fears is that by admitting that I may suffer from mental health issues, it means that I have ruined any family member’s expectations that I am perfect and the one who did things “right”. It’s a fear that echoes that deep down I am worried that by admitting I need help, it means that I am broken and just as fucked up as the rest of my family.

I’m sharing this because I want to fight the stigma that surrounds mental health and depression. I don’t want to contribute to it and I don’t want to fear it.

I’m not okay.

I don’t think that I have been “okay” for a while; as in since I was at least 15. A few months ago I found old notebooks that I had kept in a small memory box I like to stash under my bed. While flipping through I found poems and short entries that I had written almost ten years ago and those entries read as if I had written them today.

To me that signals that something is off in myself.

While talking to a now ex-boyfriend he stated that while we were together, and especially for the year that we lived together, he spent so much of his time and energy trying to pull me out of my sadness that it threw him into his own depression. Apparently, I spent so much of my time sleeping and being unenthused and uninterested that it really was a problem in our relationship.

I couldn’t see it and I definitely couldn’t fix it.

I remember last November and December as a dark pit. I would go into auto-pilot during the week and put my personal emotions in their own box with a lid that I never opened until the weekend. When I did let those emotions out they manifested themselves in intense exhaustion. My body hurt. It didn’t (and still does not) feel like the sharp pain of an intense hangover, instead, my joints ached and my bones just hurt. I wanted to throw up and my head felt hot. For two months I spent every weekend sleeping because no matter how hard I tried (and I did try by getting dressed and going down to my car) I couldn’t get myself up and moving. I just needed to sleep and lay down.

I realized lately how much it bothers me when people casually throw around the phrase, “I’m depressed.”

Example. “The Cleveland Indians lost the World Series and it makes me so depressed.” This, of course, is said with sarcasm in the inflection. What I mean by casually throwing the phrase around is when it’s used as a placeholder for “temporarily bummed.”

Now, again, I haven’t seen a specialist yet. I won’t until next Monday, but I do have a very strong instinct that I have not been, suffering from being temporarily bummed. I also do not want to paint myself as a victim in any way just for attention.

What I’ve been experiencing for a very long time can be described as a form of sadness that is so every day it becomes the new normal. I honestly cannot tell you what I would define normal as. I wake up every single day, and I have for longer than I can date, assumed that everyone else in the world feels disappointed to wake up alive and that everyone wakes up feeling like their world is falling apart even when it literally isn’t.

I’ve started to realize that the world isn’t falling apart, I am.

To me, depression can be described in the following metaphorical scenario.

Depression is a beast that pins you to your own sadness. A sadness that is so common and overwhelming that it becomes your own idea of what a “normal” life is supposed to be. You feel like you are suffocating or being drowned mentally but you can’t fight it anymore because you never will find the surface and you will never breathe again. Depression is a beast that is next to you when you wake up and it reminds you that you are disappointed to be alive. It showers with you, rides in the passenger seat in the car to work or school, and then follows you home at the end of the day where it eats you. When you’re at home, Depression can finally choke you again because you are vulnerable and you don’t have distractions to keep it away. The only way to survive day to day is to shut off the parts of your brain that are easily stimulated by events so that you don’t emit emotion.

In layman’s terms: To me, depression mentally suffocates you with sadness and darkness and you can never escape it so you start to believe that everyone else feels the same way. And then you realize that they don’t.

I don’t like when people casually throw around the phrase, “I’m so depressed” because that is a phrase that I am too scared to admit because I’m afraid that if I do share it, it means that I am broken. How I feel is not a joke or a casual statement or a meaningless phrase of sarcasm. How I feel is crippling and I want to cry and go home.

Writing that makes me cry.

I have been slowly starting to wonder if I do have what can be labeled as clinical depression and I am slowly starting to wonder if it can be fixed by medication. But again, if I share that then I fear that others will see me as broken and I will be unwanted.

All of this is what feeds Depression. I am personifying it because it feels like it is alive and sitting next to me right now. How I feel, and the hypothesis that I have regarding my own mental state, have developed into a real physical entity that I would deem essential to my current identity.

What I want to say is that I just want to feel normal and stable. Today, when I shared with my roommate that I feel like I made a mistake with accepting my new job, she said that she was confused because just last week I was saying how happy I was with my job and how happy I was to stay in Iowa. That’s the thing though about MY depression. I’m high and then I’m very, very low.

I have so many days where I say, “Finally. YES! You’ve figured this out. What you’re doing is the right thing and it makes you happy,” and I really do believe it for that hour or half a day that it lasts. But those highs are always followed by a low that yells, “You’ve made a really bad decision. You need to go home and run away. It’s pointless. Everything is meaningless because we will all die anyways.” All I can say is, literally, I see the world as pointless because we WILL all die and we can’t take our money or our accomplishments with us and who knows if those will impact our afterlife so there really is no point. Honestly. Life and this physical world have no real metaphysical meaning.

I can’t stop it. At least, I haven’t been on my own. I feel brave enough to say that I feel like I am suffocating mentally.

I wish that finding a psychologist or therapist was as easy and as commonly discussed as finding a general practitioner. It was easier for me to find a doctor to take a pap smear and insert a birth control rod into my arm than it is for me to find a therapist.

I haven’t found any packets or helpful brochures discussing where to look and I definitely have not found any information that covers how to pay for therapy.

I think that those reasons were why I put off finding help for so long. I just didn’t know where to look and I still don’t.

I literally wake up every morning disappointed that I am still breathing. I put those feelings and my overwhelming feelings that my world is ending into a box and lock it. I get dressed, do my makeup and hair, and commute to work with those parts of my brain turned off. I do my job taking minutes and scheduling calls and then commute home. Once home, I take care of my dog and then finally I unlock that box because the overwhelming sadness can’t be contained anymore. I don’t do all of this because I want to. I do it because it feels like my only way to keep going. What I want to do is drive home to my Mom or be with the one person I romantically want to be with right now, but those two options cannot happen because I have professional expectations to uphold.

During good months or weeks, I can keep it locked tight until someone or something (usually a question) link my mind back to those feelings and the floodgates open.

As one of my exes and one of my aunts reminded me, I don’t show emotion in situations where emotions would be expected. Instead, I bottle them up tight and store them away until the pressure builds and my sadness, anger, jealousy, etc can’t be contained. When that happens it’s a tsunami of everything and it’s unhealthy.

Tonight my roommate and one of my friends asked me what I wanted for myself. If I excluded my personal relationships (which play a very large role in my sanity) and if I exclude what I think others expect of me (stable job, career, money, responsibility) what would I say I want? I said I want to feel stable.

I feel like I have been walking the deck of a sailboat in a storm. I haven’t felt steady and safe in so long that feeling off balance, confused, and overwhelmed has become my normal.

That’s not okay. I want to feel stable. I want to wake up each day and not want to throw up because I am stressed. I want to not fluctuate daily between feeling like I am confident and have made the best life decisions for myself and feeling like I am literally being shredded alive.

To do that, I need help. If I want to finally feel sane I need professional help. If I want to eventually have a stable and loving relationship with someone I need help.

If I really want to live to 30, I need help.

I’m saying all of this because mental health, especially in my family, is something that has never been as commonly discussed as going to the doctor for a physical. I’m saying all of this because I can keep what I feel is my unloveable flaw private or I can share it in case someone else is feeling the same way. I’m saying all of this because I’ve finished the only two mini, single-serve bottles of wine I have and writing is the first outlet I have found on my own that makes me feel okay.

Finally, I’m sharing all of this because I don’t want my fear of being diagnosed as clinically depressed to be considered a flaw to others. Everyone needs help at some point in their life.

The one thing I want more than anything is for someone to love me (not in the paternal or maternal idea of love, sorry Mom) but romantically and if I want that then I need to glue myself back together finally after ten plus years and I need help.

I hope that someday soon that US society will make mental health resources as commonly available and accepted as finding a general health practitioner. I hope that when people sign up for health insurance that mental health coverage is listed higher on the benefits list and that the coverage options are as extensive as the ones you see while signing up for Delta Dental.

I can keep how I am feeling between myself, my roommate, and my friend here but I can’t because I think I am finally cresting emotionally and I don’t want to feed the fear.

It’s hard and I feel alone, but I take some solace in the idea that there are others who feel more than just “casually depressed” like I do. Depression shouldn’t be a part of daily existence and I don’t want it to be a part of mine anymore.






Living in a Robert Frost Poem Sucks

All images belong to @barelyfunctionaladult. Please check out her Instagram because the comics are extremely relatable. At least to me.

I’ve been absent from Jack&Peaches for a few months because of some life changes. Since being laid off from my job, I’ve had to remodel my life and figure out what to do next.


Two weeks ago I had no idea what I was going to do once my lease is up in July. Today, I might finally have a real plan for the next phase of my life. Starting today, when people ask me, “Sarah, so what are you going to do when your lease is up? Are you working or what?” I just might be able to tell them real plans that include where I’m moving to and what I’ll be doing in August.

At this very moment, I’m enrolled in online classes at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee to start my Masters in Library and Information Science in September. This sounds simple and straightforward, but I have the option to be an on-campus student which would mean moving to Milwaukee by August.

I’d be moving to a place where I know zero people already living there. I’d be saying goodbye to friendships I made in Iowa and quite possibly saying goodbye to a relationship with someone special that I have been hoping will work out but it just might not.

Moving to Milwaukee wouldn’t just be “Sarah’s in Grad School”. It quite possibly could be me flipping my life around from what I’ve known and starting over. I’m not scared because I’d be moving to a new city. I’m scared because all of the change makes me feel like I’m not going to be myself anymore. When I picture how my life could become by August, it’s a life that I don’t recognize and it feels like it could belong to someone else and not me. But it would be my life and it would be me going to school and eating at new places and walking downtown and going to the beach and all of that change that will turn me into an updated model of myself– Sarah 2.0. It scares me.

I know people my age move to new states and go to grad school and start new jobs in new cities where they don’t know anyone and say goodbye to old relationships all the time, but I’ve never really had to. I did move to Iowa to start a new job and said goodbye to my college friends, but I knew someone here already so when I moved, I wasn’t alone. This time I would be moving to Milwaukee and only have myself to rely on.


I see two paths when I try and decide what I should do. I’m living Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken” in real time and it’s a nightmare.

To my left, I can take the plunge and move to Milwaukee. I start over and I become a new person; someone who is a stranger to me right now but will become someone I know better than ever by next year. This path offers me the chance of real personal growth as a young adult and a young woman and no doubt will be full of hard personal sacrifices.

To my right, I can stay enrolled in my online courses. Since I don’t have a job now I can quite literally move anywhere I want to which means I could stick with what makes me feel comfortable and safe. I could move back home to the UP or I could move out to California and live with my Dad. This path offers me some control over what I feel comfortable with and would allow me to keep living within my safety net. It would offer me some chance of personal growth, but not much and personal sacrifices would only have to be made if I really wanted them to be made.

So what do I do? On the one hand, I’m terrified of taking the plunge because when I envision my future in Milwaukee I can’t even see myself in the picture. On the other, I’ve always stayed within my comfort zone. I’ve always had a plan that just helped me to casually float into the next stage of my life whenever it became time to do that. I floated from high school into college and the transition was fairly easy because my college was ten minutes from my Mom’s house. I floated from college into the working world when I moved to Iowa because I moved in with my [ex] boyfriend and I had someone here I trusted. Finally, I floated into a new apartment with new roommates in Iowa City when that [ex] boyfriend moved to New York and I decided to stay behind.

I’ve always just safely floated through everything.  I’ve never cannonballed into the metaphorical pool of life while yelling, “WHY THE FUCK NOT? JUST GO FOR IT! WOOOO!” Instead, I’ve only pencil dived off the low diving board and swam up safely to the surface.


Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
“The Road Not Taken”
-Robert Frost

Week 9: Getting Frisky in Finland

Raven.jpgRecapped by Keegan L.

I’d like to start this recap by dedicating it to my aunt, Julie Graden. As aunts are known to be from time to time, this particular aunt is married to one of my Uncles, Uncle Roger to be precise. And as uncles are known to do from time to time, Uncle Roger took his nephew (better known as me) hunting serval years ago when I was about 13. On this particular hunt, I shot and killed my first deer.

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Of course, out of respect for the vegan nature of Jack & Peaches, I won’t tell you the details of this spectacular feat. I won’t tell you that I managed to shoot this deer while it was running at a full sprint and I certainly won’t brag about the fact that it only took one perfectly placed slug to drop the deer as it blurred past my line of sight.

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What I will tell you about that hunt is this: After a full day of trudging and hunting, my Uncle realized he had lost his cell phone.

The field we returned to late in the day to look for the phone was home to a herd of cows. At first, we joked that perhaps a cow had eaten the lost phone. After a long time of fruitless searching, this joke became a more serious consideration and I found myself poking at cow pies with a stick.

Get a load of this, a cow actually had picked up my uncle’s cell phone! We finally found it buzzing in a patch of trampled grass. It was covered in saliva and cud with a ton of missed calls from a mildly annoyed Aunt Julie.

The reason that I bring up this story now, is because the experience of poking through cow manure trying to find a lost cell phone is remarkably similar to the feeling I get while watching a new episode of The Bachelor and looking for things to write about each week.

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Ah, is it really almost over? It seems like only yesterday Nick was showing the world that he had the emotional range of a gently used sandpaper scrap and the internet world was mocking Liz for her repeated line about hooking up with Nick at Jade and Tanner’s wedding.

Now in week 9, Nick is demonstrating his new found emotional growth by…honestly, maintaining the emotional range of sandpaper stuck to the boot of someone wandering around a construction site. And the show has latched on to a new mantra from Raven about her elusive orgasm. So let’s get to it! Nine weeks down and one to go!


The Bachelor playoffs started with a surprising upset in game one. Honestly, I felt a very depressing consolation as the camera man zoomed in close to Corinne’s as the tears started to flow. We might have an unhinged man-child in the White House, the Green Bay Packers might have totally blown a shot at the Super Bowl, and the Patriots may have clinched a win in that same Super Bowl, but hey! At least Corinne didn’t “win” The Bachelor… It’s really been a rough few months guys.

At any rate, Corinne’s departure leaves us with the final three which is actually the final two since we all know that Rachel, like the Green Bay Packers, is pinning her hopes on her next season. Seriously, what is up with the producers of this show? And for that matter, what’s up with the editors?

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The first scene of this episode was shot in a way that made it look like the contestants waited for Nick in the cold while he had drinks with former Bachelorette, Andy. Also, it looked like Lil’ St. Nick was guzzling a full tumbler of white wine during his conversation with Andy and every time he set his glass down it clinked. He was drinking wine with ice in it! I know some people do that.

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When I was a waiter, several middle aged women would order their Chardonnay with ice but to be honest, it always seemed weird to me. It looked totally abnormal on the table every time I served it and seeing the Bachelor partake in this barbaric practice made me cringe more than anything Corinne ever said.


The rest of the episode focused on Lil’ St. Nick traveling to Finland to see if he would find the love he’s been looking for while building his career as a reality TV star. Remember back in Week 1 when I talked about that short shot of Nick trudging through the snow? It was an aerial shot with the narrator saying something to the effect of, “Nick sets out on his journey to find true love.” Well, there were plenty more snow-trudging shots in this episode.


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We obtained this live-action deleted scene of our “beloved” Bachelor trying to win Raven’s heart in a ski race.


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And this deleted shot of Nick attempting a traditional Finnish polka.



Once more, Nick’s lips remained impossibly unchapped as he scanned the snowy horizon while providing his own narrative voice-over, “I’ve been all over the world and I can’t think of a more magical place to fall in love.” I’m pretty sure he said the same thing when they all went to Bimini. He also said something like that for the episode in New Orleans. Although maybe the adjectives changed.

New Orleans, according to Nick was the most “exciting” place to fall in love. While Bimini may have been the most “beautiful” place to fall in love. So let’s strap in for the rest of the ride. Let’s watch Nick make like School House Rock as he unpacks his adjectives for his “magical” experience in Finland.

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Oh, and the shot of the Northern Lights at the end of the episode was totally put in there using CGI.


 A phrase that the editors used almost as much as Liz’s “Nick and I hooked up at Jade and Tanner’s wedding” was Raven’s constant repetition of, “I’ve never had an orgasm.”

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Yes, it seems everyone is on a quest to find something on this season of The Bachelor. Nick, of course, is searching for ABC’s officially licensed and branded True Love while Raven is beginning her journey for the Big O. This kind of introduced a Cinderella “will the slipper fit” subplot to the whole Nick and Raven storyline.

I would tell you more about what happened this week, but honestly, that’s really the whole episode right there. Nick and Raven fly around in a helicopter and look at reindeer before introducing a commercial break with the narrator saying, “Coming up on The Bachelor…” cue shot of Raven and Nick with Raven’s voice, “I’ve never had an orgasm.”

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Nick and Raven play darts in a Finnish pub. Cue commercial promo! Raven: “I’ve never had an orgasm.”

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Nick and Raven retire to a snowy cabin retreat filled with awkward conversation pauses and Raven’s final confession to Nick: “I’ve never had an orgasm.”

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Quick cameraman! Zoom in on Nick’s face! Let’s capture all the subtle nuances of his reaction to use next week!

Cameraman: “But sir, his face looks the same as it always does. He’s doing that dopey half-smile thing with the slow blink.

Producer: “Dammit, man! That’s what the people want! Adjust your lens and Get. Up. In. There!”


The header says it all. Tonight we can apparently look forward to some close up face shots as Nick and Vanessa discuss their feelings in a hot tub while wearing stocking caps.

As a side note, my blog, The Tell-Tale Lockhart is officially up and running! If you’ve enjoyed these recaps, take a minute to check out a few of my stories. The first one that’s up there now is about a time I fell out of a tree in college and the awkward conversation I had with the doctor I eventually went to see. All of the graphics for the site were made by the talented Jared Salasberry, who has created all of the graphic images for these recaps, as well as more amazing images that can be found on his Tumblr.

Also, be sure to subscribe to Jack & Peaches too to stay up to stay in the know with all things vegan and the life of Sarah! One week left! Good luck Nick. And to my liver— hang in there buddy, we’re almost through it!

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What can I do better?


Hey, guys. Once June hits, it will mark one year of Jack&Peaches. In an effort to increase traffic to this blog and to provide interesting content for you, I put together a super short survey.

Whether you’re a subscriber (hey! thank you for supporting me. That includes you Grandma 😉 or a reader who randomly found this blog, a close friend, an ex, a stranger from Instagram, an alien from Mars who reads, etc. it would mean a lot to me if you took like two minutes from your day to help me improve Jack&Peaches.

While this is my hobby, I really want to provide content that is interesting and creative and provide it in ways that are easy for people like you to find.

Find the survey here. Thank you!


You Do You Boo

Last week I learned from a four-year-old that all babies are born without kneecaps. Also, all images are from the @lubadalu Instagram account. Please take a look because her drawings are fantastic pieces of creative honesty.

Doing what you want in the age when everyone has an opinion and one that they want you to follow—it’s near to impossible.

I’m pretty sure that people have had opinions for as long as we have been around and we’ve probably had advice for just as long. But where do you draw the line between advice and opinion? And how do you know when to take your friends’ advice and when to do you and not listen?


I can easily count the number of times I should have listened to the advice of my friends and family especially when it comes to relationships. For example, had I listened to the advice of my Mom and friends to dump my high school boyfriend instead of waiting three years, I would have saved myself a few monumental meltdowns and the destruction of my self-worth and confidence. But at the time I was 17/18/19/20 years old and I thought that their advice was swayed heavily by their opinions. So I didn’t listen. I did what I wanted to do at the time and stayed in the relationship and then when it ended I tried to make it work (you know that whole on and off again thing that young couples and a high number of celebrities do). Finally one morning I woke up and made the decision on my own to end the relationship and my Mom’s response was, “I’ve been trying to tell you all of this for three years.” Basically, her version of I told you so.

What I learned though is that you can offer a metric ton (figuratively of course as words don’t have physical mass unless you can manage to write out all your advice on a metric ton of paper which would take a long time so kudos to you for perseverance), but the person you’re giving it to will most likely listen but not abide. When it comes to making decisions that impact our own personal happiness, not the happiness that our friends and family think we need, we have to make those decisions when we’re ready. Not when our friends and family think we are.

And this lesson is hard, especially for me. Take for example a recent event. As I’m writing this I am currently on vacation time in New York, sitting in my ex-boyfriend’s apartment downtown. After a month of talking to each other again, I decided that what would make me happy was to spend my money and vacation time from work to fly to New York and see him. My close friends, however, do not think that that is what would make me happy and their advice was to quote, “Get off the plane right now!” But I didn’t listen. One gave me the sage advice that I am an adult and capable of making my own decisions but that I should thoroughly understand what I’m getting into but ultimately do what makes me happy. The other in summary said not to do it because she cares about me and doesn’t want the negativity that was in the relationship before to come back into my life. I wanted to keep the whole trip on the DL (down-low) because I knew that people would give me, and him, their opinions of what they think we should do and not advice for how they think we can be happy together.

And opinions about your personal relationships or yourself can weigh heavily on you.

As of writing this, my Mom doesn’t know because I knew that her advice would be heavily swayed by her opinions of him and not determined by what she thinks would make me ultimately happy.


And I am happy and I didn’t listen to the advice of my friends and instead did what I wanted to do. While washing dishes before leaving, my roommate’s boyfriend said something wise to me:

Everyone in your life will have an opinion and they’re entitled to their opinions and what they think you should do, but ultimately it’s not their life or their relationship. While they may want the best for you, they aren’t in the relationship or living your life so chances are they won’t really know what is the best for you or what will make you happy. You have to do what makes you happy and if that’s going to New York to see him, then that’s what you should do.

And in my case, my happiness required splitting the cost of a plane ticket, finally using my vacation time I’ve saved up at work, and visiting someone who does make me very happy deep down.


So I want to ask you—how do you separate advice from opinion? Where do you draw the line at not listening to either? And what makes you ultimately happy?

For me, it’s the person I woke up next to and made coffee for all weekend.

In the end, though, you should hear the advice given to you, ignore the opinions that are swayed by heavy bias, and make sure that you do you boo.

My advice is, whatever decision or action or person makes you happiest, that’s the right choice because this is your life to live, not someone else’s.



What I Eat in A Day: Vegan Version


January—the month where people all across the world make vague resolutions like lose weight and eat healthy that end up being gone by February.

How are your New Year’s Resolutions holding up? So far mine are going pretty well. If you remember from my “Surviving 2016” post I mentioned that one of my short term resolutions was to pack my lunch the night before work instead of the morning of in an effort to be more on time and less rushed. So far so good. I’ve only had maybe 3 days where I packed my lunch in the morning.

In an effort to help keep those of you with health-related resolutions motivated (put down that extra strip of bacon…I see you), I decided to write down what I eat in a day as a vegan.

The following is just an example of what I eat in a day. I’m not tracking macros right now. I just have an idea of what works for me and what I need to eat throughout the day to keep my blood sugar stable (something I struggled with almost daily before switching to plant-based; my symptoms always matched the symptoms of hypoglycemia but I never went to the doctor about it). I might be eating too much fruit or too little protein or too much protein. Keep in mind that right now I am going to hour-long boxing and kickboxing classes 5-6 days a week as well so my calories may be higher than your caloric needs. And because plants are less calorically dense than animal products, it takes a lot of plant-based foods to reach a functioning caloric intake. I didn’t really include serving sizes for some of the meals but I eat a little more volume than the normal person on a “standard American diet” i.e. someone eating eggs, meat, and Greek yogurt.

My point is this post is meant to help inspire you to fit in a little more plants and take out a little more meat, dairy, and eggs.

Also, pro-tip: If you’re not big into weekly meal prepping (where my fellow procrastinators at?) but you bring your lunch to work/school each day, cook a larger dinner the night before if you have time and portion that out for lunch the next few days. I like to do this with curry or simple stir-frys. It keeps lunch more interesting and fresh and saves time.

On to the food! I’ve included links to some products that I like for reference. Also, be sure to check out the “My Vegan Pantry Staples” post I did a few weeks ago for more healthy grocery/food ideas and recipes. Let’s keep you on track with your health resolutions this year!


  • Coffee with soy or almond creamer (my favorite brand is Califia Farms Vanilla Almond Milk Creamer or if you’re on a budget the Silk Soy Vanilla creamer is good too and it’s sold at Walmart)
  • Morning Smoothie (usually stays the same every day because I prefer to buy my fruit in bulk and have a smoothie daily):
    • 1 Frozen Banana + a small handful of another frozen fruit (lately I’ve been loving frozen cherries)
    • Decent handful of organic greens like kale or spinach
    • 3 Tbs. of shelled hemp hearts (3 tablespoons of hemp hearts has 10 g of plant-based protein). Hemp hearts can be pricey—$10 for one bagso feel free to swap for protein powder. If you want to try a vegan protein powder, Vega Clean Protein in vanilla is the best I’ve found so far.
    • 1 C. of liquid (usually almond milk, coconut water, or regular H2O)
    • Blend everything together until smooth
  • Grain of some kind: Example, one serving of oatmeal (1/2 cup uncooked) with cinnamon and 1 Tbs. of chia seeds or a piece of toast with peanut butter. I recently found these Ozery Bakery Morning Rounds at the store. They’re kind of like a scone but in a soft bun form and the cranberry orange flavor is amazing. Plus they’re vegan so free of dairy and eggs if you have allergies. They also have apple & cinnamon, muesli, cinnamon & raisin, and date & chia flavors. If your store has an organic/health food section look there first. I doubt Walmart would carry them.


  • Chickpea Salad Sandwiches (a tastier and cheaper replacement for a tuna sandwich—one can of chickpeas is anywhere from $0.69 to $0.89 vs. a can of tuna, which from what I remember, costs around $1.30 per can and one small can was never enough tuna)
    • 1 can of chickpeas drained and rinsed (always rinse your canned beans to wash off excess salt and preservatives)
    • Couple tablespoons of vegan mayo (Earth Balance, Hampton Creek Just Mayo–sold at Walmart!, and Vegenaise are great choices especially if you have an egg allergy)
    • Couple tablespoons of relish
    • More or less than 1/4 cup each of diced red onion (soak your onion in cold water for a bit to remove the bitterness), diced celery, and diced bell pepper (you can seriously add whatever vegetables you like to this. I just really like the crunch from the onion and celery and the sweetness from the bell pepper)
    • How to make:
      • Mash the chickpeas and mix in the remaining ingredients until everything is incorporated. Spread on two slices of bread (I like to lightly toast my bread at work–speaking of, if you’re taking your sandwich to work or school store the chickpea salad in a separate container and then make your sandwich when you’re ready to eat to keep your bread from becoming soggy) and top with lettuce, tomato, and sprouts or whatever you prefer. This recipe will last me about four days of daily sandwiches which is super cheap in the end.
  • 1 Blood Orange (or some other fruit like a banana or two Halos/Cuties)
  • La Croix (I’m a basic beeyotch and love La Croix to the moon and back–it curbs any soda cravings I might have because of the carbonation)


  • Half a cucumber sliced (or a generous handful of carrots/celery) with a couple tablespoons of hummus to dip
  • One Silk soy yogurt (now sold at Walmart/most grocery stores in the yogurt section; at my Walmart, they are about $1.28 per container)


  • One piece of toast with one single-serve 100 calorie pack of guacamole (Walmart sells a 6-pack of the Marketside individual serving guac packs in the produce section for about $3.56 which is cheaper than the Wholly Guacamole brand).


  • Super simple vegetable ‘stir fry’: This is enough to last me at least two to three additional meals. Simple meals like this are great for late night dinners and if you’re crunched on time, or if you’re just craving something simple like rice and vegetables.
    • 1 yellow onion + a couple cloves of garlic
    • Half a head of broccoli (or sometimes a full head of broccoli)
    • 2 zucchini
    • 1 bell pepper
    • Any other vegetables in the fridge that are going bad
    • Spices to taste (ginger, garlic powder, onion powder, and pepper are my favorites)
    • Teriyaki or soy sauce (not necessary but it really ups the flavor)
    • Protein of some kind (vegetarian/vegan examples include beans, “mock meat” like Gardein or Beyond Meat, or tofu–here’s a link to  a simple, easy baked tofu recipe including my current favorite marinade)
    • Grain of some kind (typically rice because I’m cheap but quinoa is a great option as well)
    • How to make:
      • See my easy baked tofu recipe here if you want to try tofu but don’t know how to cook it. It takes me around 35 minutes at 425/450 degrees to make, so I start the tofu before the rice and vegetables.
      • Start cooking your grains. For rice, the ratio of water to rice is typically 1 cup of rice to 1.5 cups of liquid. I use 1.5 cups of rice + 2 cups of water + half a vegetable bouillon cube for flavor (or you can omit the bouillon cube and cook your grain of choice with a mix of half vegetable stock and half water–it just adds some extra flavor). Follow the cooking instructions on the rice or quinoa (20-25 minutes for rice; 15 minutes for quinoa…typically).
      • While the tofu and rice are cooking prep your vegetables. Chop up the zucchini, bell pepper, broccoli. Mince the garlic and dice the onion last to save some tears.
      • Heat a pan on medium-high until warm, add a splash of water (no oil necessary; I used to cook my food with so much oil but you can saute vegetables with water just the same), and then add the garlic. Drop the heat to medium/low and saute until fragrant, about 30 seconds stirring constantly–DO NOT BURN YOUR GARLIC. Add the onion and more water if necessary and saute the onions until soft.
      • Add the rest of the vegetables, spices, and more water if needed. Up the heat a little and cover with a lid. Steam until the more fibrous vegetables are soft. If there’s too much water in the pan after steaming, remove the lid so that some of the water and evaporate. Add the tofu (or your cooked protein of choice) and serve over rice with a small amount of soy sauce or teriyaki sauce.

Evening snack/Dessert 


I just want to preface this by saying that I do not eat a dessert every single night nor am I one of those people who needs an evening snack or dessert. Because of my work schedule, I get home around 6 pm and then go to boxing class for an hour+ in the evening (I am not a morning person at all). Because of this I typically eat dinner around 8/9 pm. If I am feeling hungry though or if I want something sweet I’ll make what’s called “Nice Cream”.

  • Simple “Nice Cream”
    • 2 frozen bananas
    • Dairy-free milk (I use unsweetened almond milk)
    • Extras: Peanut butter and a few small squares of dairy-free dark chocolate
    • How to make
      • Add the frozen bananas to a high powered blender with a splash of almond milk (more than a couple tablespoons but less than 1/8 of a cup; just eyeball it based on how frozen your bananas are). Blend on high until creamy. I usually have to stop every now and then and scrape down the sides and add small splashes of almond milk to help everything blend. Don’t add too much milk because you can end up with a smoothie consistency. Blend the nice cream until it’s the consistency of soft serve. Top with a small spoon of PB and a sprinkle of dark chocolate or additional fruit like blueberries or raspberries. I love the saltiness of the PB with the sweetness of the bananas. If necessary, freeze your nice cream for 10-15 minutes to firm it up. This also freezes the chocolate and PB so you have more of a candy-like crunch.

That’s it! This is just a general outline of what I eat in a day. It stays pretty consistent throughout the week. Breakfast is pretty much the same every day and I rotate my lunches with leftovers from the previous night’s dinner. Most nights I go for simple dinners like the stir fry but every now and then if I have more time (usually when I’m not going to boxing) I might make a fancier dinner like these stuffed “ricotta” rolls/shells.

Comment below and let me know what your 2017 resolutions are and how they’re going! 


Week 8: A Tale of Four Cities


Recapped by Keegan L.

So here we are, down to the final four. Making allusions to Game of Thrones and football has been a tried and true coping mechanism for me as I have suffered through this season of The Bachelor, so let’s not stop now! Ladies and gentlemen, I give you The Bachelor Playoffs!

Let’s go ahead and map the final four contestants to the last four teams who stood in the NFL before this year’s Super Bowl: The Pittsburg Steelers, The New England Patriots, The Lords of the North (long may they reign) Green Bay Packers, and finally—The Atlanta Falcons.

First up, let’s go ahead and let Rachel represent the Green Bay Packers. Clearly the best contestant, destined to not “win” the season, but gearing up for a big win next season. Rachel has been the saving grace of the season and knowing that she will inevitably be sent home has made this season all the more torturous to watch. She is the epitome of class and none of the other contestants come close to her level of swag so I can’t think of anyone more deserving to represent the best team in the NFL.

Next up, Corinne has got to be the Patriots. Vapid, braggadocios, and seen by everyone else in a “please God, anyone but her” light by the vast majority of the viewing public, Corinne is on track to derail any hope for humanity that exists in the world of The Bachelor. Let’s just hope that this season turns out better than the Super Bowl did.

Then we have Raven who has to be the equivalent of the Atlanta Falcons. Originally an underdog and unlikely contender, Raven “flew under the radar” for the first few episodes before claiming a spot in the final four. She also has the southern charm flare that is hopefully enough to undercut the mad sex offensive powerhouse that is the New England Corinne.


And finally, the Pittsburg Steelers may as well represent Vanessa. This one is more of a personal equivalence. People had really high hopes for the Steelers back in the playoffs, but I wasn’t really surprised when they fell to the Patriots. In the same way, I don’t think Vanessa has much of a shot going up against Corinne, but I’ll keep my fingers crossed all the same.

So there we have it! Our bracket for the final four. Let’s fill the stadiums, buy a few cups of overpriced beer and let the games begin!


Game one kicked off in Arkansas as Nick joined Raven for some four-wheeling fun. I was cringing uncontrollably when the cop pulled up for an awkward exchange. When the cop first pulled up, I was thinking how hokey it was and furiously scribbling notes about the forced drama that this show insists on putting together. Thankfully, it was Raven’s brother which fit in better with the show but it was still awkward as all hell to watch Nick pretend he didn’t know who it was at first. Honestly, Raven’s brother had a more confident camera presence than Nick has had all season. Let’s let that guy be the Bachelor.

Then we got to meet Raven’s parents and that was all fine and well. It was fantastic news to find out that Raven’s father was in remission after battling lung cancer and as sleazy as the producers are, it was good that they didn’t play up that angle. I honestly could have seen a cliffhanger before commercial break playing out like, “Raven there’s something we have to tell you about your father.” Then the music ramps up the drama and the commercials roll. Luckily, that didn’t happen and the producers get humanity points for not trying to cash in on cancer.

Of course the big drama of this part was Raven not being able to say “I love you” to Nick. And to be honest, I’m happy she didn’t. All season long, the Atlanta Falcons boasted a strong defense and Raven followed suit in her bracket by playing a solid emotional defense. But will it be strong enough to counter the powerhouse mad sex offense boasted by the New England Corinne?


All of Rachel’s segments are totally undercut by the knowledge that she will eventually be going home. I can’t be the only one thinking this, right? After this writing gig is done, I have no plans to watch any future seasons of The Bachelor or The Bachelorette so knowing that Rachel is out of the running and is going to be the next Bachelorette, really makes these segments drag on for me.

I’m honestly kind of disappointed by that. Rooting for Rachel is almost as much fun as rooting against Corinne and knowing that Rachel is headed for the door either this week or next is almost as bad as seeing leaked internet pictures of Nick and Corinne’s engagement photo shoot. I should probably clarify that those pictures don’t exist, but can you imagine if they did? Fans of the show would have a field day with that.

Anyway, Nick and Rachel go to church before meeting Rachel’s family. I don’t know if there is any sharper contrast between two contestants with Rachel taking Nick to church and Corinne taking Nick shopping for a $1,000 thermal shirt. I’m not going to spend time talking about the specifics of Nick’s visit with Rachel’s family. Fans of the show will get their fill of that when Rachel’s season airs.


All I can say is that watching Rachel’s segments evokes a pale shadow of the same despair that I felt watching the first quarter of the Atlanta vs. Green Bay playoff game. You know that the end is coming but you’re glad that it’s been a good season. And for both Rachel and the Green Bay packers, next year is sure to be a great one.


In case you’re not a fan of football, it’s worth noting that the New England Patriots are pretty much disliked by everyone except their fans. Don’t get me wrong, they’re a great team but they play dirty, win in spite of most of the country cheering for them to lose, and they generate a ton of money. They are basically Corinne in NFL form.


So for his third hometown date, Nick flew down to Miami to join the New England Corinne for a full day of shopping, kissing, and awkward interactions with Mr. Olympios. Really, the strangest takeaway from the episode seemed to be that people were more concerned with Nick being able to provide the sort of lifestyle that Corinne is accustomed to while Raven and Rachel’s families seemed more concerned with their daughters’ compatibility with Lil St. Nick. They also made a really big deal about how much the clothes Nick bought while out with Corinne cost, but honestly they didn’t look any different than the outfits he’s been wearing all season.

Either he, or more likely the show, has been footing the bill for some expensive clothes all season or the outfit Nick bought was somehow better just because it had a higher price tag. Now I’m starting to wonder if that’s how Corinne assigns value to things. Does she think that something is better just because it costs more? Is that how she’s trying to present herself to Nick? “Oh Nick I’m clearly the best! Look how expensive I am!”


Like the New England Patriots, me and most people who have been following the show have been eagerly awaiting the fall of Corinne all season. I don’t think she’s going to be eliminated tonight though. They played up the whole “Nick and Corinne are taking it slow” (sexually speaking) for her not to get a fantasy island night.


And last but not least we have Vanessa. I’ll be honest with you guys, my interest was seriously fading by the time Vanessa’s segment rolled around. I have to give her dad some serious props since he seemed to be the one who was most concerned with the entire scenario of the show and Nick’s four other potential true loves.

I’m way jealous of Vanessa for being a Canadian citizen though and the ability to marry for dual citizenship has got to be a definite plus during this political climate. Honestly, this show has started to look more and more like a metaphor for all of America to me.

Will Nick run away with Vanessa to the welcoming country of Canada? Will he embrace the giggling whipped cream-covered embodiment of American Consumerism and “Make America Corinne again”? Or will he choose something real and meaningful in order to build a better future?


Huh, with that analogy it’s looking better and better for Corinne every minute.

Weeks 6 & 7: Do Rose Ceremonies Still Exist?


Recapped by  Keegan L.


And we are back! In an emotional roller coaster that eerily mirrors the 2016 election, we join our hero once more on his quest to find officially branded True Love™ that has been licensed and approved by ABC.

Before we rejoin Lil’ St. Nick on his quest, I’d like to make a few announcements. At the end of the week, I will be launching my own blog. (Editor’s note because the editor receives a lot of questions from Grandma. This is written entirely by Keegan, NOT Sarah. Keegan is launching his own blog. Sarah is keeping Jack & Peaches. Okay? Cool beans. Let’s resume.)

I can’t tell you the name of it yet because, while the domain has been set up, it’s just bare bones at the moment and I don’t want to discourage future visitors by exposing them to stock images and placeholder text. Designs for the blog are currently being created by the talented Jared Salasberry who has been doing the graphics for these posts. Be sure to check out his Tumblr if you want to see some dope animal graphics.

Additionally, Sarah has agreed to do crossover write-ups like these for something that I like but she has never been interested in. Her only negotiation requirement was, and I quote, “Not football. Please for the love of God, not football.


Sarah agrees to give a recap for every Clay Matthews hair flip.


The current front-runner for topics is Season 1 of Game of Thrones, but if anyone has a better suggestion, please feel free to leave a comment. And so, without further ado, let us dive back into the adventures of the Baron of blindsided breakups, the Falcon’s defense to Corrine’s mad sex offense, and the man with the best beard in the Bahamas—our hero, Lil’ St. Nick!



An interesting non-footballish football fact is that the Lords of the North, the Green Bay Packers, have been knocked out of the playoffs three years in a row by teams with birds as their mascots. This year they fell to the would-be Super bowl champions—the Atlanta Falcons.

Just as the Packers seem to have an inexplicable difficulty facing bird-based teams Nick seems to have an inexplicable difficulty staying “on script.” This is the first season I’ve seen, so the low number of rose ceremonies hasn’t seemed odd to me. But everyone I’ve talked to who has watched the show for several seasons keeps saying how weird it is that Nick is sending girls home on the fly.

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Take, for instance, Danielle M. Who Nick caught off guard and sent packing right after she put her heart on the red sleeve of her flowing dress. Now, I’m not the best at keeping all of the contestants straight, but isn’t Danielle the person who went on the first one-on-one date with Nick when they rode in a helicopter to that yacht? Isn’t she from Milwaukee too? Didn’t he say that “hometown” dates were coming up, and that’s why he had to think so hard about who should stay? Why wouldn’t you want to explore her side of your hometown? Damnit, Nick! You robbed the world of the chance to see that Wisconsin is more than just farms where people milk cows by hand and spend romantic outings shoveling cow poo.

This, of course, all takes place against the beautiful island backdrop of Bimini, a tropical island that received the same level of excitement from the contestants as Milwaukee. Corinne continues to bemoan the fact that she hasn’t gotten a one-on-one with Nick and said something about wanting to have Sushi on a boat with Nick. This is the second time that she’s specifically brought up sushi and to be honest, I’m not really surprised that she likes it. I mean, she certainly ate Taylor alive.





Can someone please tell me what is going on with the promotions for this show? There was a big announcement concerning the next Bachelorette and we’ll get into that in a minute. But other than that, I also saw Corinne on a segment with Ellen recently and I’m honestly curious, does this enhance or muddle the illusion of The Bachelor being a show where people find true love? Do we assume that Corrine will be sent home before the final two because she showed up to talk about her experience on Ellen? Or should we assume that she made it at lease that far because Ellen was willing to have her on the show?

It feels weird to try and speculate on things like that outside of “the world” that the show’s editors create by selecting which contestants to give screen time to and that awesome music they plug in at key moments.

For real, the composer who puts together the score for this show is amazing. He or she must have studied at Julliard and if not, the admissions people at Julliard must be shaking their heads for letting that talent fly under their radar. The only sort of Bachelor merchandise that I would be interested in would be the score for this show. It would be awesome for having on hand to make any moment more dramatic.

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I could hit play on my phone and let the music swell. As it built and slowly climbed to a dramatic crescendo, I would look up from my table and tell the waiter:

“I’m very happy with the steak. I think this steak has a lot of amazing qualities and I’ve loved the time I’ve had to enjoy it. But now that we’re here and I’m thinking about what I really want out of this meal, I’m going to have to follow my heart and ask you to take it back to the kitchen. Could you please let the chicken know that I’ll be back next week for a one-on-one with it?”



More to the point with producers not being on the same page as the editors, the big announcement that has had the internet buzzing recently is that Rachel will be the next Bachelorette. People seem really excited about it, but isn’t this a bit of a spoiler? I mean, I was at least expecting Rachel to be sent off this week but no. Instead, she and Nick hung out more, I assume to help the audience get to know her better before she gets her own season. And Nick said he would consider asking her father for permission to marry her.


I know that this show is taped beforehand, so we’re quite possibly seeing Nick at a moment where he still believes he could end up with Rachel. But isn’t it a bit of a middle finger to the audience to make it obvious that Rachel won’t be the one Nick ultimately chooses? At least with Corrine on Ellen, there’s some ambiguity but if Rachel makes it to the final two, why would anyone even watch the finale?

This show walks such an odd line of real and not real. At least in something like Game of Thrones, you know it’s not real. You can find yourself invested in a character and be heartbroken by his or her decisions or fate, but at the end of the day, you know it isn’t real. This show has the amazing ability to blur the line of entertainment by creating a world of roses and chardonnay where the music swells in the background and the only time you don’t look good is when your mascara is running. And the camera guy better get a close up of that to use for the next episode’s promo.