2016: Year in Review

Ran my second half marathon. Injured. Again. Surprised my best friend after a 4 year drought. Scrapped a writing project. Questioned my writing ability. Started a new project. Celebrated my 27th birthday. Panicked that I'm almost 30. Went to Florida. Went to Michigan. Went to New York. Went to South Carolina. Finished school. Swore to never ever go back to school ever again. Ever. Contemplated a move to NYC. Wrote this. Went blonde. Again. Quit my job. Packed up my entire life. Moved to NYC (!!!!). Started a new job. Questioned my sanity. Welcomed my nephew into the world. Went on some shitty dates. Then had some pretty great ones. Saw Mat Kearney live. Saw NeedtoBreathe live. Met Robby Hayes. Fangirled. Stayed out too late. Woke up too early. Stopped saying no when I should say yes.

So 2016 wasn't all bad. 

A Letter & a Birthday Wish

Dear 17-year-old Melissa,

The first thing you're going to notice about her - after you stop staring into her gorgeous blue eyes - is her mouth. Brace yourself. She's going to tell you when you're wrong. Especially when you're really wrong. She's going to tell you that your hair looks like shit and you can't possibly meet the man of your dreams if your hair looks like shit. She's going to have opinions. She's going to have opinions about your opinions. So make sure your opinion is also her opinion. She's going to make you laugh. The kind of laugh that will make strangers stop and turn to see what's so funny. The kind of laugh that makes you cry and wheeze and your abs sore the next morning. And that's not even with the aid of alcohol. Oh god, the alcohol. You guys are going to drink so. much. alcohol. Don't drink the Four Loko. Actually, do. Because some pretty great memories happen from Nights of Four Loko. She's going to be late to everything. Literally. Everything. You're going to cancel on her to hang out with a boy instead. You are going to argue. A lot. But my god, she's going to love you. And that kind of love you just don't want to pass up. She's going to save your life. She's literally going to be the phonecall that keeps your life from ending at the age of eighteen. She's going to be your soulmate. Your person. She's going to tell you all the things you want to hear when you need to hear it most. She's going to cry with you when you cry. She's going to celebrate when you celebrate. Hold on to her and never let go.

Happy Birthday, Nanners. Cheers to your 28th year.

Love,
Meemo

What Makes a Woman Nasty

At sixteen years old, at my very first job, a co-worker three times my age groped me because we were alone together and he had gotten away with it before so he thought he could do it again.

When I was seventeen years old, my biology teacher in my Baptist private school verbally sexually harassed me. The pastor of the church and dean of the school called me a liar and a few months later I was kicked out in the middle of my junior year.

At my first job out of college, at a very prominent global law firm, I was continually told I needed to smile more, that I needed to "look pleasant."

The next year at a different law firm, I was repeatedly sexually harassed by a lawyer I worked with. I finally got the courage to tell him to stop when he asked what color panties I was wearing. 

Last year I was raped by a man who is currently "serving our country" as a soldier and secret service agent on the Secretary of Defense's detail.

At the age of twenty-seven, when I asked for a well-deserved raise and title change, my male boss told me that I was "very bold" and that I wouldn't be getting the promotion.

Throughout my career I have been called "sweetie" and "honey" by men who didn't see me as anything more than a pair of tits and a skirt and certainly not anyone with a brain.

Almost every day I'm whistled at while walking to work by men who think I'm there for their viewing pleasure, by men who think I should be grateful that they find me attractive.

You tell me not to take this election personally. You tell me to sit down, shut up, and get over it. I've been doing that for twenty-seven years and I'm fucking done.

You tell me that it wasn't about gender; gender had nothing to do with it. Gender had everything to do with it. Hillary Rodham Clinton was the most experienced and qualified presidential candidate we have ever had and she lost the job to an inexperienced white man who wouldn't have even passed an HR screening for a job as White House janitor.

I'm taking this personally because I have a niece for whom I would gladly give my life if it meant she would never be touched by a man who thought he was entitled to her body. I'm taking this personally because Hillary represented me and every other woman who has had to listen to men say "the boys will take it from here."  I'm taking this personally because having a Madam President would have propelled us light-years into the future, past oppression and into an era of acceptance and equality for women.

You think you've silenced us. You're wrong. You've united us. You've strengthened us. And you've made us even nastier.

16 Feet and 220 Miles

Let me just preface this post with I don't own a car and I haven't since 2012. I've probably driven three times in the last year. My driving ability can be best described by the below:

So when I went to go pick up my moving truck from the rental company and they told me that they didn't have any 12 footer trucks available, only 16's,  I thought to myself - this is it. This is how it ends. I'm going to die on the New Jersey Turnpike and I won't even be able to will any of my clothes to my sister because they are going to go up in flames along with my body.

So on Monday, October 3rd at 5:15AM I put that sucker in D and slowly merged onto 95N. You guys, I made it. Obviously. And I only hit two things - one parked vehicle (no damage) and some road barricades (they were plastic). Nobody died.

I am never moving ever again. My body is still covered in bruises and I'm pretty sure my entire back is just one big knot. Somebody get this girl a massage.

For those of you thinking about moving, don't. Also, if you think you don't have that much stuff think again because shit will just start coming out of cupboards and closets like it's Narnia.

The next time I have to do this I will have to be heavily medicated or drunk or both because this sucked. But then again it might have all been worth it because check out this view. You guys, NYC has already stolen my heart.

On to the Next

I'm sitting on an air mattress in a completely empty apartment right now - it's my last night here. There are scuffs on the floors and countless nail holes on almost every wall. This place has been lived in well. This place has been a home.

I moved to the DC Metro area almost exactly five years ago. The 10 hour drive from my tiny hometown to here was full of Coldplay songs and ugly cries.  I hated leaving a home where my initials were written in cement in my backyard. Where my best friend lived just down the dirt road. And where you waved at strangers passing on the street. Most of all, I hated leaving behind the comfort of everything familiar and safe.

Living in a place like Washington, DC has taught me more things than even I probably realize right now. But the most important lesson this city has taught me is that I am fiercely independent. In the last five years here I've severed ties with relationships that I had outgrown and I've seen myself heal in places I thought would always be hurting. I've never before felt so wonderfully whole and content. I've never before felt so....me.

And now I'm changing things up again - this time, just for the hell of it.

This place will always have a piece of my heart. Yes, I grew up in Holly, Michigan. But I also did quite a lot of growing up here too. And for that I will always be thankful.

NYC - I'm coming for ya.

What Do You Do?

The running joke in DC. Except it's not a joke. Meet anyone for the first time here and I'd bet you the HH bill that that's the first thing they'll ask you.

So what do I do?

I work in legal marketing. And most of the time, it's not as boring as it sounds. But I'll be the first to admit that this isn't my passion.

I remember growing up and just knowing I wanted to write. All of my friends wanted to be firefighters or teachers or veterinarians but I knew I was going to be a writer. Fast forward to my second semester of my senior year of college (not so quick on the uptake, this one) and I finally came to terms with the fact that I probably wasn't going to be on the NYT's Bestseller List anytime soon. And I was crushed. I hadn't even started anything yet and I felt like I had failed.

So here I am, 27 years old, and I just now figured out that I don't need to have "writer" as my profession on LinkedIn to be a writer. I can use my writing skills at my day job. I can journal. I can write a novel in my spare time (yeah, I'm actually doing that - we'll come back to that). Or I can continue to blog about shit no one cares about (shout out to my three loyal readers, lookin' at you fam).

So maybe life isn't turning out the way you expected. Maybe you feel like you're behind everyone else and you worry if you'll ever catch up. Or maybe you feel like you're too far ahead and you're nervous that someone else hasn't blazed the trail before you. Did you ever stop to think that maybe you were holding yourself back? Or that you are more than capable to blaze that fucking trail yourself?

If you want something bad enough, you'll figure out a way to make it happen. So make it happen. 

Part of my 30 Before 30 Series. You can read Part I here. 

My Body, Your Body

If you didn't instantly start singing Pretty Ricky's 2005 legendary hit upon reading that title, you are lying.

It's ironic that I'm writing about body image because as I type this I'm drinking kombucha and munching on celery sticks. Which in and of itself isn't all that bad except that this is all I've eaten so far today (2:10 PM over here). So it turns out this is still something I'm working on. How timely.

I've struggled with body image for a very long time. I can't tell you how many diets I've been on and exercise programs I've started and only a couple times completed (you can read about one of them here and here). My weight has yo-yo'd all of my life, from 115 (at a time when I was struggling the most with depression and anxiety) all the way to 145 (when I had a constant inner monologue of treat yo self).

It's a work in progress, hence why it's one of my 30 Before 30 goals.

There are parts of my body that I hate (my arms) but also parts that I love (my butt) and even parts that I'm like yeah, okay whatever (hooray for small boobs!). Let's be real, I'm probably never ever going to love my big arms. But I have started to appreciate them. They help me do countless Chaturangas during an hour of yoga in a 90 degree room. I love that I'm one of the few females in my pilates and yoga classes to choose full plank push-ups. So although my arms are not as petite as I'd like them to be, they do a hella good job of getting me through a 6am yoga sesh.

Challenge: pick something you dislike (or even hate) about your body and instead of trying to to use the Snapchat beauty filter or just ignore its existence altogether, find a way to appreciate that part of you.

And if you can't do this for you, do it for the little girls who call you mommy, gramma, or auntie. We learn to hate our bodies from society so let's try to change the conversation.

If You're Happy and You Know It

Keep it to yourself. Just kidding. Kind of.

I recently had a friend (thanks, David) challenge me to set some pre-30 goals for myself. I was a little offended when he handed me the piece of paper with headers like "Physical Goals" and "Career Goals." Uhmmm I have the body of a goddess and I lean all the way in. I don't need goals. And then I actually thought about it.

I had realized long before this that I was unhappy. In my personal life. In my career. With my body. In fact, for at least the last year I had been asking myself, "What the eff do I want?"

And I wasn't able to come up with an answer, in large part, because I was terrified of the unknown.

What happens when I admit that my career isn't where I thought it would be? What happens when I admit that I thought I'd be married by now (gross)? What happens when I admit that I hate my body?

I was afraid of the truth and how that would affect my life. If I acknowledged that I was this incredibly unhappy I would also have to acknowledge that a change has to take place. And change is scary.

So I'm not happy and I'm not clapping my hands. But in the spirit of my midyear resolution of trying to be more positive, there is a silver lining here. Because I'm actually going to do something about it.

I have many goals that I want to accomplish by the time I'm 30 and I have listed them all below (more so for my own accountability than your approval) but I wanted to talk about three of them that I think will resonate with a lot of you. So over the course of the next few weeks, I'm going to write about these three areas - what they are, how I'm going to accomplish them, and ways for you to accomplish similar goals.

I hope I challenge you to be a better version of yourself regardless of whether you're 27 or 72. I hope I challenge you to stop and take stock of where you are at in your life, wherever that may be. Life gives us endless opportunities to reinvent ourselves, I hope you jump at them.

30 Before 30

Stop judging my writing style (and accept the genre I'm most clearly cut out for)

Write a novel (AKA, actually finish one that I start)

Continue blogging at least twice a week

Obtain a management position

Cut out all dairy from my diet

Drink at least the daily recommended amount of water (I am so bad at this)

Drink less coffee

Regularly work out five days a week

Learn how to play tennis (I'm serious)

Be able to do the middle splits (Yup, serious about this one too)

Run a full marathon

Attend regularly scheduled check ups with a therapist

Wear more sunscreen

Visit Europe

Visit Asia

Vacation on the west coast

Move to NYC (eek!)

Pay off all debt (including student loans)

Acquire $10k in savings (which I should totally already have but Crate & Barrel exists soooo)

Acquire $5k in an emergency fund

Triple what's currently in my retirement account

Move into a one bedroom apartment

Go skydiving

Learn a second language (this one might be lofty)

Learn how to change a tire

Learn how to sew 

Go on one date a month

Go on second dates

Stop ghosting on guys and actually tell them why I'm not interested

Stop taking it personally when someone isn't interested in me

My 2016 Summer Reading List

I'm trying to get back into my routine of regularly writing blog posts. My life is starting to slowly come back together and I'm no longer overwhelmed by the idea of committing to post two times a week. Did I mention my ability to handle stress? Ha. Anyways.

There is seriously nothing better than reading a juicy book while you're catching some rays next to a body of water. Alright, this scenario can always be improved by alcohol and cabana boys but I digress. So I wanted to share my shortlist of my summer reading. I say shortlist because there's about 30 books I want to read this summer and even I (a self-described logophile *Google it*) don't want to read a blog post consisting of 30 book reviews/synopeses so I've limited it to five. You're welcome.

Fair warning: I've only read two of these (The Cuckoo's Calling and Luckiest Girl Alive) and thus can only endorse these two with a clear conscience. I've heard only great things about the other three but hold on I'm getting ahead of myself. Ready? K. Here we go.

---

The Cuckoo's Calling - Robert Galbraith (AKA, J.K. Rowling)
AKA, the greatest author of the 21st century. This boss lady's ability to create worlds is on par with God himself. And while this is absolutely nothing like HP, you will still fall in love with her ability to describe her characters with so much detail that you feel like you have known them your whole life. This mystery was obviously a page-turner right up until the ending which caught me completely off-guard. I hate when I can figure out an ending before the author leads me there but Rowling kept me guessing and had me saying "holy shit" out loud when the big reveal was finally made. It was also incredibly refreshing that there was a lack of a love story. Insert clapping emoji here. There's also two other books (and counting) in the series sooo say goodbye to real life while you hibernate with these for the next few weeks.

Luckiest Girl Alive - Jessica Knoll
Holy eff. If you haven't already read this, you need to do it now. No. Seriously. Put down your phone and drive straight to your local library. I absolutely lovedddd the main character in this novel. Why? Because she was real. She was a bitch. She made mistakes. She hurt people. I'm over the damsel in distress bullshit. Ani saves herself. If I haven't already convinced you, read her article in Lenny Letter about her experience with sexual assault and how it influenced her novel. Excuse me while I silently sob at my desk and simultaneously scream 'GIRL POWER!'.

The Girls - Emma Cline
Charles Manson? Say no more. I'm hooked. Emma Cline sold her novel to Random House after 11 other publishers participated in a bidding war over publishing rights. So that tells me that this is going to be cray. This fictional piece about the girls in Charles Manson's intimate circle is a coming-of-age tale that's creating some serious buzz in the publishing world and it's next on my "to read" list.

SweetBitter - Stephanie Danler
I first heard about this novel from my idol, Miss America 2013 Mallory Hagan who slays in basically everything she does and says. If she's endorsing it, I'm in. Synopsis: Young girl moves to New York to "be somebody" and we get to watch as she either makes or breaks it.

The Assistants - Camille Perri
A group of assistants quit playing by the rules and start embezzling money to finally get ahead.  This looks incredibly entertaining. Ethics is for the birds.

---

This is in no way my complete list. I'm also throwing in some nonfiction like A Vast Conspiracy, a history of the events leading up to the impeachment of President Bill Clinton. What can I say? I'm a sucker for a sex scandal. Also, #HillzforPrez

Let me know if you are planning to read any of these. I'd also love to hear what you have on your list. Find me on Goodreads and let's be friends :)

Easy...Like Riding a Bike

You know those people who are just naturally good at whatever they do? The ones that are really good at a sport they've never even tried? Or can solve math problems that make your head hurt?

I am not one of those people.

I'm good at: writing (obviiiii), making people laugh, and watching TV. This is the extent of my natural ability. That's a lie. I'm also good at procrastinating, complaining, and eating. I digress.....

I am not good at a lot of things. I cannot handle stress. I have horrible balance. I'm short. I'm highly uncoordinated. Do you see where this is going? Riding a bike is not easy.

So because Metro is undergoing some serious maintenance for the next year (because they are a completely incompetent and corrupt transit system but that's a blog post for another day) I have resorted to biking into work. It's only 4 miles. "It's not that bad," I said. "It'll be fun," I said.

Today was day one.

First off, I borrowed this bike from my sister who is like 5 inches taller than me. Wait, let's go back - do bikes even come in sizes? Can I get a petite? I need a petite over here. Anyways, my feet don't touch the ground. I can barely stand on my tip toes on this thing and that's only if I lean the bike to one side.

It's also a Huffy. Okay, it's not actually a Huffy. I think the brand is Avalanche or something. Which may or may not be worse than Huffy because at least I've heard of Huffy. Regardless, this isn't a road bike for commuting. It's a huge piece of metal that will probably one day be my death trap. Honestly, I'm surprised I can stay upright. Which I actually can't. 

I fell over like 4 times today and every single time I was surrounded by people. Once was on M St. in the middle of Georgetown. If you don't know what that means, go to your nearest outdoor mall and imagine it being filled with rush hour traffic. Then fall over on a bike.

Getting to work was easy as far as actual physical exertion is concerned. It was basically all downhill. Getting home was almost impossible. There's a 260 ft elevation within the distance of one mile. Uhmm...how do you even bike up that without falling backwards? My thighs are still burning. And I could cry thinking about having to do it again.

How I managed to not get hit by a bus or a taxi or someone else on a bike I will never know. But I'm sure that day will soon be upon me.

Because this will be my main transportation for the next year.

All I can say is I better be in the best shape of my life when this is all over.

One

It's been one year.

I found him on Facebook the other day. I'm not sure what I was looking for. Would he have changed his profile picture to show him wearing a red 'R' on his chest? No, he's smiling at the camera while taking a selfie. Would he have typed some public, vague apology in a status update? No, he's posting about transgender bathroom rights.

And it's like I have to fight all over again. I fight him. I fight myself. I fight everyone else's thoughts about the situation and opinions about me. All at the same time.

* Did it really happen? * Did I imagine it? * I said no, right? * Maybe it was just an accident * Maybe I'm overreacting * It wasn't that bad * He didn't really hurt me * He must have had too much to drink * I guess I was dressed kind of provocative that night * I'm alive, aren't I? * He can't be a monster, he's in the Secret Service * I shouldn't have had that much to drink * Why didn't I have more to eat? * I should have drank more water * I shouldn't have gotten in his car * I shouldn't have gone in his apartment * What did I think was going to happen? * He did apologize the next day * 

It's amazing what your mind will do to you. And keep doing to you. Even after a year.

Last month, a woman was raped at knife point at 10am on a Tuesday while riding Metro - Washington, DC's public transit system - the same system I use almost every day. While I was checking emails, getting coffee, and probably bitching about work - she was below our feet being forced to pull down her pants as a man tried to penetrate her.

And I thought, I'm glad that wasn't me. But then I remembered.

You don't think it's going to happen to you. It's something that happens to people who aren't careful. Or maybe "they asked for it" (Just so you know - by definition, you can't ask for rape). You think it's something you see on the news. Or it happened to a roommate's friend in college. But never you. Yeah, I thought that too.

It's been one year.

And I can tell you that now more than ever I have a voice. I'm angry. I'm angry that this happened to me. And I'm angry that this continues to happen to millions of girls all over the world every day. And no one is saying anything about it. Because it wasn't them. It wasn't their daughter. Or mother. Or sister.

It might not be you today, but it might be you tomorrow. Please start saying something.

Online Dating Tips for Bros

I know, I've done it before. I've bitched about dating as an adult. And in an attempt to be a more positive person, I've prepared a quick "go-to guide" for you fellas to consult while constructing your online dating profile. Because sweet Jesus, I might be getting carpal tunnel from swiping left all day. I've outlined instances that constitute an immediate swipe left or swipe right based on my own experiences. Ladies, feel free to submit additions to either lists in the comments. Also: men, please stop using the opening line, "Hey." A head nod doesn't do it for me anymore because I'm not 15 years old. 

Automatic Swipe Left:

• Pics of you vaping in a button down shirt buttoned all. the. way. down.
• Pics of you vaping
• Group pics and only group pics. Where the fuck is Waldo?
• Wardrobes consisting of Hollister, Abercrombie, American Eagle, etc.
• Claiming to be 32 but looking 52.
• Claiming to be 32 but looking 12.
• Bathroom pics. How embarrassing.
• "Entrepreneur" as your occupation. AKA, unemployed.
• Any affiliation with the RNC/GOP. #HillaryforPresident
• Daywalker. I'm half ginge, I can't take any chances.
• Your bio lists all of the places you traveled. "OMG, you climbed Machu Picchu? Tell me more."
• Pics of you shooting a gun
• Talking about working on The Hill

Automatic Swipe Right:

• Pics of your puppy
• Pics of you and your puppy
• Pics of your puppy sleeping 
• Pics of your puppy with a baby 
• Pics of your puppy sleeping with a baby *Oh my ovaries*
• Quoting Step Brothers
• Quoting Happy Gilmore
• Quoting Home Alone

Me Too

I originally planned on simply typing out a quick Facebook status to thank everyone for the incredible support you showed me regarding my last post. But then I got a private message. And then another. And another. And I couldn't simply slap a thank you up on social media. I had to talk about it. Because not a lot of people are.

"Me too. That happened to me too."

My heart aches for all of you. I hate that someone took something so precious from you. I hate that now you have to wonder when to tell a guy. When is too soon? When is too late? I hate that you're afraid to tell your truth because you worry he'll be afraid to touch you. I hate that you're afraid for him to touch you.

"My mind was racing back through the years thinking of different situations...the way you so blatantly put some of that had me wondering if I could have been guilty of anything like that."

Please know that it's not enough to teach your daughters to be careful. It's not enough to tell them to never leave their drink unattended, always walk in packs, carry pepper spray. It's not enough because that doesn't prevent rape. Teach your sons to respect women. Teach them that sex is not something you take or beg for. It's something that should be willingly given.

Throughout this experience I've learned quite a bit about the process. I've learned that there are going to be fucking idiots who say the absolute worst thing you could possibly say to a sexual assault victim ("Did you learn your lesson?"). I've learned that there are a lot of these idiots out there. I've learned that not everyone is going to believe you. And I've learned that those people don't deserve to be in your life. I've figured out that you'll be fine for months and then one day something will remind you of him and you'll spend the rest of the night sitting in your shower trying to get clean.

I can't promise you that it will get better. Because the truth is, you've changed. There's no going back. But I can promise you that talking about it is the most liberating thing you can do. For me, it was the only power I had over him. He wasn't holding his hand over my mouth anymore.

I really struggled with whether or not I wanted to go public with this. I realized the risk. I realized that some people wouldn't be able to look at me the same. But if I was able to give comfort to someone or make someone else stop and think about their actions, I'd say it was worth it.

If you need someone to talk to, someone who has been through something similar, I'm here. Because it happened to me too.

I Didn't Know I Was Raped

On June 5th, 2015, I went out with a friend and had way too much to drink. I wore a short, tight dress with high heels and I made out with a guy I had just met. He was attractive, sweet, and funny. When we left the bar and started walking to his car which was parked in the White House Ellipse, I felt safe because he had told me he was in the Secret Service. He even showed me his badge. When I got into his car, I didn't have sex on my mind. I simply wanted to keep making out with this gorgeous man who I had just met. He told me he only lived a few miles away from my apartment.

Four hours later I'm sneaking out his front door to take a $60 Uber ride home. He did not live a few miles from me. He actually lived approximately 30 minutes from me. Instead of an innocent night of making out, I spent the rest of the night waiting until he fell asleep so I could leave undetected. I felt guilty and ashamed and embarrassed. Why? Because I didn't know I was raped.

I've watched enough TV to know what rape looks like. An attractive young girl is jogging through Central Park at night with her headphones in, completely unaware of her surroundings. All of the sudden, she's being pulled into the bushes by a big hulking masked male. She's screaming and kicking and fighting for her life while he beats her until she's quiet. That's rape. No questions asked.

So when I went home with my rapist by my own accord, made out with him until I had a scab on my chin from his beard, and let him kiss my breasts, I thought I had asked for it. It wasn't until he tried penetrating me that I started saying, "No, no no, no." Even as I was saying those words and he was pushing into me, I thought it was my fault. I didn't kick or scream. I just laid there, stunned into silence. Finally, after a few seconds, he pulled out of me and told me "we can just cuddle." So I let him spoon me until I heard his breathing steady and then I picked up my heels by the door and left his apartment barefoot.

He called me the next morning to apologize. He didn't say the "r" word. But he alluded to it. And I felt so guilty and ashamed of myself for having a one night stand that I said "It's okay." I then forced myself to date my rapist for an entire week. In my head, I had to make this into a relationship, even though I cringed every time he touched me. It wasn't until a week later when I told a friend what had happened that I started to see that I was wrong.

The very next day I called the RAINN (Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network) hotline. I explained what had happened to me with the complete stranger on the other end of the line. When I was done, I very timidly asked, "Is that rape?" I could feel the compassion through my phone as she answered, "Yes, that's rape." I felt like an idiot. I'm 26 years old. Shouldn't I know what rape is?

"You can say 'yes' to any sexual act leading up to penetration and still say 'no' to penetration."

When I heard those words it was like someone had flipped a switch. My brain, which had been working so hard to protect me for the last week by not letting me think the worst, finally gave in to the truth. I was raped. And I would have to get very used to saying those three words.

Before filing a police report, I made sure that I wasn't going to be forced to press charges. A police officer - someone you'd expect to be an expert in something like this - actually asked me in an accusatory tone, "Why wouldn't you want to press charges?" I was so fucking pissed someone, especially a man, would have the balls to ask me that question. Why wouldn't I? Well let's see...what if he comes after me, what if he shows up at my apartment, what if he tries to kill me, what if he denies it, what if he calls me a liar, what if people find out, what if people think it was my fault, what if he loses his job, what if I lose my job, what if this is on the news, what if my parents find out...? Also, why the fuck are my reasons any of your goddamn business?

Despite this horrible experience with law enforcement, I decided to meet with a police officer and officially file a police report. I sat in an interrogation room with my hands clutching a soggy, disintegrating tissue on a cold stainless steel table and told him everything that had happened. As he was finishing up his notes, I asked, "If you had a daughter, what would you tell her to do?" He didn't even miss a beat. He calmly looked right at me and said, "I do have a daughter and she wouldn't have a choice." I could have hugged him.

But I'm not an idiot. I've seen rape victims on the witness stand and I've watched as her testimony, her truth, her character, are torn to shreds. Jurors want a perfect victim. They like their rapes neat and tidy and able to fit in the pretty squares society draws for them. They like girls who don't drink and would never dream of having premarital sex. They like the Central Park victim.

The officer told me that regardless of what I eventually chose to do, it looks better to a jury that I follow protocol and go to the hospital for an exam. So that's exactly what I did.

The next day I got up and went to work. At 5:30 pm, I left and showed up on time to orientation at my new part-time job at Crate & Barrel. I smiled at customers and pretended I gave a fuck about how to train a candle to burn properly and why someone should pay $1,300 for a Wüsthof knife set. Around 8 pm, I took a city bus by myself to the nearest hospital that performs the SANE (Sexual Assault Nurse Examiner) exam, or for you Stabler and Benson fans, a rape kit.

When I got to the emergency room, I tried to whisper to the woman at the front desk that I was there to get a SANE exam. But she didn't know what that was. Here it comes. The first time I said it out loud. "I was raped."

She called the social worker on duty and I was escorted to a room I didn't even know existed in hospitals - a tiny living room full of pamphlets and tissue boxes, tucked away from the rest of the exam rooms. She asked me what happened. And I told her everything I had told the others that had asked that same question so many times in the last few days. She phoned the on-call nurse who is qualified to administer these exams. And the nurse told her what I already knew - it had been a week and a half since the rape took place; there was no evidence to collect. The best thing they could do was to admit me to the ER for a pelvic exam in addition to an STD and pregnancy test.

I sat and waited to be triaged. When my name was called, I sat in a chair while my blood pressure and pulse were taken and I provided answers to questions I can't even remember now. I was escorted to a second waiting room and waited and waited with others for a bed and a room to become available. I remember watching the news and thinking how bizarre this all is. Here I am surrounded by people with swollen ankles and upset stomachs and I'm here to make sure I don't have chlamydia and an unwanted pregnancy. My tests came back negative and I ended up taking a cab ride home at 4 am the next morning, my eyes swollen from sobbing and exhaustion.

A few weeks later, I recieved a bill in the mail for $2,000. What a shitty year to have high-deductible insurance. I'm quite literally paying to get raped. I called my insurance company who said they couldn't cover it. I called the hospital charity care service who said they couldn't cover it. I then applied to Virginia's Criminal Injuries Compensation Fund who denied my claim twice because in order to receive support, I have to follow the guidelines which require that I "fully cooperate with law enforcement." AKA, if I want them to pay for it, I need to press charges.

A couple weeks after the rape, I met with an attorney and family friend that handles sexual assault cases to discuss my options. After a few glasses of wine and some soggy tissues we came to a decision.

I know some of you aren't going to get it. In fact, most of you probably won't. Why don't I want to press charges? The following has been playing on repeat in my mind for the last 10 months:  I feel bad that my rapist may lose his job in the Secret Service. Then I am angry with myself for sympathizing with him. I tell myself that I didn't ask to get raped, this wasn't my fault. Next, I feel guilty that I'm even using the term "rape" when there are women who are beaten or even murdered after they have their bodies violated. Then I feel sorry for myself for even letting myself think that. I owe it to the millions of other girls who went through something similar to call it what it was. I was raped.

Add to that the very low chances of this going in my favor and that's when I tap out. I'm not going to put myself through that because I don't know that I'll make it out alive.

The same day I decided not to press charges I sent him a text message telling him what he did was rape and asked him not to contact me again. One text message and five missed phone calls later, he respected my wishes. I haven't heard from him or seen him since.

I still look out for his car whenever I'm coming home. I'm paranoid that he's going to show up at my apartment unannounced. Every time I see a black SUV with tinted windows and Secret Service license plates, I  can feel him staring at me from inside the vehicle. It's an irrational fear and I know that. But it doesn't make it any less real to me.

I'm telling you this because there is very little power I have over this situation. The only thing I can do is write about what happened and hope that someone hears me. I hope that women read this and know that rape is rarely what you see on TV. I hope men read this and know that they alone have the power to eradicate sexual violence.* I hope everyone reads this and remembers to always believe a victim, always support them, and just. fucking. listen.

Survivors, please hear me: whatever you are feeling is what you should be feeling. Whatever you are doing to cope (as long as it doesn't harm you) is the right way to cope. There is no textbook on surviving a sexual assault and we all handle it differently. Do not let anyone tell you that you are doing it wrong. You are fucking surviving. And that is exactly what you are supposed to be doing.

*I recognize that sexual violence is committed by both males and females. For my purposes as it relates to what happened to me, I am defining the perpetrator as a male. 

Good Grief

If I've learned one thing as an adult it's that really shitty things can happen to people who don't deserve it. Cancer. Divorce. Rape. I've known too many people whose routine lives have betrayed them. They lifted their head off of their pillow one morning and laid it back down that very night a completely different person. It can happen in an instant and we're never prepared for it. We're never prepared for our lives to come to a grinding halt and make us question everything around us.

When that happens - when life gives you whiplash - I want you to remember something.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with thinking about it. And talking about it. And thinking and talking about it again. And again. And again. There's nothing wrong with crying in the shower at the end of a really shitty day, letting the tears go down the drain. Moving on doesn't mean pretending it never happened. It doesn't mean never letting it impact you.

The truth is, it's now a part of you. It's something you have to live with. Maybe it's still an open wound. Maybe it's now a scar. Eventually you're going to go all day without thinking about it. But then you'll come home, shed the clothes, shed the makeup and there it is underneath it all -  a permanent reminder of the pain you once felt. The pain you're still feeling now. I want you to know that it's okay to feel that pain.

Don't let anyone make you feel like you've worn out that conversation. That you should be "over it" by now. Or that it's no longer relevant. Don't let anyone tell you that what you went through isn't significant. That you aren't allowed to hurt. You are owed that. You deserve that. You deserve to grieve.

Lounge Love

If you've been following me for even a month, you probably know by now that I have a serious obsession with all things Crate & Barrel. I fell in love with one of their sofas a year and a half ago and knew back then that I had to have it. After working at Crate for six months to be able to afford it, I was finally able to purchase the Lounge II back in November. And then I had to wait three long months for this gorgeous lady to be made and delivered to me. You guys. This is the most expensive thing I've ever purchased but it was 100% worth every penny. I was totally composed literally jumping up and down when they were walking it through my door. 

In the market for a new sofa? I can definitely recommend the Lounge II. Most of my friends fall into the single and desperately alone category or the married with a litter of children category. I'm telling you, this will work for either. 

Forty. Eight. Inches. Deep. In case you can't do the math, that's four feet. AKA, 75% of my body. This is like a Yao Ming sized sofa. 

I live in a studio apartment so it was important to me that I purchase a sofa that can pull double-duty as a guest bed. I think that was accomplished. It was also important to me that I have clean lines. I have an aversion to slip-covered sofas for this very reason. This sofa struck the perfect balance between being able to sink into it without looking too casual. 

I had a hard time letting go of the woven fabric that came stock. In the end, I knew that because my cat is an asshole the fabric would inevitably pull and snag. I'm also a 12 year old living in a 26 year old's body so the high-performance fabric (think velvet, not microfiber) was just a more realistic option for me. That being said, I haven't yet felt confident enough to sip red wine on this thing without first laying down a tarp towel. 

So far, no complaints other than the fact that I have a job and can't lounge on this thing 24/7.

If you have any questions that I didn't answer here, let me know. Happy sofa hunting!

MIA

It's been a while. Like way too long. Here's the thing...

I've talked about my battle with anxiety and depression before (if you want a recap, read about it here). I don't think it's something you can be magically cured from. For me anyways, I think this will be something I will struggle with for the rest of my life. Don't get me wrong, I'm not walking around in a cloud of depression and anxiety 24/7. In fact, for the last 4-5 years, I have been feeling like my "normal" self. But there are times when I start to spiral and it always catches me off guard. It's like I forgot how disabling it can be. And then I quickly remember. Eff. 

I manage my anxiety very well without medication (*brushes shoulder off*). At night, I take hot baths to calm myself down and reset my head. I work through it during the day - sometimes the adrenaline from an anxiety attack is like a shot of espresso and I find myself whooping ass and taking names. This is what my days are like on average. But sometimes during extremely stressful times (aka the last 4 weeks of my life), it has the complete opposite effect. It's debilitating. I can't think. I literally can't move. My heart feels like it's going to beat out of my chest. And all of the sudden everything is wrong and I cannot see past the obstacle immediately in front of me.

Most of you won't understand this and I've learned to accept it. I can't tell you how many time I've received the sage advice, "just don't think about it." Oookkkaayyyy.... It doesn't work like that. It's not something I can shut off. Can you turn off your diabetes? Didn't think so. It's an illness that requires management, maintenance, and sometimes medication (didn't even plan that alliteration but you're welcome (I wanted so badly to throw in "meditation")).

Okay, I'm done harping. But I wanted to give an explanation for why I've been absent. To be honest, you're probably going to hear crickets from me for the next 4 weeks. But I'll be back. Promise :)

In the mean time, please watch this video as it will never not be funny.

Dear Raleigh

I know you just got here, but there are a few things I think you should know before you're carried out those hospital doors.

Your mom is going to be your best friend. There will be times in your life when you won't get along with her. You might even say "I hate you" after she strictly enforces your curfew. Your personalities might clash and you will more than likely disagree on just about everything. But I promise you, there will come a day when you realize you can tell her absolutely everything with no judgement. You will realize that she loves you so fiercely, others can't even fathom it.

Learn to love your body. Regardless of how you grow into it, I want you to know that it is perfect. It is a work of art. It is composed of trillions and trillions of cells that are working together to allow you to breathe and walk and see. I want you to look in the mirror every day and know that you are enough. I mourn the day someone makes you feel like you're not. Be in love with every inch of your body. Take care of it. Cherish it. And please don't try to look like anyone else. Your curves and scars and bony flesh are what make you so beautiful.

Be careful of who you give your heart to. Falling in love is one of the best things this life has to offer. But whoever this person is, man or woman, they should be in awe of who you are. They should respect you. Your ideas. Your body. Your emotions. They should care for you as if you are an extension of themselves. The second they are giving you anything less, walk away. Don't waste this beautiful gift of love on them.

Girls can be mean. This doesn't end after elementary school. Or middle school. Or high school. Or college. It doesn't end when you become an "adult." There are mean girls everywhere. Pick your friends wisely. Choose the ones that make you feel good about who you are. Choose the ones that pick your side, no matter what. And you might only have one. I promise you, this person will be your soul mate. Your confidante. They will help you pick up the broken pieces of yourself when you are shattered. They will rejoice with you when you are invincible. Don't let this person go.

I love you little Raleigh. I haven't even met you yet and my heart is already swelling with pride and love for who you are and who you are going to be.

Sending all of my love to my best friend and her fiance who just welcomed their first child into this world. Xoxo.

Blizzard 2016

You guys. It's day four of being stuck inside my apartment due to this blizzard. I've run out of Prosecco. I ate an entire pan of brownies. I feel like I can finally relate to Tom Hanks now (Wilsssooonnnn!). I've started talking to my cat. Like I've actually started to ask him questions. I've watched all four seasons of New Girl on Netflix (omg, Schmidt and CeCe!). I've lost the will to live. I think I'm actually looking forward to going into work tomorrow. What is happeninggggg?!

Anyways, if you're still stuck inside, I recommend the following based off of my own experiences:

• Watch the entire Harry Potter series from beginning to end (drink anytime someone says Harry's full name)
• Organize closets and drawers (drink anytime you throw something away)
• Bumble and Tinder (drink anytime you match with someone)
• Watch people get stuck in the snow outside (drink anytime it's with a 4 wheel drive vehicle)
• Workout (rehydrate with alcohol)
• Catch up on laundry (drink every time you find a sock's mate)

As you can see, I've basically been drunk since 10am on Friday. I actually did venture outside once to go to a yoga class and found myself up to my thighs in snow trying to cross the road. I'm not leaving again until it's absolutely necessary (aka I run out of whiskey or my office opens back up). 

I have some fun things to tell you guys about in the next couple of weeks so make sure you check back soon! Stay warm friends!

Not a Friday Favorite

I 100% don't feel like writing a Friday Favorites post today. I had the graphic all set up to go but I just wasn't feeling it. First off, it's a long weekend so basically the only thing on my mind right now is getting as far away from my place of employment as possible, having wine for dinner and sleeping in until noon. Also, my Friday Favorites posts are notoriously my least viewed posts. I'm telling myself it's because people have better things to do on a Friday and not because of the content. Just roll with it. 

So here's a Friday post that has nothing to do with my favorite anythings.

I've learned a lot about myself in the last year. And I'm not just saying that to say that. I've had a lot happen in my life the last 365 days. I'm not going to lie, it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. I had to deal with some things I never thought I'd have to deal with. And some of those things I'm still dealing with. But I also had a lot of pretty great things happen to me too. 

Anyways, the number one thing I've learned about myself this past year is that I get bored easily. Which I guess could be a bad thing but it's also pretty awesome. I love to learn new things. I really could go to school the rest of my life if it meant I could study whatever interested me. And I have a lot of interests. Art. History. Yoga. Travel. Literature. I could go on and on and on and never be satisfied. And I don't have the passport stamps to prove it, but I'd love to just get on a plane and go live somewhere different for a year. I want to feel, see and taste different things. Live the way other people do for a change. 

A lot of my friends are married with kids right now. And as much as I hate to admit it, it sometimes bothers me that I'm not at that point in my life yet. More often than not though, I'm so glad I'm not there. I'm much too selfish to give up my own freedom right now. And I'm 100% okay with that. There is way too much to do and way too much to see. I'm not ready to sacrifice that.

So there you go. A Friday post that has nothing to do with favorites. It really has nothing to do with anything. I just wanted to share what has been on my mind these last few days. Also, I apologize that this post was a bit more sappy and a lot less vulgar than usual. 

Happy Friday, loves. Spend your long weekend wisely!

Thoughts I Have While Running

I've been having fun with these "stream of consciousness" posts I've been doing lately. I thought I'd do one on running because I know I can't be the only one here! Currently on week 3 of my half marathon training plan...

Okay. It's only 6 miles. Sixty minutes. That's like only 17 songs on Bieber's new album. I can run for 17 songs. I wonder what I look like running. This wedgie is seriously cutting off the circulation to my left ass cheek. Oh my god I need that puppy in my life. How has it only been .5 miles? Ohhh, love this song. Seriously, I wonder if I look like Phoebe running. Slow song. Skip. Tourists, I will run into you if you don't share the effing sidewalk. LEFT! How do people talk and run? I can barely think and run. PUPPY! If I slow down maybe I can hit that red light and catch my breath. Oh, he's cute. Heyyyy. Why are my calves on fire? Why are my quads on fire? Shin splints. Forgot about those. What a bitch. I could really go for a Mickey D's fry right about now. What should I make for dinner? I hate running. Hate. Hate. Hate. Oh goody, only 5 more miles to go.

I know you feel me. You know those people that say, "once you do it, you'll feel better." I want to punch those people between the eyes. I never feel good after! And on that note, good luck with your work outs today! 

Friday Favorites

So in case you didn't pick it up from my 2015: Year in Review post, I quit my job at Crate & Barrel. I basically have been burning the candle at both ends between the two jobs and school plus other responsibilities. Honestly, I think that's why I've been getting sick so much. Too much stress. I have plans to go back eventually because I love my C&B discount - which saved me $$$ six hundy $$$ on my sofa (it gets delivered next month! EEK!). So this week's Friday Favorites post is basically an ode to Crate. They just came out with a TON of new products for the new year and I have so many favorites that I wish I could turn this post into a series - one for every room of the house. Most of my favorites are for the kitchen which sucks because I don't need any of this. But maybe you do! Enjoy!

1. French Kitchen Bakers Rack // 2. Behmor Connected 8 Cup Coffee Maker // 3. Lure Patina Bronze Chandelier // 4. Kitchen Conversion Cutting Board // 5. Coffee and Tea Canister // 6. Woven David Diskin Print

I dream of a day where I have a kitchen large enough to warrant hanging a $1,400 chandelier. Until then, I'll stare longingly at Crate's website. I'm really feeling the black and white contrast for kitchens. It's very clean. Also, I have an aversion to buying prints and not originals, but isn't that thing gorgeous? And you guys, that coffee maker is "connected", i.e., you can turn it on via an app from the comfort of your warm bed. Like I always say, I'm into it if it means I don't have to put pants on. Check out the rest of their new products and try not to fill your cart with all of these goodies. Someone please let me decorate your house with your money! Happy Friday lovelies!

Thoughts on Possibly Dying

Wake up in the middle of the night and wonder what you could have done to deserve your throat feeling like the gates of Mordor.

Embrace the risk of choking on a cough drop while you sleep because sweet relief is on the other side of that wrapped paper.

Forget how many times you self-medicated with Robitussin PM in the middle of the night because you're delirious from all of the Robitussin PM you self-medicated with.

Sweet Jesus, where is all this shit coming from?!?!

Upon waking up from a restless night's slumber, guzzle the entire half gallon of organic orange juice in your fridge in hopes that Vitamin C is your cure.

Wonder why your neighbors aren't concerned about the coughing and gagging noises coming from your apartment.

Become so desperate for compassion that you are willing to accept it from your cat who is sometimes an asshole. Except he doesn't want anything to do with me.

Wonder how many episodes of 48 Hours is acceptable to watch during the day. Also wonder if it is acceptable to not put pants on. 

Make soup with whatever is in your fridge that isn't expired. In my case, green beans, corn, cabbage, carrots, potatoes and peas.

Somebody please tell me why my immune system is the absolute worst. I will take all of the advice I can get right now. I hope your first Monday of 2016 was better than mine!