Firstly, HAPPY NEW YEAR! ::pops prosecco::

Secondly, this post has nothing to do with ketchup or eggs, but it pulled you in. Before I begin, this post will be about me and sex, so if you feel the urge to judge. Do not read. If you are tempted to text me and tell me that, “This is a bit much, don’t you think?” Do not continue reading. If you think you will be tempted to forward this to my mum. Know what’s good for you and click the “x” at the top left corner of your web browser, right now. If you are family and think you will be tempted to remind me about God and sin and sex and etc., don’t do it. Don’t even think twice about it, because I will unfriend on all social media and block all contact. [You know I will. I’ve done it before, and you know who I’m talking about.]

But most importantly, if you feel the need to sex shame in any way, shape, or form, due to your personal beliefs, inadequacies, or insecurities exit stage left, and do not try to sneak in from the employee smoker’s break area (aka the cracked door next to the garbage bin.) If I won’t follow 10 Trash Snipe Commandments (pictured below)from barely Grammy nominated, barely rappers – wait, has Montana ever been nominated. I won’t be checking, but let’s go with a safe “no!” – know I won’t be taking it from other “Let me tell you what sex is, and about, but I don’t pay your bills.” Thanks, but no thanks. You can keep that for garbage day.


Are we good? Ok.

Many of you know my dating life is non-existent. I’ve tried apps and dating sites, but it’s not for me. [I’ll write about my Bumble experience soon… promise.] It just isn’t. [And don’t try to recommend any new apps… I’m over it.] And I don’t know if I’m more interested in the dating aspect of things, or trying to appease family that question why I’m not engaged at 30, let alone have a boyfriend, when all I really want is sex.

Every year I make some resolutions about working towards success and losing weight. Every year I start the year out right, but focus so much on “what if I don’t…” that I spiral into an unhealthy obsession pushing myself to sickness like clockwork. Work, work, ill/work, anxiety/work, depression/work, feel inspired/work, seeing benefits/work, work, birthday/work, work, mental breakdown/work, then comes a new year. So come 2017, I won’t be doing that. [Except, I will be working.]

In 2017,  there will be S-E-X. Maybe not a lot, but it will be happening. It may not be good, but you can work on that. There will definitely be laughter, because that’s what I do, and they [the partner] will have to deal with happening at the most inappropriate moments.

Why you ask? There’s been a fear and insecurity linked with the idea of sexual intercourse, that literally paralyzes me by the thought of it. And I can’t continue sweating, or giggling, or making incoherent sounds when someone of interest tries to hold my hand or hug me. [Yes, this still happens.] I need to no longer be shamed for what is natural. Like breastfeeding in public.

So, yeah!

Until Mariah Carey finds the mole who’s trying to ruin her career,



This is me on New Year’s Eve popping that prosecco. Shout out to the Caroline Reuschel Bridal Luncheon for the hookup!

P.S. 2017 will also bring living the solo life. The roommate sitch is not for me anymore. I need to be able to walk around pantless in more areas than just my bedroom.

P.P.S. A huge thanks to The Blackjoy Mixtape for putting all of this into perspective for me to be confident enough to put it to paper. Or Microsoft Word.

P.P.P.S. Ketchup on eggs is actually gross. It makes my stomach turn just seeing people put it on them.