Valuable Life Lessons for My Lovable Sons

First of all, I obviously do not yet have children. However, I do live with 3 men. Yup, that’s right, I live with 3 grown men. Nearly every female I know asks, “How do you do it? And why?!” I then share with them the exact reasons why, which are incredibly practical, but I often walk away from the conversation wondering how and why I do it too! I have lived with them for the last year and a half, and it never occurred to me why the universe worked my life out this way until a few weeks ago; I need to know what it is like to live with boys, so I better understand how to guide, mentor, and educate my own.

My fiancé has a mantra, if you will, with regards to the next generation: “I only produce boys.” Yes, it is absolutely true that he believes he will only produce male children. I have decided that the universe will grant me with at least one girl aka my new best gal pal, but in the event that I bear primarily male children, or all male children (say it won’t be so!), I want to begin contemplating the lessons I will teach them. I have experience with men, obviously, but it is another animal living with them. And although all of the lessons are not ones that I learned from the 3 of them, here, in this house, the process of becoming a #BoyMom has commenced. So here it goes…


My Future Sons, keep a clean house and a clean car. Growing up, these habits will be enforced by your momma, as I am a controlling neat freak, but carry my example into adulthood. Your future roommates, girlfriends, and wives (or husbands!), will love and appreciate your efforts to organize and purify your dwelling spaces. This includes, but is not limited to: washing your own dishes, throwing away your trash, bi-annually clearing out your closet, and rinsing away the bi-products of your last shave from the bathroom sink.

My Future Sons, strive for nearly impeccable personal hygiene. While Momma knows that she came from a state where guys go tanning and wax their eyebrows, I don’t expect primping to this level. However, every man owes it to himself, and to those around him, to learn proper grooming habits. For example, brushing your teeth every day is not optional, it is mandatory. Showering after sweating should not occur the next day, it should occur within several hours. And so on.

My Future Sons, no means no. If a girl says no, it means NO. If you’re not sure, or think she might mean yes, but the word “yes” never actually passes her lips, it means no. Momma understands; girls have a way sometimes of saying no when they really mean yes. However, this is only applicable to you in an already loving and meaningful relationship. For example, sometimes Momma tells Dad no, but he knows she really means yes. [Insert mental picture of my sons squirming, covering their ears, and pleading with me to stop talking]. Moving on.

My Future Sons, have confidence in everything you do. This is the key to success, to love, to life, to everything. Know that Momma loves you no matter what.

My Future Sons, there is no such tolerance for the statement, “That’s a woman’s job.” By the time you are in the workforce, I’m sure that most of your bosses will be women. It fills Momma’s heart with joy to know that your one sister will reap the benefits of the current women’s movement. As for you, I have no doubt that you will prosper if you respect that movement. However, there is a tolerance, in very few cases, for the statement, “That’s a man’s job.” Jobs for men include dealing with mice and insects where they don’t belong, taking out the gross trash, grilling steaks, opening pickle jars, and reaching for platters on the highest shelves. Momma and your future sister thank you for handling such matters.

My Future Sons, be believers in expressing emotions, showing affection, and the power of the universe. You have little choice in the matter, as Momma relies on the universe for nearly everything; I will talk to you about it from the time you are in the womb. Understand that your belief and your actions regarding these matters will prove you to be strong men, not weak. Real men are men who take action, and not just on a football field, but in what they believe is right. Be able to say, “I love you,” without a flinch or a grimace.

My Future Sons, be those men that people describe as “the good ones.” Let your friends, your teachers, your co-workers, your family, and the barista at the coffee shop, describe you each individually as “a good guy.” Momma was always a good girl, and still is, but I remember the temptation to stray from that reputation. I remember, especially in the younger years, how it isn’t cool to be the good kid, but trust me, it pays off later in life. And if I find out that you are behaving as anything but good guys, oh bless your hearts, you thought Daddy was scary…

And finally, My Future Sons, always call your momma! Like I said, I will talk to each of you, from the day I know you’re in there about life, about love, about the cookie I’m eating, about your dad, about what your future holds, about Sassarella Says, about everything…so talk to me too. I want to hear everything you have to say. I want to hear your every thought, your every fear, your every hope, every goal, and every passion you have about anything. You are what my world revolves around, and I want you to fill it with as much content as possible.

I’m sure I will continue to stumble upon the endless lessons I want to teach you but that’s all for now. And I just have one question for everyone reading: Was anyone else reading that in a Southern accent?

And this. Because, well, obviously.

And this. Because, well, obviously.


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The Top 5 New Year’s Resolutions

2015 was a great year for me: I got engaged, I became an aunt, I got promoted twice-ish, I traveled to Mexico three times, I ran a 1/2 marathon with my mom, I kept the weight off, I got a new car, I saw Mumford and Sons, I went to a Tay Tay concert, I met the cast of Bachelor in Paradise, I was featured on Nikki Bella’s Instagram, I reconnected with Down Dog Yoga, and I saw a live Flo Rida concert on the beach. Aaaaand of course I did all of this with great family and friends by my side. So as 2016 approaches I got to thinking about New Year’s resolutions. Here are some typical New Year’s resolutions and why I will not be committing to one:

  1. Lose Weight: Have you tried Kanye’s Workout Plan? Nahhh, I kid, I kid. To lose weight used to be a resolution for me but I’ve learned that this resolution rarely works. Losing weight has to come from within, a true need for it. I’ve talked about this before: I’ve always found that to really lose weight, unfortunately, you have to reach an absolute level of disgust with yourself before you make it happen. And yeah, nearly two years ago now, I lost the weight. Now every day it’s just a constant teeter totter of where I stand. Up a pound one week, down a pound the next. I’ve accepted that this will be the case for my ENTIRE life.
  2. Eat Healthy: I eat healthy enough to keep me sane. By that I mean that I eat salads without dressing and bacon regularly, I rarely eat sweets, I don’t do fried food, and I have been dairy free for the last 6 weeks. Yes, that means no cheese, no butter, no yogurt, no milk. If it comes from a cow, I ain’t eating it. [Little secret though: I have a container of shaved Parmesan cheese in my fridge, nothing fancy, just from the grocery store. Every couple of days, I take ONE sliver and eat it. AMAZE]. And yes, I drink. I drink when the occasion strikes or when I’m in the mood. And, omigod don’t hate me, but since I’ve been back to hot yoga, I don’t need the wine to wind me down after work anymore. So yeah, maybe once a week I have alcohol. Eating healthy is part of my lifestyle, as they say, so it would be a lame resolution if I chose it, so I won’t.
  3. Save Money: I could always save more money all the time, that’s true. However, I make an effort to save the same amount of money every month, and with the exception of probably December and January of each year, I hit the mark. I’m actually annoying about it. In fact there are instances when it would be fine to take a few hundred dollars out, “that’s what it’s there for,” but I won’t. I want to hold onto that money forever and watch it grow. …Until of course I want a house with a big yard, new appliances, and a nice couch.
  4. Get Organized: I am the most organized, type-A, freak there is. My clothes are organized by style and color. I have folders and notebooks for everything. My work email account and its folders are on fleek. My bills are paid on-time. My car is spotlessly clean. Everything I own has a place. I think you get the point.
  5. Quit Smoking: Easy. I don’t smoke. Never have. Never will.

So, Sass, what is your New Year’s resolution? Well this is the first year in a long time that I really want to set one. There is something I’ve been meaning to do for at least two years that I haven’t made the consistent time for. It’s very important to me, my future, and my non-existent children! Where in the world are you going with this? I need to learn re-learn Spanish. I took Spanish throughout middle school, high school, and some of college. I can confidently say that I never achieved below a B in any of those classes but, unfortunately, it was in one ear and out the other. For those who don’t know, my feyonce is bi-lingual, as his parents and relatives primarily speak Spanish. I want to be able to freely converse with my in-laws and more importantly, I want my future kids to speak fluently. In order for them to learn, I know I will need to be fluent as well. And if I’m not, and they learn anyway, so help me if I’m the only one in the room that doesn’t know what is being said, I’ll die!

So this year, I am committing 15 minutes a day to learning re-learning Spanish. Perhaps 15 minutes doesn’t seem like a lot, and on some days it won’t be, but on most, I will likely have to schedule the time. I already have the Rosetta Stone and the Duolingo app downloaded. I can do it, I know that, but I need to commit and I need to commit publicly. Remember what happened the last time I committed to something publicly? I lost nearly 15 pounds. So, let’s do this, kids!

P.S. I’m fairly certain I already have 2017’s resolution: Be confident enough to actually speak the language I’ve learned to my in-laws 🙂


Peace out, 2015!

– Sass

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The B!tch and the Box: A Sexy Safeway Story

I had an experience recently at the grocery store that needs to be shared. I went to “The Sexy Safeway” outside of Chinatown on my way home from work. If you’re not from or do not live in DC, you won’t know that every Safeway has a nickname. The Harris Teeters and the Giants aren’t nicknamed, but for some reason, all of the Safeway stores throughout the city have a nickname. Anyway, I went to the Sexy Safeway. I walked in, got my cart, and started in the fresh produce section. Since I am dairy-free these days, this section is extremely important to me. I take it very seriously. I also have an extreme hatred for leaving produce and having to go back if I’ve forgotten something. Due to that hatred, I really focus in on the salad works, fruits, and veggies. I took a turn towards the purple onions when I caught a gentleman sailing through the store as if he was on a runway. He pushed the cart with a flare I had not seen before. He seemed to be coming towards me. [Gasp!] “To interrupt my focus?” I thought. No way, get outta here! Turns out he was seeking his partner who was looking into the white onions behind me.

“Ello, love!” He said in his English accent. After no response, he continued to his partner, “Yes, dear. Get one firm, you know, like my bum.” He giggled. I looked up at him and giggled back. I quickly moved on to the next aisle…halfway down I realized I forget to get the crunchy salad toppers I love. F*ck.

In this aisle I encountered a very fit woman with curly, long blonde hair, a bit exotic looking, she was very pretty. She had her son with her in the cart. All I heard was, “Ok baby, I’m going to put this back,” and off he went into tears. For a minute they were real, but they quickly turned into those kid tears that are so fake that I don’t even know how they keep ’em going! It’s just noise with an occasional nose sniffle and a big breath in. Good god. I got out of there quickly.

I skip most aisles in the middle, as I don’t eat much processed food, (snob alert), but I stopped in the chip aisle for Eatsmart Veggie Crisps (for me) and Doritos (for my feyonce). This is a good 5 aisles away from the kid and dontchu know, there they were! #WTF How did you two get here? Get outta here!

Moving on to the deli counter, which is another 3-4 aisles away from the chips, I thought I’d get some food for my man, as I would be out of town for a few days that week. So first of all, I HATE the deli counter. I hate waiting in line. I hate when the person ahead of me orders 6 things. I hate when I order 3 things and the person behind me is breathing down my neck. And I generally dislike all of the deli clerks in all major DC grocery stores. I usually stand there like an a$shole while 3 different people watch me wait. One of them I guess finally takes one for the team to help me out. And God forbid I want one of the pre-made salads and you have to come from out behind the counter to get it. There is one nice deli guy at Giant on H Street, but otherwise, they’re a bunch of jabronis. Anyway, I ordered some cold cuts and asked about the pre-made salads. And on this day, I was struck by how friendly the woman serving me was. For the win! The win did not last long though because while I was standing there, waiting for the large order of pasta salad with bacon and cheese and the small order of creamy shrimp salad, I had an urge to tell everyone around me that the food wasn’t for me. I thought about saying something like, “If only I could eat like this!” I felt like everyone was judging me, and I really wanted people to know that the food I was ordering was for a man, not for my yoga 3-4 times a week frame. Don’t worry, I decided I wouldn’t actually make an announcement.

Then, believe it or not, the lady with the baby came up behind me. She moved towards the counter, literally right in between two “WET FLOOR” signs. I had an out of body experience, I looked at her, and said, “Oh be careful, it’s wet there.” What? Who I am? Talking to people? Being nice? Being nice to someone who’s annoyed me down every aisle? Oh stop. Get outta here! I waited a few minutes longer for the meats and salads. In those minutes, she muttered something about being in a rush, but I stood my ground with my arms crossed across my chest. Another woman behind her noticed my ring and complimented how beautiful it is. The woman was probably my age, give or take, and I recalled being in stores, noticing women’s rings, and wanting one. I always assumed women with nice rings had it all figured out. Anyway, that’s a can of worms for a different time.

Now I have to go back to the produce section, all the way across the store, for the crunchy salad toppers, obvs. I noticed that the croutons and such had moved to the front corner of the store. I walked my cart over that way but I left it a few feet from where I needed to go. There was another cart loaded with empty boxes placed nearly in the aisle way, clearly someone was finishing unloading stock or something, I’m not sure. I was devastated to learn that Safeway does not seem to be carrying its name brand, “Asian Blend Gourmet Salad Toppers,” any longer. [That reminds me, I need to google it and order it in bulk from the website]. I hemmed and hawed over the other options, literally walked back and forth. I finally made a decision, put it in my cart, and headed towards the cashier. As I walked by, having nothing to do with my direct movement, a box fell from the top of the other cart. I was already passed it far enough that I didn’t even notice that it fell onto some flowers. Two more steps away, and the florist says to my back, “That’s it, knock it over into the flowers and don’t pick it up.”

Oh no she didn’t.

I whipped around, “Actually, you didn’t see me knock ANYTHING over. I didn’t touch it,” I sassed at her. At this point, I can see now, as she’s picking up the box, that it fell into some poinsettia plants……..I love poinsettia plants. My mother decorated our entire house growing up with them at Christmas time every year. And not for nothing but, I am the girl that when she tries on clothes at the mall, puts every item back on the hanger, right-side out, buttons buttoned, and zippers zipped! I am the girl who puts the shoes back in the box how she found them…even at DSW. I am the girl who stacks all the plates and silverware at restaurants before the server picks it all up. I’m the girl who walks aisles away to put an item back in its place if I decide I no longer want it. You will not find any apples in with the spaghetti as long as I’m around!

I am a rule follower, damnit. I have also spent time working in retail and hospitality and know just how frustrating the laziness of shoppers in stores can be! I am not a lazy or disrespectful shopper.

To my sass, she responded, “Oh yeah, yes you did. I saw you. I see your type every day.” And by my type, I can only assume, that she was judging me to be a basic white b!tch, who couldn’t possibly know what it means to have someone disrespect her place of work. Beeeeeeetch, I may be in this store in my black suit, my clickity-clackity heels, and a very fall festive, pumpkin-spice orange trench coat, but don’t even act like you know me.


I can remember years ago, standing downstairs at Rhino, watching a kid take two full pitchers of Miller Lite, hold them out in front of him, and dump them both onto the floor. Beer spilled everywhere. Right after he threw the pitchers onto the ground, he SPIT into the mess. Now, he was hammered and trying to piss off his friends, but I still grabbed him by arm and yelled, “DO I SPIT IN YOUR LIVING ROOM? THIS IS MY HOUSE, DON’T DISRESPECT IT AGAIN.” Yeah, so there were very little rules at this establishment. Anyway, “My type?” I questioned. “And by my type you mean what? Please. Explain. Right, you don’t want to go there with me right now. You know that,” I yelled as she retreated back behind the florist counter.

Like, are YOU kidding me? Did that just happen? “A brawl in the grocery store,” I muttered to the other basic white b!tch looking girls around me. And ya know, I got no Ya-Ya love. They both ducked their heads as low as possible. The one must have picked up the most interesting bag of lettuce the world has ever seen, she stared at it so intensely.

So now I’m fired up and have to check out. Every line is stretched so long that they extend into the shopping aisles. I picked the one that looked to be the shortest and sent these to my feyonce, excuse my language:

[I can’t read these without laughing at myself. And I actually never say the f-word in texts, I usually use “eff.” I can say it just fine, but to type it seems like too much for some reason. I also really enjoy that without having any real understanding of the situation, he encourages me to “cut her.” LOL, MAH MAN! 17474d3a52fd7efdada7b5896b5c590617474d3a52fd7efdada7b5896b5c590617474d3a52fd7efdada7b5896b5c590617474d3a52fd7efdada7b5896b5c5906]

So at this point I am debating whether or not I should report the florist’s behavior to the store manager. The debate is strong. I am furious, but I am also picturing what my reaction would be if someone came to me about one of my employees. I am hearing the words, “I never normally do this but…,” which is true for me, but when someone says it to me, as a manager, I never believe them. I always assume they are a constant complainer. But in the midst of my furious texting and debating, I notice that I’m in a “15 items of less” line. No f*cking way am I moving. I am not next, but next after next, and there’s no way in hell I am starting over. Get outta here! I pretend not to notice but I accept that the clerk may ask me to go to another line when I get to the front. [How do they count the 15, by the way? Is it by individual item or for example, do 7 avocados in a bag count as 1 item? I never know].

Anyway, the elderly woman trying to pay, two people ahead of me, is taking forever. I am not paying attention to the details but I can see that the clerk has gone quiet, basically letting the woman do whatever she wants since she won’t listen. The mood lightens and she looks to me, the other young person around, for confirmation. Another out of body experience, I laughed with her! I even commented, “There’s no winning that one.” Like what? What am I doing? I’m furious right now. But in my mind, I am hoping that my rapport with her will allow my passage through the “15 items or less” line. When it’s finally my turn, she double takes my 35+ items but begins to scan. For the win yet again.

And finally, I have to go to customer service, as always, to get my parking validated. I usually walk up, no one acknowledges me, I put the ticket in the machine, it stamps it, and I move on. I can see that a manager is standing there, and this time, unlike any other time, she greets me…aka opening up the door for me to explain what happened, “Hello, ma’am.” I hesitated a moment, said hello, stamped my ticket, and moved on. I just couldn’t be that girl. If the florist had taken it further, I would have said something, but I just couldn’t do it. I scooted past the florist, avoided her gaze, and left.

– Sass

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Friendship In My Late 20s

I was mulling over how to make this post happen when I had a texting conversation with a new friend last week. It seemed like the perfect intro:

  • New friend: Let’s do happy hour
  • Me: Cool sounds good!
  • New friend: Perfect! Do you have a happy hour spot you like going to?
  • Me: Not really. I work in Arlington but live in DC so I can really go anywhere. Where are you coming from?
  • New friend: I live in Arlington but I’m up for DC!
  • Me: No, Arlington is easy for me! What’s your spot?
  • New friend: Actually, for HH I usually go to DC, but I’m sure Clarendon or Ballston has something!
  • Me: LOL this is very first date-esque, next time we’ll just be like “Hey! Meet you at this place at this time.”
  • New friend: Hahahah I know!

Neither of us wanted to make the other uncomfortable. Neither of us wanted to suggest a place that the other would hate. I’m always afraid that I’ll suggest a place, and to be polite she would agree, but would be disappointed in the choice. Or even worse, if the choice was inconvenient! Thankfully, we’re in our late twenties and can just call it out – “Hi, we’re acting like we’re going on a first date. Let’s just pick a place!” By the end of the conversation we had picked a place and a time and agreed that we were both looking forward to “our first date.”

This new friend is part of a group that My Lauren Ann now affectionately calls, “The WAGs” aka The Wives and Girlfriends of the men in my feyonce’s company. He works for an amazing company that encourages close relationships among the staff, which is predominately men (and by predominately, I mean that there are maybe 8 women out of 150 in the office). His company also encourages the same closeness among the significant others. They encourage it by organizing happy hours, sending us all to Mexico, and creating group chats and email chains. I’m slowly working my way into the group. I can focus my attention to why I want to be part of the group for these 2 main reasons: 1) It will only help my feyonce. When we go to HHs and on trips, if I am friendly with the women, he can be off with the guys. He can be forming those relationships that they all need to have in order to be successful in the company and 2) I really like the women I’ve met! It’s nice to be around women my age, who are either newly engaged or newly married, and live in the same environment that I do on a regular basis. Meaning, this company is all-encompassing. We all know what it’s like to have his phone go off 30 times (no joke) during dinner. We all know what it’s like to never know when he’s going to get home. We all know what it’s like to have him come home after 11pm multiple nights in row, and what it’s like to have a feyonce or husband who is unavailable for 6+ hours at a time to talk. We seem to be in similar phases of life and have a lot of common ground. It’s nice getting to know them for who they are and not just who they are married to.


It’s funny because you don’t necessarily think that past a certain age you will be faced with making new friends. Making friends at 26 is easier in some ways, and harder in others, than it was when I was in middle school, high school, or college. It’s easier because I am secure in who I am. My life won’t be over if someone doesn’t like me, which is how you feel when you’re younger. I have a little less #FOMO and a little more, #immadowhatiwant, thanks. I think that type to self-security and confidence is what attracts people to you. It’s cliche but it’s true, you just have to be yourself. Anyone who has survived middle school, high school, and college can sniff out a phony in an instant. A phony doesn’t make friends well past a certain age because basically, ain’t no body got time for dat. The WAGs have not quite seen the entire Sass picture, not because I am hiding her, but because I understand my place at this time. Coming in too strong seems juvenile and creepy, but not opening up enough seems bitchy and standoff-ish. Perfecting the perfect amount of Sass for a new friendship is something I feel pretty good about doing. In time, I will feel comfortable enough to let it all go, and in the meantime, there’s always alcohol 🙂

So ironically enough, it’s a little harder to make friends now for the same reason as it is easier. Sass, what the heck are you talking about? Well in middle school, high school, and college, the easiest way to make friends is to conform. You find out what the group likes, doesn’t like, etc, you adapt, and say that you feel the same way! Conforming gives you instant friends, not best friends or meaningful friends, but you’ve got em! In this case, I’m a little too old for that. I’m also hoping that the relationships do develop into great friends! If my feyonce stays with this company as long as he intends, these could be women that I am around A LOT. So the best case scenario is that I’m around them a lot, and also genuinely have solid friendships with them. In order to do that, I cannot conform. We all have to like each other for who we are.

I don’t mean to over think this (HA!), but I have been thinking about friendship a lot recently. I was telling my feyonce a week or so ago that I feel an insane pressure to see the many friends that I have. I know that may sound obnoxious but, I don’t have one big group of friends, which makes it more difficult. Instead, I have individuals or small groups that don’t really mix. For example, two nights ago I had dinner with 2 women that I have become close with post-college, and we always go to dinner the 3 of us. I have another group that I am seeing later this week to see a movie, because that’s what we always do. I have a friend that I went to high school with and then we both went to school in DC, and now we both live in the same neighborhood. I see her every couple of months for a drink on H Street because that’s what we do. I have another friend that I went to college with and she lives in DC and so we try to see each other too. Maybe we get dinner or go to a work out class, because that’s what we do. And then I have work friends. These are women that I adore, and do not get to see on a regular basis any longer, that I’d like to try to see more. And on top of that, I’m trying to make friends with the WAGs. And on top of that, I’m still trying to get home more often to see my OG Crew in Jersey. It’s a lot. I’m thankful to have these women in my life, but sometimes it means that my calendar is full 4-5 days a week. That doesn’t leave much time for yoga, my feyonce, Bravo, or

My feyonce asked me once why I don’t combine different groups together and truthfully, some of them knowingly don’t want to to mix. Ultimately though, I know that my conversations with each of them will be more meaningful if it is “just us.” If I mix women who don’t know each other very well, I won’t get to heart of truly what’s new. If someone is, for example, having a relationship crisis, she is not going to tell me about it in front of strangers. Does that make sense? I would rather be a brat and complain that I have too many gatherings on my social calendar than combine groups and have surface level conversations. In time I’m sure they would get to know each other but again, unfortunately, I ain’t got time for dat. I see them once a month, maybe once every couple of months, or maybe only twice a year, and I don’t have time for the pleasantries. I want to know the down and dirty details of their lives so that I can go about the next month, 2 months, or 6 months, knowing that I know what’s really up with them #girlworld


So what is the solution? I’m not willing to change how I get together with these women, with regards to the different groups. So maybe I try to make the outings different – maybe combine my work out with my friend time? Or maybe meet at a coffee house and write while she reads? I don’t know! Believe me, I know that there are worse problems to have, but sometimes I just want to say no to plans, not because I already made them with someone else, and not because I don’t care about the friendship, but because I want to binge watch Bravo and make spaghetti squash at home. I said almost this exact sentence to my mom and she comforted me by saying, “You probably haven’t even met some of your lifelong friends yet. That happens when you have kids.” Which is just great, Mom, so in addition to these groups, I have to have kids and I have to make time for the PTA friends, the mommy blogger friends, and the car pool mom friends? I.can’t.even.

In the meantime, I guess I’m just going to have to be super busy, like super popular, and like really pretty all the time (in my best Mean Girls voice). To all my friends and WAGs, I love you, b!tches #LYLAS #BFF4EAE

– Sass

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6 Heartbreak Songs

“Hello. It’s me. I was wondering if after all these years you’d like to meet.” Everyone is flipping over this song, myself included, it’s just that good. Of course Adele’s voice has a great deal to do with its intensity, but I don’t think that’s the root of the obsession. This song hits that feeling of breaking someone’s heart and then wanting to hear, “it’s ok,” on the head. We’ve all had the “are you okay?” conversation. It can be a form of closure, but I believe that ultimately it has to do with our innate need to be liked. We’re not bad people, but maybe we made someone feel awful and we can’t take it. We want to hear, “it’s ok,” not because we are worried about him or her but because we want our conscious cleared.

So I know there was this one time that I crushed your heart, made you cry yourself to sleep, hate the world, and perhaps fall into a deep depression, but like, it’s ok now, right?

I’ve done it. And thankfully, I’ve dated some guys who have given me the conversation I’ve craved. I can tell you what though, on the flip side, there a few men boys out there that I wouldn’t give the satisfaction. It has nothing to do with where I am in my life now, as you all know, I’m happily engaged, but it has everything to do with how I was treated. The men boys I would never give the satisfaction of hearing “it’s ok,” from me are the ones who hurt me with no remorse. The ones who gave absolutely ZERO sh!ts about how their actions might affect me. The ones when there was nothing mutual about it and the ones that I can’t say, “well, he had good intentions.” Simply strung along and rejected. They will never hear, “it’s ok,” from me because well…it’s not ok. It’s not ok that every day men (and women too, but for me it’s men), get away with some of the BS that we let them get away with. I was younger and more timid, and I can only imagine the difference in outcomes if I was in some of those situations now. Oh it woulda been a whole new ball game! I just hope they’ve grown.


Anyway, when I listen to Adele’s song, “Hello,” I realize that there is no one left that I want to hear “it’s ok” from. Unfortunately, I did hurt people along the way but I’ve made my peace. I also don’t believe there is anyone left that I feel deserves it from me. However, when I hear this song, I can think of friends who might still feel that way. I can also think of friends who just think they feel that way, but probably really don’t anymore. I’m sure some of them have put Adele’s song on repeat, while giving a speech over and over to the mirror, hoping that one day they might be able to give it. As for me, I can appreciate the song but I’ve moved on in my life. It’s been too long and I can’t, and don’t want to, go back. I’m emotionally cleansed.

So now that we’ve established that I’m perfect, you all know (from old posts, of course), that there were plenty of times when I wasn’t so emotionally cleansed. I had songs that I would put on repeat too. I would also rehearse speeches that I wasn’t sure I’d ever get a chance to give. In doing research for this post, I had to dig deep into the iTunes archives. I heard songs that immediately put me in a moment, it’s a bit creepy, but very cool and reflective.

“If I Were a Boy” by Beyonce puts me on my bedroom floor in the Florham Park house. I was home for Spring Break sophomore year of college. I knew I had to break up with the first man I thought I loved for the long haul. At the time I thought this was “my first adult relationship” and I loved him very much. Before I even made the call, I listened to the song maybe twenty times through my massive surround sound-ish speakers. The first ten times I was just lying on my floor, in and out of crying. The next ten times, I packed up all of our memories, photos, clothes, tickets, etc (yes, like Rory does on Gilmore Girls)…oh and kept crying. And by the end of the twenty rounds of, “‘UNTIL YOU LOSE THE ONE YOU WANTED CUZ YOU’RE TAKING HER FOR GRANTED,” and packing up anything that reminded me of him, I made the call to end it. It was awful but I was ready.

“Take Care” by Drake puts me on 17th Street NW, Washington, DC walking through DuPont on my way to Georgetown. I’d meet B.Ryan there for yoga thirty times a week, after the end of a very exciting, but very short-lived romantical situation. I can picture myself with my black yoga pants, purple mat strapped to my back, and a determined brow. I was focused on getting focused on anything that wasn’t him. This song was perfect. I could lean on the lines that spoke to me, “you hate the fact that you bought the dream and they sold you one,” but it was upbeat enough to power walk. I didn’t feel like I wanted to crawl up into a ball afterwards. It satisfied my yearn to cry and feel like sh!t and the need to get up, get moving, and move on.

Mumford & Sons, “White Blank Page” puts me in Georgetown at 3523 O Street NW. My room was called “the treehouse” because my bed was lofted up over the desk the entire room. I had maybe two feet between the door and what was under the lofted bed. It puts me at my desk, on the computer. I had a deep purple curtain for a closet door that I loved. I had a black and tan shag rug that felt nice on my toes. The guys I knew in college gave me so much material, I could write for hours, and I did. I would replay this song over and over. There was a period of time, that felt like an eternity, where every relationship, hook-up, and fling was very one-sided. I was putting my efforts, time, and heart into guys that never gave it back. It was exhausting.

“The Pieces Don’t Fit Here Anymore” by James Morrison is kind of a cute memory. It starts in my freshman dorm room (WADDUP VILLAGE C WEST) with my LoveBug roomie. I was completely depressed that our group of friends (that we had for maybe a month) was ruined. We had the BEST thing going, I was so happy. We had a gang. There was one person in the gang that I was particularly close to. He looked after me and made me laugh. He was there for me 100% of the time. I could call him when I wanted to go to “the caf” or Yates or Saxby’s. He would call me to take a walk through Georgetown or go out to a party. I remember one night we were playing beer pong in my dorm room, which was totally not allowed, and we got caught. I was FREAKED, like super freaked! He told the RA that I had nothing to do with it, and that he and the other guy were the only ones playing. Of course this didn’t work, or matter since it was my room, but that was just how he was. We kissed here and there but we didn’t date. It was so cutely innocent but when it came down to it, he asked me to date him, and I said no. This song now brings me to the outside of McDonough, getting ready to board the bus for softball practice, and sobbing so hard I couldn’t breathe. I can confidently say that he got me through the first month of college, including the first softball practices. The first month may not seem like much but it was significant because I went to college thinking I was ready. However, when I got there I quickly learned that it was more of a transition than I thought, especially with softball. I felt like I couldn’t control my surroundings but I could rely on him. So to lose him felt like I was losing my lifeline. I lost my friend and it truly made me very sad.

Strangely enough “Gavin’s Song” by Marc Broussard takes me on an Amtrak train from Metropark, New Jersey to Washington, DC at 6:30am Monday morning. I had to get back in time for Intermediate Spanish in Walsh. Junior year of college I took the train to and from New Jersey, no lie, every other weekend for the entire first semester. Leading up to that, I had an incredible summer with my friends. I worked at a restaurant and completely took to the people there. So of course I had a friend that I thought would be more than that. I know now, and have for a long time, that it wasn’t right. To be honest, I really kinda knew then that I didn’t really want it. He didn’t either. The thing was though, I was unhappy. I would never have done it but I wanted to leave school and come home for good. I had gained weight. I wasn’t sure who my friends were in DC. Georgetown was hard and bottom line, I was very lonely. Coming home and seeing him made me happy. I should have left it at that but being a girl and being, quite honestly, very desperate, I tried to make it more than it was. We were very close but we didn’t need to be close like that. Anyway, although this song isn’t quite about a guy-girl relationship, the lyrics meant a lot to me – “I wish I could be there, but I can’t.”

Anything by A Fine Frenzy, but specifically, “Almost Lover” takes me to Manhattan. Gosh, I was so young. I had just graduated from high school and was interning in the city for Stacy London’s talk show. I spent that summer mainly on my own, traipsing through the city, doing whatever was asked of me. I made jackets out of crystals, dresses out of recycled material, dropped off shoes, picked up necklaces, I was all over the place. I knew the subway, I knew the streets, I was pretty cool. Unfortunately I had no idea how cool I was because I was engulfed by the idea of being with him. I think I met him at his apartment after my internship, maybe three times, but I loved it. I felt so grown up. He was a kid then too but I thought he was so much older and sophisticated (he was all of 23 years old at the time). We had known each other awhile and I was young enough to believe in a fairy tale. That summer though, Chicken Soupy as it is, I learned that the fairy tale wasn’t going to happen. I knew deep down that this was a game to him but I wanted it to be real. I wanted it to be the one. I was 18 and naive. It was cute and depressing at the same time. I was used to high school boys who were just as cute and naive as I was. This was when I learned about boys in their early twenties. I remember one day it was 100 degrees and I was on the most crowded subway, standing without anything to hold onto. I was holding back tears and when the train took a sharp turn. In that moment, I was the Matrix. I was so distracted, hot, and delirious that my body had bent all the way back and I was falling to the ground in slow motion. Believe it or not, the people on the train helped me before I hit the ground. I went back to the office and sobbed to a nice woman (looking back, she was probably only 24 years old) and made up a story that my boyfriend broke up with me. I was so embarrassed that I let him upset me so much that I lied and said he was my boyfriend…and that he broke up with me! Meanwhile what really happened was that I was supposed to go to his apartment that evening and I hadn’t heard from him in days. Dontchu know a few hours later he texted me and I went. The time I had with him was disappointing and I woke up the next day, listened to this song again on the train, and cried.

There are more, of course, but I won’t bore you with every sob story in my life….at least not right now! In writing this and in reading it back, I am so struck by how much I grew up in these years. Looking back, none of these relationships even come close to what I have now. My relationship is so much deeper and more meaningful. I don’t even mean to toot my own relationship horn, but it’s amazing to reflect and see how far I’ve come. I’ll type it again, to see how far I’ve come. I am cognitively recognizing how far I HAVE COME. Did you get that? I admitted, directly and indirectly, to being desperate, lonely, and naive, and I am no longer those things. I can imagine I would feel differently without my feyonce in my life but even still, I stand much stronger now on my own than I ever did then. It’s a learning curve but now I understand why my mom wanted to shake me silly sometimes! That being said, I believe I was more together than a lot of others my age, but I still had to go through these things to get where I am. And THAT being said, I’m sure I will feel this way again in another 5 to 10 years, and another 5 to 10 after that, and so on.

kids kissing

This is how I picture myself in these relationships.

Well, this was fun and weird, but incredibly interesting. I look back on these instances with appreciation. And more importantly, I look to the future, and to the man lying down next to me, with gratitude. As social media would say, I am truly #blessed.

– Sass

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Sass is a Suit.

As an over-analyzer, I constantly have revelations about myself. I believe it has to do with this age that I’m at – meaning – that I have less #fomo and more #immadowhatiwant, thanks. I’m figuring out what truly makes me happy, what makes me who I am, and more importantly, why. Most of the time, because I’m perfect in every way, these revelations are positive. However this time, the revelation puzzled me and I truly have no idea how to feel about it. It first occurred to me when I was out to dinner with a group of maybe 6 or 8 of my friends. I listened to one tell me about how she is moving to San Francisco to start a website, the other got promoted to marketing manager for a trendy fitness company, the other opened a bar, and so on. I looked around and realized that I was figuratively, and quite literally, the only SUIT. I was the only one in corporate America. WTF?! How did this happen? How did Sass become the only suit in her group of friends? More importantly, why I am a suit? Should I be a suit? I never, not even for a minute, pictured myself a suit! Truly, the one thing I told myself when I graduated college, was that I didn’t want to sit at a desk all day. I recognize how somewhat naive that was but guess what I essentially do all day? I sit at a desk. It was strange because I’ve been a “suit” for about 2.5 years now and it didn’t really occur to me until this dinner. I think early on I saw it as so grown up. When those around me hadn’t quite figured themselves out yet and I had my suit job, I felt like I was doing something right. Well, now that they have figured themselves out and it doesn’t involve a suit, I’m questioning just how right it feels.

In these 2.5 years as a suit, I’ve worked for the same company. I have done my job well and have been promoted. When people ask me what I do, I tell them, “I work in property management.” Has anyone else noticed that past a certain age, people don’t usually follow up that question with, “Do you like it?” When I was younger, people always asked that question. Now, I guess it’s just assumed that we’re all adults and whether you like it or not, it’s your job. No one really cares if you like it. And on top of that, no one wants you to ask them if they like their job, because chances are the answer is no. When I used to get asked that question, I would respond with something like this, “Look, I’m not PASSIONATE about property management, but I’m good at it, I understand it, and thankfully, it is ever-changing.” So you don’t get bored, they’d ask. Right, there’s always something new happening, I’d respond. And if I have to be a suit, then thank G for that.

So I get promoted to a management position, and I am still settling in, but I am learning so much already. I am learning how to babysit adults, I am learning how to use Excel extremely well, and I am learning how to handle the grey area of just about every situation imaginable in our industry. I am realizing how much I know and just how much I don’t know how to do yet. I feel challenged but with every spreadsheet that is emailed to me to fill out, I wonder, is this it?! Is this what I’m working towards? Am I really working towards spreadsheets, reporting, and conference calls? This isn’t a specific knock on my company because from what I can tell, this is how it goes in almost any corporate company. The higher you go, the more decisions you have to make, and to do so you need to analyze and report data. I get it.

So we’ve established that I get it but is it enough? Is it enough creativity for Sass? Is it enough freedom for Sass? Is it enough SASS for SASS? LOL Lordy! But really, is the accomplishment of a title and decision-making enough? It should be, but maybe it’s not.


[And since she might be reading this, I AM NOT LEAVING THE COMPANY AND I DO NOT INTEND TO. I can confidently say that I would never leave this company for another corporate company. I merely question the level of creativity and freedom in the corporate world. I am making an observation about my life and questioning, as any 20 something might, if I can do this for the rest of my life #LYLAS]

On top of it all, I started back up again at Down Dog Yoga. Patty Ivey opened up a studio in Clarendon and I am delighted to find that it is only 10 minutes from my office. If I leave right on time, I can change, drive there, park, and get my mat down for class with usually about 5 minutes to spare. I actually nearly teared up at the end of 3 of the 4 classes I went to last week because I was so happy. I was so relieved to be doing something incredibly healthy, wonderful, and challenging for my body. There is something special about this place and believe me, I’ve tried my share of hot yoga studios, but this one is the best. It is the only one that brings me to tears because of how amazing I feel after a class. I spend an hour on me. An hour on my health. An hour on my breath. An hour to release and ignore the outside world. An hour to sweat my ass off. An hour to challenge myself. An hour to accomplish what I didn’t accomplish the day before. And let’s be serious, an hour getting toned and skinny. I sound like they paid me for this, I know, but I cannot say enough about this studio. It is such an incredibly positive force in my life right now. I am actually excited about exercising. It’s woah.

ANYWAY, I have spent the last week watching the girls that work the desk and the instructors that teach the classes and they seem very free. They could not be more opposite of corporate America. My rational mind thinks that they are probably working through grad school or married to a rich guy who lets them do this for a living but I wondered, maybe I should ask Patty if I could open her next studio. The next thought that crosses my mind is that if I did yoga for a living, I might not experience it as such a treat (aka convincing myself to stay focused on my suit and tie #suitandtie), but who knows! I CLEARLY know nothing. I am #JonSnow. Although I might know that Down Dog Yoga brings me back to the years just after Georgetown. The years B.Ryan and I spent in dancers pose and up dog 4 days as week, after sleeping in until 11am, because we were out working and drinking until 3am the night before. So my need to be part of this world aka open a studio or work in one is nostalgic (again convincing myself to stay focused on my suit and tie, #suitandtie).

When I discover something I love – writing, yoga, speaking, and restaurant-ing – I immediately think I should do it for a living. My mind wanders off into how I can accomplish this but my #suitandtie life keeps me distracted just enough to stop me from doing anything real about it. The distractions of my corporate life include things like stability, money, direction, and accomplishment. Ya know, basic life necessities, which make it difficult to think about ever walking away. I’ve never really been afraid of taking risks but ultimately, when real life (grown up life calls), you have to answer. Bills have to get paid, insurance needs to be had, and a resume needs to be built. So, the question is, will those four previously mentioned necessities be enough to fulfill me? Will I find a way to incorporate Sass into the #suitandtie life in a meaningful way? Will I be able to have both – the #suitandtie and the creative, free, life? I really don’t know yet. Again, I am #JonSnow.

The one thing I do know is that things always work out for Sass. Somehow the universe always steers me in the right direction. When I am presented with the options, even if I don’t always cognitively know it then, I usually choose the right road. It’s a gift, if you will. It’s also faith, confidence, and just how my mama raised me.

– Sass

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The Art of the Meltdown

Key Ingredients: Exhaustion, stress, a moment of downtime, a song, and a phone.

Women have a funny way of discussing meltdowns with other women, we couldn’t be more sarcastic: “Oh yeah, ya know, I had a full on meltdown last night, casual.” To which your female counterpart responds,”Oh my god, I know, I had one two days ago. So ridiculous.” Insert a shrug or a giggle and you’ve got the scene in front of you. We downplay it to each other, I believe partly because we know we can be a bit dramatic, but also because it’s hard to fathom just how real the emotions feel. When having a discussion and the sarcastic, “I had a meltdown” line is thrown out there, the woman you are talking to immediately knows, FOR SURE, that the topic is of great concern. It’s a heavy topic, if you will. We can joke about it but if anyone were to mock or invalidate the meltdown in any way, shape, or form…well, I hope you have your death wish prepared.

Anyway, there are varying degrees and stages of the meltdown. Sometimes, regardless of the context, maybe it’s about plates (I don’t know!), there is a larger issue at play. Other times the meltdown is about nothing more than extreme fatigue. And then there are those meltdowns that start about one thing, but then the meltdown ball gets rolling, and it ends up being about something completely different!

Por ejemplo, I had a meltdown in the car, by myself, on my way up to New Jersey for the birth of my niece on August 20th. I had a stressful couple of days. I went to dinner for B.Ryan’s birthday and learned that one friend is moving to San Francisco to start a company (jealous) and that another goes through some of the same relationship struggles as I do (bonded). I had that night on the brain and kept running through the conversations (the other ins, outs, hows, and whys are for another time – point is, I had a lot on my mind). I also wasn’t sure until the day of that my company would let me leave early to be there for the birth. I packed a bag that morning, just in case, but was very tense all morning until I got the go ahead to head out. By the time I got in the car, my sister had already been at the hospital for hours and I was worried I wouldn’t make it in time. At this point, please do yourself a favor and listen to Taylor Swift’s song called “Out of the Woods” as the meltdown is tied to this song:

Ohh ohh ohhh ohhh looking at it now / I want to be on stage / I have to do more work on my blog / it all seemed so simple / write more, get more followers / we were lying on your couch, I remember / GUILT, am I lazy, this blog will never go anywhere if I don’t commit to it / you took a polaroid of us, then discovered (then discovered) / can I help her? we deal with the same struggles, I can help her but I know I won’t, more guilt / the rest of the world was black and white, but we were in screaming color / he doesn’t get what I’m trying to do, he’s not here, I wish he was hereand I remember thinking /  

All dis X2 Are we out of the woods yet? Are we out of the woods yet? Are we out of the woods yet? Are we out of the woods? Are we in the clear yet? Are we in the clear yet? Are we in the clear yet? In the clear yet? Good.

Are we out of the woods?

I can’t stop crying, laughing, singing, good god get it together / Looking at it now, last December (last December) / I have to plan a wedding, when, how, vacation days, money / we were built to fall apart, then fall back together (back together) / dinner with my future in-laws, went well, build on it, pressure, make it count / your necklace hanging from my neck, the night we couldn’t quite forget, when we decided (we decided) / Iliza’s podcast was disappointing, wah / to move the furniture so we could dance, baby, like we stood a chance / Sammi Sweetheart has a podcast, for what? I have what she has, why not me? / two paper airplanes flying, flying, flying AND I REMEMBER THINKING!

All dis X2 Are we out of the woods yet? Are we out of the woods yet? Are we out of the woods yet? Are we out of the woods? Are we in the clear yet? Are we in the clear yet? Are we in the clear yet? In the clear yet? GOOD.

Are we out of the woods?!?

I’m in New Jersey, I want to live here, I want to see Lauren, I just want to dance and be at a club with herRemember when you hit the brakes too soon? Twenty stitches in the hospital room, When you started cryin’, baby, I did, too. But when the sun came up, I was lookin’ at you / How’s Sammy? I should call her. Gabs. Tanya. Friends. I miss themRemember when we couldn’t take the heat, I walked out and said, “I’m settin’ you free,” / conversation with feyonce about John John, unconditional love of this group, never find that anywhere else But the monsters turned out to be just trees and when the sun came up, you were lookin’ at me….you were lookin’ at meEeh, hoOo you were lookin’ at me / she’s in labor, I’m going to miss it, I was so close, I can’t believe this, eff thisI remember, OH I REMEMBER, Are we out of the woods yet? Are we out of the woods yet? Are we out of the woods yet? Are we out of the woods? / oh my lord, Sass, LOCK. IT.UP. /Are we in the clear yet? Are we in the clear yet? Are we in the clear yet? In the clear yet? GOOD!

SoOo yeEaHhh, it went something like that. If you’re picturing Ashley I on Bachelor in Paradise laugh/crying at herself, you’re not wrong. But, in case you were wondering, I ended up making it in time for the birth of baby Isabella and completely fell in love with her. I’ve spent every free moment since then either driving to NJ to see her, planning how I’m going to get to NJ to see her, or being in NJ to see her. I also got promoted during this time and have spent many days adjusting to the new role. So with the trips up North, a new job, a coworker and friend moving to London, more babies, dinners, football, and a feyonce, my social and professional calendars have been full. I put Sass on the back burner. The meltdown kickstarted this madness of emotions and whirlwind of events and I shut down.

My bad.


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Sass Takes on Hard Knocks

JJ Watt, JJ Watt, JJ Watta goooon! Am I the only person who was not salivating over this guy the entire episode? Men, women, Americans (particularly Texans), everywhere salivate over this #99. Sure, he’s hott and clearly, an excellent football player, but he also seems to want his own TV show!

Did anyone else CRINGE during his work out montage with the tire? The entire time he was “rapping” Fort Minor’s, “Remember the Name,” I was begging him to please, …Or was that just me? How about the scene where he worked out by himself until 9pm out on the field? A little much for me. On one hand, I can acknowledge that this is exactly how he earned his Defensive Player of the Year Award, and yet on the other hand, I wondered how much of it was just for the cameras.


Photo Cred:

I thought JJ’s best, authentic moments were to see him quite literally bulldoze his way through his own teammates and the Skins, to see him sign autographs for fans for an hour after a full day of practice, and of course to see him play a little corn hole with his mama. Ok HBO, you got me, JJ Watt is just like us.

Moving on from JJ, I nearly cried when that kid, Reshard tore his ACL. How heartbreaking?! #majorsads

But ultimately, my favorite “character” is Coach Vrabel. Not only did he instruct his player to “throw a marshmallow at him next time,” when he felt that his player tackled too gently, he also gave a SPOT ON response and my favorite quote of the episode. A player remarked about how it could be worse, “you” could be home. Meaning, suffer through practice, it could be worse: you could be at home on your couch instead of at an NFL training camp. Vrabel responded, “Yeah, you could be working. Imagine if you had to get up and f*cking work every day. Just tell him this ain’t f*cking work. What your parents did was work. What your grandparents did was work. This ain’t f*cking work” #YAAAS. If you didn’t see the episode, in print, I can imagine this reads that he is scolding his players. However, why I particularly enjoyed it was because he wasn’t scolding them at all! This was sideline banter. He was merely hitting his players with a reality check that what they do all day is not real life.He asked them to imagine having to put on a suit every day and sit in an office like the rest of the world. He chuckled after as if to say to them, “you could never do that so buck up, get right, and play.” #coachvrabelismyman

And congrats again to you, HBO, for this show. I, as a person who previously did not give neither one shit, nor two, about the Texans will now see them on TV and at least have an inkling of interest. I will also hope that the NFL puts a mic on Coach Vrabel so I can count just how many times he says “f*ck” a game.

Otherwise, the episode was your typical Real Housewives for men: a fight on the field, a pump up speech by JJ, and football montages. For any former athlete, the show does bring back some memories. I can remember sitting in conference rooms at Georgetown, having our first team meetings. We’d do the same “get to know you” chats, go over game tapes, and prep for practice. I can also remember, huddling up at the Oak Knoll School Chatham Field pitcher’s mound, “1, 2, 3, THREE UP” and then the outfield huddle would chant, “THREE DOWN.” (Softball reference for those in the dark, Google it). I can remember caravanning in my mom’s van for summer league games, (yup, just like the Texans traveled to Richmond). And I can remember how awesome it felt to have your name on the back of your shirt.

Overall, it makes you remember how it feels to be on a team. Corporations like to make comparisons to sports, and while there are similarities, I don’t believe that just because you work in a corporation means that you know what it’s like to be on a team. On a sport’s team, you travel together, you eat together, you sleep, change, and shower in the same room together. You experience the same highs, the same lows, the same exhaustion, the same adrenaline…together. It consumes your entire life. You are around the same people, all the time, and it doesn’t seem strange at all. You know each other better than some of your own family members. Your lives are completely intertwined. It has its challenges but you know you are part of something great, something special. You know that you are part of an experience that not everyone will get the privilege of having in their lifetime. It pretty much f*cking rocks.


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Are We Missing the Good Years?

Everyone knows that phrase from Office Space, “Uh oh, sounds like somebody’s got a case of the Mondays,” to describe that all too familiar feeling of Monday. It marks the end of fun and the start of the work week. However, in my case, I get a case of the Sundays. Sunday is my Friday, which to put 2 and 2 together for you, means that I work on Sundays. One would think that since it is my Friday, that I’d be happy, but as it turns out, it’s more complicated than that.

Sunday used to be my favorite day. I used to love captioning pictures on Insta, “Sunday Funday” because whatever I was doing was fun, obvs. I loved football Sundays, hanging out with friends, and having nice dinners. When I picture Sunday in my head, I see butterflies flying around a brunch table or hot wings splattered across a plaid table cloth. I picture the water front. I picture me in a sundress out to dinner, having a steak, with my feyoncee.

Unfortunately nowadays, Sunday is complicated by work. While it marks the end of my week, it is also the end of the two busiest days of my week. I spend all day Saturday and Sunday selling like crazy, or trying to at least. It is exhausting. I talk a lot, I walk a lot, I feel the pressure a lot. By the time we’re done for the day, I’m pooped. I’m also starving. There is no time to stop and eat on the weekends, just enough time to grind it out. By about 6pm every Sunday, I’m a part loopy, part exhausted, part annoyed, but mostly starved human. I never know what I want to do or eat, just that I want something to do and something to eat. I’m usually trying to decide whether to join an on-going gathering, do nothing by myself, or convince my feyonce to stop whatever he’s doing to feed me.

While the above seems annoying, it doesn’t seem like enough to ruin an entire day, does it? Not really. It does, however, have potential to ruin a day when it is the ONLY day. Sunday is the only day that my feyonce is off from all work obligations. It is also, therefore, the only night that it is guaranteed that he does not get an appointment. Meaning, this is the only day and night that he can either make plans for himself or relax and do absolutely nothing. That puts a lot of pressure on just one day, “Better make the right choice!” So, what is the right choice? I’m not sure there is one.

I, because I’m me, think of Sunday night as our night. However, he can think about it as his night, since it is his only one. I am conflicted on this because I want him to enjoy his day but it also breaks my heart to get a text message from him at 3pm that reads, “Hey babe. I’m off to the waterfront!” I feel left out. I also know that it means my dream of having dinner with him, and him alone, is not likely to happen. It sometimes breaks my heart to read the opposite text, “Hey babe. I’m beat. When you’re done work can you pick up food?” This means that we are staying in, eating Sticky Rice take-out, and watching TV. That would be fine if it wasn’t what we do just about every other night! Look, I get it, he works 6 days a week. Sometimes on that 7th day, you just gotta do nothing. So, I order the take-out and watch TV. The pressure I put on this one night is insane, especially when it is complicated by so many factors. We, as a couple, do not have the luxury of saying, “Hey, tonight, let’s just stay in because tomorrow night we want to go out.” It’s one or the other.

It is possible to see us out somewhere on a Friday night, for example, so I want to clarify. Yes, sometimes we do get a Friday night or a lazy Monday morning free but the impending obligation is always there for one or both of us. One of us always has to work that evening or the next morning. We are never free from an impending duty. We can never let loose on the same day together. In fact, the only time in our relationship that we have been able to do so is when we are out of the country! Seriously. The only time we have consecutive, obligation-free, time together is on vacation. That’s banaynays!!

I sometimes worry, “Are we missing the good years?” Perhaps I shouldn’t call them the good years, but we are missing this phase. We had the young, wild, and crazy years together of partying when we first met. And now I’m feeling like in a blink, we’ll be in the, omigod we have a baby phase. We’re missing the time in the middle! We never get to plan a dinner on Saturday with friends. We never get to go to the beach or Atlantic City for the weekend. We never get to plan any extracurricular activities. We have our fun together but we rarely get to do fun things together, if that makes sense? I can’t just buy tickets to a football game or plan a trip to a vineyard. I can’t make reservations or book a weekend trip. I know this sounds like I’m whining but imagine that. Imagine never have totally free and clear time together to do whatever you want, without having to leave the country! And ya know what, that being said, we don’t leave the country enough!


I know a couple who seems to be on vacation every other month. I asked them once, “How do you do it?” I really wanted to know. Obviously everyone would want to know their secret, but I was desperate for it. My relationship thrives on that time away and I don’t feel like we do it often enough.

We need to start having a life together. We need to be able to enjoy this time together, because yeah, kids are around the corner! I said to him last week, “Something’s gotta give. It’s enough now. I’m over it.” He agreed. And Imma tell you what, if you we don’t figure it out soon, more trips to Mexico it is! 160x160x121-person-with-folded-hands.png.pagespeed.ic.UbTaFdAtOi

– Sass

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Posted in Life & It's Changes, life as I know it, love & relationships, the pursuit of happiness | Tagged , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

8 Things that Make Me Irrationally Angry.

Danielle: I told you, Teresa, were you not here? Two things are written that are true: name change and I got arrested. Pay attention, puh-lease.

Teresa: I am paying attention. Obviously there has to be something else. It’s not just name change and arrested. Prostitution whore, you were f*cking engaged 19 times, you stupid b!tch! [INSERT TABLE FLIP HERE]

If you don’t know what I’m talking about you are either a man or not from New Jersey. I will tell you: I’m quoting the two lines that lead up to one of the best moments in reality tv history – Teresa Giudice flipping a table because someone told her to pay attention, puh-lease. She snapped. And I loved it.

The inspiration for this post came to me on a Friday night. If you are unfamiliar, my feyoncee and I have very difficult schedules. We both work all weekend, have different days off, I work during the day, he works at night, etc. It borderline sucks, borderline works for the time being. He works on an on-call basis, however, since the company is successful (as is he) he tends to get appointments every night that get him out the door before I get home from work and home when I am near asleep.

One Friday night he did not get an appointment. We ate dinner and decided not to go out but rather stay in, binge watch The Wire and drink wine. He barely made it through one episode of The Wire before I heard him start to doze off. I nudged him. He woke up. Two minutes later, he dozed off again. Now, I gotta tell ya, I was pissed. You would think that I would be upset that the night was essentially a wash but I wasn’t, I was more upset that he was sleeping. What a b!tch, right? Like why do I care that he is tired and wants to sleep? When I am tired and want to sleep, we go to sleep. I have no idea why, but whenever we are watching tv and he starts to doze off, I become irrationally angry. On this night I had to remove myself from the room because to listen to him snore as I sat there watching crappy re-runs made me, once again, irrationally angry.

He judges the shows I watch, i.e. The Real Housewives of New Jersey (or RHOC, RHONY, RHOBH, Total Divas, KWUTW, etc. etc.). It’s like, don’t think for a second I don’t realize how ridiculous it is to watch grown women argue for an hour. I know that I am watching these shows for superficial purposes and I’m g.d. ok with it! RAWR. His eyes roll and I FLIP. Like seriously flip out to a point that he is in tears laughing at me. I can’t even enjoy the shows when his presence is near. Just because I enjoy these shows does not mean that I’m a mindless idiot! Let me worship Carole Radziwill in peace! #youhadmeatmerlot

The thing about my feyoncee is that he doesn’t just like something because society tells him he should. For example, he is the first one to question the movie’s hero or the America’s sweetheart character in a chick flick. This makes me irrationally angry. Perfect example, we were watching Rumor Has It…, Jennifer Aniston’s character flies across the country, sleeps with Kevin Costner’s character, while her fiancé sits at home unable to reach her. My feyonce’s reaction, “Cold-hearted slut!” And I’m over here like, “Nooo, stop. She is not! She is confused and yada yada.” Meanwhile if I think about someone I know cheating or not calling for days, I’d be furious. Anyway, having these instances, the night watching The Wire and the time we watched Rumor Has It…, come back to back, I realized that there are instances where I react irrationally. I don’t just get frustrated or mad, but I get angry to a point where I should leave the room. I’m over it in two minutes but for those two minutes I am furious! Other things make me irrationally angry. Here is what I’ve come up with:

1. Peeing. Peeing makes me irrationally angry. I hate to pee. I hate even using the word pee. I say, “Tink,” which is short for “tinkle.” I have to stop my day for this tinking thing too many times. I also try to drink an incredible, almost ridiculous, amount of water every day, so the tinking becomes like breathing. I have to do it aawwl the time. It wakes me up at night, it is the first thing I have to do in the morning, and I just can’t stand it.

2. Pimples. Acne. Any kind of anything on my face that shouldn’t be there makes me irrationally angry. Of course, stressing out about it and getting angry only makes it worse, but I can’t help it. Recently in the last month or two, I’ve experienced a outbreak that doesn’t seem to go away. Because of that, I bought a mask, organic cleanser, and a new battery operated cleansing brush. These items seem to be helping now but each time I feel a new something or other under my skin, I want to scream bloody murder.

3. Incompetent servers. As an ex-service industry profesh, it irritates the heck out of me to see someone completely incompetent waiting a table or tending bar. Most specifically, when a server leaves the table empty-handed. I think that might be serving 101, DON’T LEAVE THE TABLE EMPTY-HANDED. Clear a cup, a dish, a fork, anything! There is always something to take.

4. I held the door for someone the other day. She walked through the door without looking at me, smiling at me, or saying thank you. She got about 3 steps away from me, and out came a snarky, “You’re welcome!” Following the out loud, “You’re welcome,” came an internal, “c*nt.” I had to then immediately laugh. Was she rude in not acknowledging that I held the door for her, yes, but does that make her a c*nt? Perhaps not.

5. Impulsive, stupid sh!t. I get in this mode when I am cleaning that I can’t describe very well. In an effort to be as efficient as possible, I end up doing some impulsive, stupid sh!t. It’s a mix of laziness and speed. I pick up everything all at once and then drop 3 items along the way, each time cursing the item. Last week, I wrapped the cord around my flat iron and put it in the bin where I keep it under my vanity. I saw that it was still plugged in but turned off. I figured I’d be using it the next day so who cares! A little while later, I needed more room in the bin, so I full on grabbed the flat iron, and burned my finger tips. I threw my hair brush across the room in pain. If ya had just unplugged it, you lazy B!

6. Cat-calling. I run primarily outside on the street. Yeah, that’s right, on da streetz. There are certain corners I avoid, typically corners with bus stops, because that is where people gather. There is a corner not too far from my house that I avoid at all costs. Let me paint you a picture: it is a four-way stop, bus stop stations on all corners, a fried chicken pick-up window called “Crown Friend CHicken” (yes, the “H” is capitalized), twenty-something men on bikes that look like they belong to toddlers, and so on. I will run an extra 1/2 mile to avoid this corner. However, last week I stumbled upon this corner, and breezed through the cat-calling groups of men, all the while screaming in my head, “STFU! STFU! STFU!”

7. Clutter. If you saw my house you would not believe that clutter makes me irrationally angry. Why? Because I live with 3 men, a girlfriend, and dog. It is nearly impossible to keep the house clear of clutter when you have that many people and their stuff. However, it does not stop me from getting irrationally angry about it almost every day.

8. Wastes of time. My every day job requires me to show prospective residents around the building, amenities, and apartments. This is exciting and fun when someone is actually interested in an apartment. However, when someone is either pretending to be interested in an apartment or wants something I can’t offer (i.e. a studio apartment for $1200 a month), and wants to be shown around the property, I get irrationally angry. For the first few minutes I am talking to myself, knowing that I need to snap out of it. Eventually, yes, I am able to relax and accept that this waste of time will happen. There’s nothing I can do about. BUT, that doesn’t mean I’m not irrationally angry about it.

So basically I just gave anyone who hates me a step-by-step guide on how to really piss me off. You’re welcome! Just be prepared for the table flip and cursing when you do so 🙂

– Sass

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Posted in it's a girl thang, just for kicks, Lists, Rant, Totally Random | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments