Don’t Say The S Word: “Suicide”


It was my junior year of college on a Sunday morning when I saw an incoming call from my dad on my cell. I grew up in a southern town where Sunday mornings were strictly for church… not for phone calls. I knew something was wrong.

“Have you heard about Elizabeth?” were his first words followed by, “She shot herself.”

Tearing through every file in my head of people I knew named Elizabeth I finally came to one, but immediately pushed it aside because there is no way it could be her…

She was happy, always happy. She was forever willing to cheer someone else up or lend a hand to a complete stranger in need.

Little did everyone know she was also struggling because it was her…

Hours passed of uncertainty as to if she was going to make it through until she was taken off life support and the most beautiful soul I know passed away.

I’m writing this because of a stigma. A stigma against mental health. As I struggle through my post grad years and trying to figure out myself, I am becoming more aware of my mental health and how important it is. Suicide has been on the rise since 2007 and that needs to stop. For that to stop the negative stigma that mental health has NEEDS TO STOP.

Humans were not made to take on this world alone. We were made to do it together. Asking for help is okay. It means you want to be healthy in all senses of the word. At one time or the other everyone needs a mental check up even if it means just venting to your mom or best friend.

This world is real shitty sometimes and can easily make you feel the same. Don’t be afraid to ask for help or reach out to someone.



that girl.


Fuck Dad Bods… How Bout Dem Mom Bods?

fuck dad bods

Of course. It’s just like men to find a way to make their unfit bear bellies glorified into the recent obsession of “dad bods.”

Call me Francine the Feminist, but how about dem mom bods? I mean damn… let’s glorify something that actually deserves to be glorified. Okay, let’s think this through logically… How do you get a dad bod?

First off in case you are wondering if you or your significant other (or your dad for that matter) has a dad bod, The Washington Post has so grasiously provided a chart for you…

Click here to find out your dad bod fate.

Well seeing as how 20 year old fatty college guys have it, it’s not by actually being a dad. The steps probably include something along the lines of drinking lots of beer, eating late night pizza (and early morning pizza for that matter), watching a lot of sports (which of course includes some type of shitty food), and clearly not working out. That takes about zero effort or skill.

Now how bout dem mom bods?

Well you actually have to be mom. You have birthed a child or maybe more than one. This means you have probably breast feed. Now, that’s enough effort right that to throw down on the lazy dad bods, but I’ll keep going. Then you chase the toddler around for 3 or 4 years and then for 18 years (or if you are anything like my mom, for way more than that) you put that humans life above yourself. You might need to go to the gym, but Charlie has soccer practice. You might need that haircut, but Lola just called and needs you to bring her the permission slip she forgot at home.

Now, let me clarify.

I am not saying that dad’s don’t give up many things for their children. They do.

I am also not saying that having children is an excuse for women to just not try to take care of their bodies. It’s not.

What I am saying is if we are going to glorify something that comes so easy, lets also glorify something that has sacrificed and dedicated their body, time and honestly their on glorification too.

you look hot

Here’s to you moms and your damn fine mom bods.


That girl.

Heartbreak of all Heartbreaks


I have had my fair share of heartbreaks over my 22 years of love. You know it first starts with the heartbreak of having to share your favorite barbie doll that’s hair changes from a hot pink to a calm lavender color in the water and whose name is Emma Lynn (just theoretically speaking of course). Then you gradually move up to the days of heartbreak from stupid boys who have no regards for your heart at all.

But it was not till year 22 that I experienced the worst heartbreak of them all. It’s the post grad breakup. You know… the break up that you know has been coming all of senior year and that you both have in fact agreed upon earlier in the semester. What you didn’t realize when you made that agreement 6 months ago was that you would completely fall in love with him and cry for dayz and dayz after you left him.

Why is this the worst kind of heart break you ask.

Because there is no reason for it except that you are both trying to figure out your post grad lives. You never fight and when you do you can never stay mad for more than a day. He balances you out and keeps you grounded and you bring out his wild side and keep him on his toes.

You are in fact perfect for each other, but life is for some reason pushing you apart.

This is what I am currently dealing with and doing a horrible job at it I must say (tissues and chocolate are currently my best friend). See normally I would turn on some T-Sweezy, built a bridge and get over it as discussed in one of my previous posts (Heartbreak Hangover), but I have no anger towards him and no want to get over it. All I have is a need to curl up in bed next to him with a Cookout milkshake (Oreo Cheesecake to be exact) and Netflix and to let him tell me that everything is going to be okay.

I guess I will just continue to take one day at a time and keep all my fingers (and toes) crossed with hopes that life will lead us back to one another… sooner than later… cause this truly is the worst kind of heartbreak I have ever felt.


That girl.

Sincerest Apologies

This is my “hey sorry for being a shitty blogger and posting so sporadically; I promise to do better” post.

Finally I have made it and graduated from a lovely university of which I will miss dearly. With this recent achievement I have all the time in the world to ramble on to you lovely people about my random thoughts seeing as how I do not have a job yet… The struggle is so real. Don’t let anyone tell you differently. Just be a full time student. It’s the way to go.

Anyhoo, so with this rant on my post grad life so far is the promise to return to this lovely blog a little more frequently, but seriously… Question, comments, clarifications? HMU

Love you all dearly.


That girl.

Heartbreak Hangovers

Being 22 year old college student I am surrounded by plenty of males, but finding one which is not a drunk, a douche, or just a complete idiot is like finding a sorority girl who doesn’t own a pair of cowboy boots… slim to none. Don’t get me wrong. There are great guys out there but then again all those guys are taken. I’m just trying to find someone to watch Netflix with me and cuddle on the couch. Is that too much to ask for?

Apparently so… In recent events I have yet again come across a seemly perfect candidate until he dropped the bomb on me after 3 months that he was not wanting a relationship because he wants to eventually go back to his ex…

*moment of silence for my heartbreaking and me wanting to punch him in the face*

But now its time to do what all us heartbroken girls have to do. GET. OVER. IT… Easier said than done, but I have found these to be of use when getting over your heartbreak hangover…

1. The queen of heartbreak… Taylor Swift. Listen to which ever song moves your soul. Cry a bit. Then listen to “Picture to Burn” and suck it up.


2. Wine it out… like literally drink a bottle of wine. You deserve it.


3. Stay busy. Don’t let him win. You had plans to go to that football game that he is going to be at? You go to that fucking game looking like a boss. Screw him (figure of speech… not literally… that would be back tracking on all the progress we’ve made).


4. Go to the gym… this is purely based off of Legally Blonde… #noshame. “Exercise gives you endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. Happy people just don’t shoot their husbands, they just don’t.” (or exes… which ever fits)


5. Last but, no where near last. Surround yourself with supportive friends. Lean on them and let them lift you up. That’s what true friends are for.


Hope this helps… don’t worry. If Taylor can get through her multitude of heartbreaks so can we. #girlpower

BUT if you still find yourself in the dumps… throw on some Bey…

Tay + Bey = power team



That (heartbroken) girl.

Cheers The Same Sassy Badass

As I sit here in the new year eating chocolate, drinking wine and pondering what my new year resolutions should be I realize that maybe just maybe resolutions are overrated. I mean who really keeps their new years resolutions past January 5th and if you do, do less. You’re trying to hard. Kidding… Kidding… kinda. Props to you.


Shouldn’t we just be better each day. I feel like so many resolutions are based off of other peoples perception of us. We should eat better, lose a few pounds and keep our sailor’s mouth to a minimum. Well my resolution is to continue to be my sassy badass self. I love chocolate to much and I don’t need heartbreak at the start of a new year so *cheers* here is to staying the damn same. (insert hair flip emoji here)

All the haters can fuck off cause I am staying exactly the same.

badass bitch

That girl.

Love me Tinder?

There are apps for everything… waking you up at a prime time in your sleep cycle, figuring your tip at restaurants, and there is even an app that claims to gauge your sexual performance.

But how about the latest dating app… Tinder. Immature and desperate or genius and helpful?

In my boredom of my summer internship and lame nights at home with the rents I decided to download it… I mean why not? I am up for some awkward conversations with guys trying to swoon me over text enough to accomplish their goal which is probably to get in my pants. (Granted yes that is an assumption, but let’s be real… it is usual true even in person).

In case you are not up on the deal with Tinder here are the high points:

It shows you profiles of people within your area that you set.

You either like the person or dislike them. If you both like each other (based off of 5 photos and a short about me) then you are told that you are a match and you can message each other.

Sounds genius right? You don’t have to worry about the fear of rejection because the person only gets notified of your response if you both like each other. I mean clearly some people think so.

As I flip through and get matched with guys I get the most creative pickup lines (most that deserve silence in response) like this gem:


Ummm…. Can I pick 5?

The problem with these dating apps like Tinder is when does it ever go anywhere? Yeah you flirty text for awhile and you might even get a one night stand out of it if that is what you are going for, but is that really what you are searching for? Are you really going to meet that guy from Tinder?

This right here is the problem for girls and Tinder… Meeting a random guy that we have been awkwardly texting and stalking on social media sites for the past 2 weeks is just not likely. The unknown is what holds women back and with online dating and dating apps there will always be some unknown.

I am on day 3 with my Tinder app and it will probably be the last… I don’t see anyone “loving me Tinder” any time soon. I think I will stick with the bars and blind dates from grandma for now.


That girl.

Southern Belles vs. Redneck Girls

The other day I was asked and interesting question by a sorority sister of mine. “Would you consider yourself a southern belle or a redneck girl?” Interestingly enough this was a difficult question so I decided to define each. So for all you southern girls in the same dilemma…

southern bell

You might be a southern belle if:

  • You know the proper way to hold a wine glass
  • You drink wine out of a wine glass
  • Okay if you drink wine at all…
  • Pearls are your go to accessory with every outfit
  • You have used the phrase “bless her heart” in every opportunity given
  • You treat Carolina Cup like a second Christmas
  • You know how to properly set a supper table
  • You know what “supper” is
  • Your life motto is “The bigger the hair the closer to Jesus”


You might be a Redneck Girl if:

  • Your Christmas lights are placed on every stationary item within 50 yards of your house
  • You consider your favorite color to be camo and incorporated into your outfit every day
  • “Redneck Girl” by Gretchen Wilson is your theme song
  • You have participated in the act of cow tipping
  • PBR is in your fridge at all times
  • Your dream car is actually a truck
  • Your life motto is “God made dirt and dirt don’t hurt”
  • You think the picture above is normal


That girl.

Hell. No.

“You’re next.”


If you are in your twenties and live in the south… yeah you’ve heard it. As I roam around my brother’s wedding (mainly there for chocolate fountain and endless amounts of strawberries) it seems as though everyone was sure I was destined for marriage next. Everyone but me that is.

I don’t know what it is about the south. To have such a slow and laid back way of life, southerners are really fast to get hitched. My brother got married at the young age of 22 and now it seems everyone is looking at me (now 21) to find that special someone. We’ll here is what I have to say to them:

How bout hell no?

No, I will not get married to the first guy who pays me attention. I will wait for the man (key word man) that is up to all of my standards.

No my priority is not on getting married, but on being able to depend on myself. I will focus on success and making a life for myself and the right man will come along.

No I will not go hunt him down or go on 50 blind dates that my grandmother has so graciously set me up with because she thinks she is never going to get grandchildren.

I am 21. My priority in not marriage or finding a man. It’s me. Just me. I will find happiness and success within myself. I will enjoy my single years of drinking at bars and flirting with the bartender.

To all you 20 somethings that are determined to find love: Take a deep breath. Enjoy the life around you and love will come. You are not doomed because you are not hitched by 22. Don’t listen to the southern grandmothers nudging you at weddings and telling you that you’re next. Just do you.

To the south: Chill the fuck out. Marriage is supposed to be based on love, not a timeline of what your life is supposed to look like.

Rant over.


That girl.

Let’s be real.

“Country must be country wide
In every state
There’s a station
Playin’ Cash, Hank, Willie, and Waylon
In foreign cars and four wheel drives

There’s cowboys and hillbillies
From farm towns to big cities
There ain’t no doubt in my mind
Country must be country wide”

These are the famous lyrics from Brantley Gilbert’s hit “Country Must Be Countrywide”… also a favorite song of my freshman roommate. Let’s take a minute to clarify that my roommate was form Greenwich, Connecticut and a trust fund baby who only wore shirts that were seen on runways and shoes that had a minimum height of 3 inches (except for her cowboy boots of course). This was her favorite song because for some reason she felt she had some southern in her (insert stare of confusion here)…

On that note I would like to say…

Brantley Gilbert you are oh so wrong. Find me a southern accent, real cowboy boots, and a guy who opens doors and knows how to drive a tractor that grew up in NYC and we will talk about it. Apparently right now southern is a fad. That is great and all, but everyone is not southern. It isn’t a state of mind… It is a way of life. You have cowboy boots and listen to country music. That is great, but that doesn’t make you southern. Yeah might have a nude bathing suit, a foam finger, and stick out my tongue, but that doesn’t make me Miley Cyrus.



That girl.