Q&A: Buying Your First House

So, you want to a buy a house. Well, my friend, you’re in luck! In December, I bought my very first house. Even though it’s only been 6 weeks, I have loved every minute of it except for painting. I did not love that one bit. Anyway, since sharing the news, I’ve had lots of interested buyers ask me about the process. In response, I thought I would do a quick Q&A about the ins-and-outs of buying your first house!

Photo Dec 03, 1 57 00 PM

Me entering the astroturf threshold of my new house for the first time!

Am I an expert on home buying? LOL No. But I am 24 years old and (still) mostly clueless about the world, so I feel that makes me pretty relatable. Fair warning, dear reader: the home-buying process is hard. You will cry and yell and curse your piddly bank account on the regular. But in the end you will literally own property, and that’s pretty cool. So, let’s get started!

Q: What are the pros and cons to buying a house?


A: On the plus side, a mortgage payment will typically be cheaper than renting an apartment of the same square footage. Unlike renting, you can own pretty much any pet, make major renovations, and potentially use the property for profit as a rental unit.

However, owning a house means paying for all repairs, entering a long-term contract, and paying a billion deposits for things like garbage, water, and so on. It also means routine maintenance, like mowing the grass.

Q: Can you afford to buy a house?


A: The answer might surprise you! Mortgages are actually very affordable, but the tricky part is clearing the down payment. As a first time homebuyer, you’ll be expected to pay 5% of the sale price upfront. If you can afford the down payment, chances are you will no problem once the house is actually purchased.

Q: Should you get a realtor?


A: Depends. I had a realtor, and I thought it made the process way easier. A realtor is basically like a spirit guide with really organized binders. However, it’s possible you may not get as good of a deal on your house as the seller will pay your realtor fees. For a first-time buyer, I’d use a realtor. But remember! They will probably advocate a quick bidding process and/or discourage you from negotiating when you absolutely should. As long as you go in prepared, you’ll be fine!

Q: How much should you spend on a house?


A: While you can always take on roommates to help pay the mortgage, it’s critical that you are able to afford the house on your own if you’re the only one on the deed. For help with the specifics, check out Zillow’s mortgage calculator. It’s not perfect, but it’s a great place to start!

To speed up the process, you can apply for preapproval at your bank. Basically, this is just your bank’s way of saying, “Yeah, as long as you find a house in this price range we’ll spot you.” Remember: Your bank will approve you for a number MUCH higher than what you can afford because they profit from your inability to pay through interest. That being said, look for houses BELOW your preapproval price unless you just like being broke.

Q: What can you expect while touring homes?


A: It’s best to establish a few deal-breakers to save yourself from touring 600 homes any given weekend. My must-haves were a bathtub, garage, and a fireplace. You’d be surprised how many options that eliminated!

After you tour one or two homes, they will slowly begin to blend together. For that reason, takes notes at each house on the things you love and hate. You may spend a little longer at each house, but you will thank yourself later. Trust me.

Q: You found a house, now what?


A: You did some shopping and found a home you’d like to bid on. When entering negotiations for the price of a home, there is one guiding question to ask yourself: Would you rather have a lower monthly payment or more money upfront?

If the answer is a lower monthly payment, you will want to lower the sale price of the house. If you’d rather have more money upfront for repairs and/or to help with the down payment, you will ask the buyer to contribute more in closing costs instead of reducing the sale price. In the end, it’s all the same money. But do you want it now or later?

Q: Is it a good time to buy?



A: Winter is typically the best season for buying a house because the majority of homes are bought in the spring/summer. This means you are competing with fewer potential buyers for your house. However, purchasing a house in the winter means you could be juggling the holidays with packing (which totally sucks) and/or doing all of your decorating in the dark because the sun basically sets at noon. Also it’s really cold.

Q: What happens after a seller accepts my offer?


A: Paperwork. So. Much. Paperwork. You can try to read everything thoroughly, but if you don’t understand it don’t feel dumb because literally no one does. Not even your dad. The most important thing to do is make sure your closing costs, repair cap, and sale price match on ALL documents. If these numbers align, you’re (probably) in the clear.

Q: What should I expect at my closing?


A: Once all negotiations are through and your bank approves the loan, your loan officer will set up a meeting with the title company. There, you will sign more papers until your hand literally stops. If you have a cool realtor, you might also get a goody basket.

Some people say that you should expect to spend a few hours at your closing, but mine only took about 45 minutes. I brought my mom along for good measure since I am buying the house alone, and it never hurts to have a second pair of eyes!

Q: What if I don’t like my house after I buy it?


A: Sell it, rent it, and re-evaluate your decision-making skills.

Hopefully this has been a helpful start to your home-buying journey! I know how crazy and confusing the process can be, so if you have additional questions please feel free to ask away below! Good luck, and happy hunting!

Short Story: Darwin’s Funeral

In case I have not yet shared the good news on As Told by Laura, last month I was honored to win second place in a local writing competition for one of my short stories! Although the competition did not include publication, I thought it might fun to share the story on my blog for those of you who might be interested in a quick read.

Typically I stick to short, lighthearted posts, so please bear with me as we try something a little different today. Also, a quick friendly reminder! If you enjoy my writing, you are always welcome to purchase a copy of my novel. Yes, that is my only shameless plug (for today). I promise! Now, without further ado, I give you “Darwin’s Funeral”.



Darwin's Funeral

The goldfish swam to the water’s surface and consumed three round pellets one by one. Myra watched in wonder as the fish ate his breakfast, entirely unaware of her towering presence. Despite her short stature, Myra looked like a giant through the tank’s warped glass. Breakfast proceeded in the same way every day at eight o’clock sharp. Never a minute early or a second late.

Myra’s sister never understood the excitement.

“Don’t you ever get sick of watching that fish eat?” Kate ripped open a new box of Pop-Tarts and grabbed a bottle of orange juice from the fridge. “You do realize that he eats the same number of pellets every day, right? Nothing really changes.”

Myra stared at the goldfish as he darted through a plastic neon tunnel.

“Myra, I’m talking to you.”

Kate’s voice was sharp and frustrated, but her sister never noticed things like that. She tossed breakfast and a package of crackers into their backpacks while Myra continued to ignore her.


“What?” she asked, uninterested.

“What is the big deal with that fish? It’s so boring. Do you seriously have nothing better to do?”

Myra swirled her finger in the water, and the fish hurried up to greet her.

“His name is Darwin.”

“I don’t care what his name is,” Kate snapped as she headed towards the door. “He doesn’t do anything. And if you don’t hurry up, I’m going to leave you here. I can’t be late to school again because of that stupid fish.”

She left Myra in the kitchen to marvel at Darwin’s uneventful life and boarded the bus alone. Kate fell into the first open seat and whipped out her iPod. With eyes closed, she nestled into the rigid seat. She didn’t worry about unfinished homework or her upcoming biology test, despite a total lack of preparation. There was only Freddie Mercury and a sweet squealing guitar.

Moments later, the bus lurched forward. Kate opened her eyes. Myra had taken a seat by herself a few rows ahead, like usual. Sprawled beside Myra was her dearest companion, a pristine copy of Quantum Mechanics: Volume IV. Myra had smiled when the package arrived from Amazon, signaling an emotional high. Kennedy High didn’t offer quantum mechanics, as most students were lucky to pass geometry. The complex workings of science were one of Myra’s many interests and, really, her truest vice.

“Quantum mechanics?” Jeremy Doyle asked, reaching over the seat and snatching up Myra’s book. Overly cruel and handsome, Jeremy carried out his daily round of torture with a gorgeous grin. “Oh, I get it. You’re just so much smarter than the rest of us, right?”

Annoyed, Myra stared into the empty seat.

“I thought she was just a retard,” teased Jeremy’s girlfriend, who whispered just loud enough for everyone to hear. Jeremy leaned across the aisle to plant a kiss on her bronze cheek. His steel eyes lit up at the sound of laughter.

“Well? Which is it? Are you a genius or a retard?” Jeremy asked, swinging the book in front of Myra like a dog. A few kids shifted uncomfortably in their seats, but the rest were simply trying not to laugh too loudly.

Jeremy’s stunt grew awkward when Myra didn’t respond.

“I guess she’s a mute, too.” He slid her book under the seat and launched it towards the back of the bus. “I knew you were just a retard.”

Kate watched quietly as usual. Bullies were part of Myra’s morning ritual, like Darwin’s breakfast. Neither could remember what unintelligent joke Jeremy cracked yesterday or the day before, much like Kate couldn’t remember what cereal she had for breakfast.

In the beginning, there was guilt. Kate used to cry whenever she left Myra to fend for herself. But as days slipped into years, her conscience shrunk. Kate really didn’t know whether Myra understood betrayal, but not once in seventeen years had she seen her sister cry. Years ago, Myra had become a sort of mysterious robot in her mind. Easily managed, but never understood.

After the bus emptied, Myra walked to the back of the bus to collect her book. Her sister had already left. Kate slept through first period and failed a biology test in second, focusing instead on her best friend’s upcoming sweet sixteen. After a deafening lecture on molecular structure before lunch, Kate caught up with her friends near the back of the cafeteria.

Kate lowered herself onto the empty seat across from her best friend, Kyla. She and Kyla had shared at least three classes for the past two years. Despite opposite personalities, close contact made them friends. As soon as she sat down, Kyla slid a folded, paper invitation across the table. If possible, Kyla’s box-dyed hair seemed even darker than yesterday.

“Whoa, an invitation. What is this, second grade?” Kate asked, turning the paper over between her skinny fingers. She crammed the invitation into her already full backpack.

“I know it’s lame, but my mom made me take them to school,” Kyla apologized while taking a swig of her Diet Coke. “She’ll be mad if I come home with all twenty invitations tonight. I know I’ve told you about the party like a hundred times, but I just want to make sure you’re coming. It starts at eight.”

Kate nodded yes, her mouth stuffed with mushy cafeteria food. While Kyla rambled on about her new dress, Andy plopped down beside her with three slices of pepperoni pizza. Every few seconds he shook the hair out of his face, revealing two warm, chocolaty eyes.

“Au naturale,” Andy crooned in a French accent, pointing to Kyla’s barren face. “I like it.”

“Don’t make fun of me!” she squealed, punching him on the arm. “I was running late this morning. I didn’t have time to put on makeup. Geez.”

“I’m not making fun of you!” Andy smiled. “I genuinely like it.”

Kyla’s cheeks burned red as she busied herself with dessert.

“Thanks,” she muttered, nonchalant.

There was an awkward silence as Kyla, the conversation ringleader, scraped the bottom of her pudding cup. Kate texted her boyfriend underneath the table while Andy slathered his pizza in ranch dressing.

“Does she eat alone every day?”

Kate followed Andy’s gaze over to Myra. Her lazy ponytail swung close to her food, and a baggy T-shirt concealed her feminine frame. She read between bites.

“She probably likes eating alone,” Kyla offered, spinning around to join the conversation. “Otherwise she would find some friends to sit with, right? Besides, I never see her talking to anyone. Like ever. Maybe she’s just weird or anti-social, or something.”

Kate nodded in agreement. Suddenly her hunger disappeared.


   After the lunch bell rang, Kate dodged the crowds and landed in Evan’s arms. Her father never did approve of Evan, as he was a senior and “too experienced”. At school they could be together, despite the scowls of nearby teachers. Evan pushed Kate up against the lockers. He stole a hot kiss while running his fingers through her straight hair.

“How was class?” Kate asked with arms locked around Evan’s neck.

“You kidding me? I hate this place. The only reason I come is to see you.” He stole another kiss. “Too bad you’re such a goody-two-shoes. If you skip class with me tomorrow, we could have a lot of fun. My parents are gone this weekend, you know.”

“I’m not a goody-two-shoes.” Kate slapped his chest. “If I skip school one more time Principal Wheatley will call my dad again. I’m pretty sure he’d rather have a crack whore for a daughter than a high-school drop-out.”

As Evan’s lips traced her jaw, a familiar face appeared out of nowhere.

“Kate?” Myra asked, oblivious to Evan’s demanding hormones.

Kate shoved Evan off of her and fumbled to smooth down her hair.

“Yeah?” she asked after clearing her throat.

“Are you getting a ride from your friends or are you riding the bus today?”


“Okay. I left my house key on my desk, and I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to get inside.” Myra wrung her hands together nervously. “If Darwin doesn’t eat at five precisely, it will take twenty-one days to reestablish his habitual nature. He has been on the same feeding cycle for three years.”

“Uh-huh,” Kate replied while dodging Evan’s confused stare.

“So you’ll be there?”

“Yes, I’ll be there.”

“Darwin can eat at five?”

“I said yes.”

“Are you positive?”

Kate gritted her teeth.


“Okay. That’s all.”

With no warm goodbye, Myra turned and left. Her half-tucked shirt drew plenty of snickers, but she didn’t notice. Evan’s gaze stayed on Myra, the one-woman show of Kennedy High School. “Who ‘s Darwin? Do you even know that girl?”

Kate shrugged.

“She’s just some kid on my bus.” She felt bad keeping Myra a secret, but never badly enough to be honest. “Anyway, I have to go. Another tardy in Mrs. Manning’s class, and I’ve got a detention.” She wrestled free from his embrace and vanished in the crowd. Kate caught up to Myra and grabbed her by the shirt, leading her around the corner by a broken vending machine.

“Hey, you okay? What’s going on?”

Despite Kate’s calm voice, Myra tried to squeeze out the anxiety by hugging herself tightly.

“I’m just afraid you won’t be there after school. Then I’ll be locked out, and my whole schedule will change. Darwin’s whole schedule will change. I would have to call Dad, and he would be so mad that I forgot my house key.”

“Myra, you know that Dad wouldn’t be mad. Every time you think he’s going to be furious about something, he isn’t even upset. Am I right?”

Myra nodded slightly.

“I promise I will be there, alright? Don’t worry about it.”

Kate laid a hand on Myra, and she winced. Without another word Myra ran off to class. She was always on-time. Never a minute early or a second late.


The day marched on uneventfully, and Kate smiled at the thought of being one day closer to summer. Myra boarded the bus with a slight grin, which amazed Kate. Even though she suffered hell at school, Myra always found joy at the sight of the bus. The bus meant going home, and going home meant seeing Darwin.

The bus rolled to a stop in their neighborhood, and the sisters exited separately. After they were far away from the other riders, Kate jogged up to Myra.

“How was school today?”

“Same as always,” she replied without enthusiasm, quickening her pace to greet Darwin. Myra hustled down the long driveway and left Kate walking alone.

Myra threw down her backpack, ran over to the tank, and resumed exactly where she had left off that morning. Kate stepped in a few minutes later. As the bug-eyed fish wiggled up to the surface, Myra smiled at him through the glass. She dipped her fingertip into the tank, and Darwin nibbled lightly on her skin. Unamused by the spectacle, Kate went upstairs to watch TV and find a suitable outfit for Kyla’s party. After twenty minutes or so, she could hear Myra humming to herself through the paper-thin wall they shared.

“Can you cut it out?” Kate yelled. “I can’t hear my show.”

The humming stopped.

Ghost Hunters resumed as Kate tossed countless shirts on her closet floor. Finally she stumbled upon a tattered black dress she bought last year. Short and ragged, the dress had an appealing edge. Ripping off her fitted shirt and skinny jeans, she wiggled between the layers of tight fabric. Suddenly, the high-pitched squeal of some obnoxious classical instrument pierced through the wall.

“Myra!” Kate yelled with her head stuck halfway in the dress. “Turn it down!”

The dress hardly fit, but she wasn’t ready to accept defeat. The shrill note carried on forever and sounded too much like finely-tuned nails on a chalkboard. After stretching the tiny lace over her curvy hips, Kate marched down the hall and beat on the door.


Her sister peeked through the open crack, humming along with the melody.

“Yes?” she asked innocently.

“I need you to turn. It. Down. I’m trying to do my homework,” Kate lied.

“Did you know that multiple studies suggest listening to classical music while studying can actually improve cognitive performance by a considerable amount?” Myra grinned to herself, like she was proud to have a stake in the discovery.

“That’s great, but you play the same song over and over every day. Look, I get that you like classical music and all. Good for you. I hate it. Please just turn it down.”

“Not everyone can comprehend the abstract movements behind the notes,” Myra conceded, nodding her head along with the melody. “I forgive you.”

Her words stung, but Kate shrugged it off with a familiar numbness. Myra didn’t mean it. She never did. Kate walked back to her room after Myra agreed to turn down the Beethoven. The quiet lasted for eight whole minutes, a new record.


“So, Dad,” Kate began, twirling spaghetti onto her fork. “I got all of my homework done today. Aren’t you proud?”

“That’s great, sweetie,” Paul said with a tired smile. Work often left him exhausted by dinner, but he did his best not to show it. He ran a calloused hand over his balding head before picking up his fork.

“I also cleaned my room. You were right. It was getting pretty messy.”

Paul glanced up. With his index finger, he perched his round glasses up high on the bridge of his crooked nose. He stared down at his youngest daughter.

“What? What do you want?”

Kate pretended to be taken aback. Her hair flew forward dramatically as she laid a hand over her heart. Paul seemed unamused, but Kate pressed on.

“Can’t a girl brag on herself a little these days?”

Paul’s fork clattered as it hit the plate.

“What do you want?”

“Okay, so Kyla is having this huge party on Friday, right?”

Myra shoveled food into her mouth like a bulldozer. Paul folded his hands on the table.

“Kyla?” he asked. “Isn’t she that little blonde you’re always running around with? The one who wears her sweaters too tight?”

“Technically she’s a brunette now, and her sweaters are not too tight,” Kate corrected. “Anyway, her sixteenth birthday is on Friday, and I have to be at the party. I sort of already promised her I would help set up. She’s going to be so disappointed if I don’t go.”

Paul calmly began eating again, glancing up from time to time at Kate.

“Who will be there?”

Kate’s stomach did summersaults while she fumbled over her spoon.

“You know, just my usual friends from school.”

“Is Evan going to be there?”

As a cop, Paul interrogated witnesses for a living. There was no lie he couldn’t spot.

“Maybe, if he can make it.” Kate shrugged casually with a sugary smile. “Well, he might be out of town so he probably won’t even be able to go.”

Her father nodded to himself while gnawing on some bread. Myra glanced up occasionally, absorbing the scene like an anthropologist in the field. After a few seconds, she grew bored with their conversation and returned to her plate of spaghetti.

“I know you hate Evan, but you just have to give him a chance! He is really sweet and mature, once you get to know him. You just haven’t been around him enough, Daddy. If you let me go to this party, I’ll never ask you for anything ever again! I swear on my life.”

Their father chewed and chewed on his garlic toast. Kate squirmed in her seat. Time seemed to stop altogether. After an eternity, a devilish smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.

“Alright. You can go,” he announced.

Kate’s arms flew around his neck as she planted a sloppy wet kiss on his shiny forehead.

“You are the best, Dad.”

Paul stood up from the table to fetch a second helping.

“That is, you can go if you take Myra.”

Kate’s jaw dropped. “What?”

Myra’s head snapped up at the sound of her name. She hunched down to scoop the last bite into her mouth before guzzling down a glass of milk.

“Dad, that’s not fair! Do you have any idea what people would say if I brought Myra?”

“I’m sorry, but if you want to go you have to take your sister. It isn’t fair that you get to go out on Friday while she sits at home reading books up in her room.”

“But she likes doing that crap!” Kate yelled back.

“Kathryn!” her father snapped, slamming down his plate for emphasis. “Watch your mouth. I’m not going to discuss this anymore. You can take it or leave it.”

That’s not even a bad word!” Kate cried, desperate.

She pleaded her case over and over while Paul scrubbed away at a pile of suds-soaked dishes. His appetite for seconds disappeared, thanks to Kate’s persistent whining.

“Dad, please! Myra doesn’t even want to go to this stupid party. Right, Myra? She likes being alone.”

All eyes were on Myra. She moved freely under the tension that weighed down the room. Seemingly unconcerned, she grabbed a Popsicle from the freezer and bit off the top.

“Myra, wouldn’t you rather stay home?” Kate pushed.

Myra didn’t have an opportunity to respond.

“You two can work it,” Paul announced, throwing down a dirty towel. “You’ve got a few days.”

He shuffled over to the ripped couch and summoned a recorded episode of NCIS. Myra joined him. The conversation died along with Kate’s optimism.


   The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. Kate made her way over to the trash can and spotted Myra on the way. With her nose buried in the spine of a book, she moved briskly out of the cafeteria and toward the flooded hallway. Kate ran after her.

“Hey, can I talk to you for a second?”

Myra considered. “Okay, as long as I’m not late.” She cradled the book in her backpack and followed Kate around the corner to an empty bathroom. “Do you need something?”

“Look, about the party on Friday. I’m sorry if I freaked out last night or said anything mean. You know I didn’t mean it.” Her voice bounced off of the pink tiles.

“I know,” Myra answered matter-of-fact. “Dad said you’re still grieving over Mom.”

A hard lump forced its way into Kate’s throat.

“No I’m not. She died like five years ago.” She glanced in the mirror, embarrassed by her flushed cheeks. “Look, I’m not here to talk about Mom. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings last night, but I know parties aren’t your thing. There will be tons of people, loud music, and hopefully some booze. You would hate it. Trust me.”

Myra looked up at the ceiling while she mechanically considered the words. Myra shuffled back and forth on her feet, Kate watching in the mirror all the while. On the outside, they looked so similar. Myra had their mother’s mouth, but otherwise they could have passed for twins.

“It’s not fair,” Myra finally said.

“What’s not fair? That I get to go to the party? If we don’t work something out soon, there’s a good chance I won’t be going. You heard Dad.”

Myra lowered her gaze.

“No, that you have people to sit with.”

Kate’s mind froze, reaching for words that simply weren’t there. With three minutes until the next bell, Myra grabbed her bag and abandoned Kate in the bathroom.


   Friday came quickly, and Kate had decided to attend Kyla’s party. With no compromise from Myra, she laid out the tight-fitting black dress. On the bus ride home, Kate circled her eyes with dark liner and dabbed on bright red lipstick. She needed to leave before Paul got home from work. At best, she would be grounded for sneaking out. At worst, her dad might crash Kyla’s party. Still, it was worth the gamble.

As the bus neared home, Kate listed off everything she would need for the night – mainly clothes, a curling iron, jewelry, and some heels. The bus lurched to a halt, and the sisters began their silent march toward the house. Once the bus had pulled away, Kate sucked Myra into idle conversation that lasted until their feet found the porch.

Once inside, Myra threw her things on the floor and raced over to Darwin’s tank. But something wasn’t right. Kate could tell. From far across the room, she spotted a gold silhouette floating on the water’s edge. An unspeakable heaviness pushed down on the room. Kate’s breath caught in her lungs, paralyzed like her mind. From the hallway, Kate waited for Myra to shatter the silence. Soon she would talk about the life-span of goldfish, or maybe discuss the logical factors in Darwin’s demise.

But she didn’t.

Kate watched in shock as Myra displayed the emotions doctors claimed she would never feel.

“Why, Kate?” Myra’s shoulders began to shudder. “I did everything right. I followed the instructions perfectly. I took exceptional care of him.”

The air left her body in panicked bursts.

“What went wrong?” she asked shakily. “I don’t understand, Kate. I don’t understand.”

She laid down her backpack and took a few steps closer. The room was silent. The silence was deafening and the sorrow suffocating. Without warning, Myra broke.

“It doesn’t make sense!” she shouted at the top of her lungs, slamming her fists slamming down beside Darwin. “I did everything right! Everything!”

Her eyes were wild with hurt and confusion. Despite dry eyes, Myra’s spirit had already drowned with Darwin. She crumbled onto the white linoleum and rocked softly on bended knees.

“I cared for him,” she whispered. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Kate’s heart knocked hard against her ribs. Myra had never acted this way before, not once. It was terrifying and new, but somehow the pain made her seem more real. More human.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Myra said again.

“Not everything has to,” Kate whispered, laying a hand over her back. Myra didn’t shudder under the touch. “Things don’t always make sense,” Kate said, knowing Myra still wouldn’t understand.

With her sister shrunken on the kitchen floor, Kate grabbed a Ziploc bag and scooped out the slippery corpse. Without a word, Kate offered her hand to Myra and pulled her off of the ground. Two sets of watery eyes glinted in the kitchen light.

“Come with me.”

Kate led Myra into the guest bathroom. They hovered around the porcelain toilet, wedged between the countertop and shower. Though Myra had returned to her usual quiet, things were not the same. Maybe they would never be the same again.

“Do you want to say something?”

Myra nodded no. Her silence served as an understated farewell, and the water washed Darwin away. They stood there together for quite some time, looking into the empty toilet.

“You’ll be late for your party,” Myra said at last.

It was an observation, not a concern.

“I wasn’t planning on going.”

Kate didn’t have to understand Myra to understand her pain. It was there, at Darwin’s funeral, that autism ceased to exist.

9 Signs You’re in a Long-Term Relationship, As Told by Tina Fey

1. Sweatpants Are Considered Date Clothes…

Goodbye, sundress. Hello, Snuggie!

2. …Because Netflix IS a Date

Given that the television is actually the third member of your relationship trifecta, it only makes sense.

3. You cut the crap.

Oh, you want to drive cross-country in a remodeled Volkswagen to observe the real America? No. We’re not doing that. Why are you so weird?

4. Farting.

All. The. Time.

5. You deal with each other’s weirdness.

Enough said.

6. Illness is no longer a good excuse not to hang out.

It’s not true love if you don’t French kiss strep.

7. You’ve basically forgotten how to be single.

I could totally snag another lover. I have all the flirts.

8. You order for each other when you’re out to eat.

Except sometimes bae asks what you want to eat and you say “I don’t care” and then he orders the WRONG THING.

9. Despite everything, you’re happier than you’ve ever been.

Suddenly unshaven legs and Funyun-breath look like happily ever after.

The Ugly Truth: Depression, Anxiety, and Being a Young Twenty-Something

Hello again, blog buddies! Long time no see.

You may have noticed my sudden leave of absence from the blogosphere over the past few months. In fact, many of you have asked what happened! No, no — I didn’t fall of the face of the Earth, nor did I become a full-time Disney princess (I’m sorry to report). I’ve had a lot going on in my life, and today I’m going to tell you about it in what is perhaps the most vulnerable post I’ve ever written. It’s a little wordy and not exactly the happiest of topics. In fact, it’s probably not for all readers. But like a lot of difficult and scary things, it’s also worthwhile.

Alright, here we go. It all began in May of 2014.


Such simpler times!

As many of you know, I graduated from college and started working full-time the summer of 2014. Things seemed pretty good at the time! I had a fun job and a swanky, non-roach-infested apartment. To me, it was the perfect first step into the “adult” world. It seems so silly, but at the time I just knew that nothing would ever change. For a while, nothing did. At first, the transition from student to staff had seemed seamless. But over the next few months, I slowly realized that — much to my surprise — everything about my life had changed.

All of my friends had moved away to pursue new jobs, many in exciting cities across the country. My boyfriend and best friend in the world had moved nearly forty-five minutes away. My relationship with my college roommate struggled under the pressure of new responsibilities. But worst of all, I had lost my sense of self — I was no longer a student. In just one day, I had lost the single largest piece of my identity. I knew how to be a student. I was good at being a student! But for the first time in 22 years, my life wasn’t scripted anymore. I was terrified and pretty much alone.

I tried to use my budding career as a crutch, but even the excitement of my first full-time job couldn’t hold my world together. In time, the best job turns into work because careers are a source of income, not a source of purpose. Of course, six months ago that seemed so backwards to me. In college, your future career is everything — what you study for, work for, train for. It is a picture of all that you were and hope to be, in a way. Unsatisfied at work, lonely, and confused about my purpose, I became depressed and anxious. I resigned from the museum and moved home in December to be closer to my caring family and wonderfully patient boyfriend.

In short, I lost it. Yes, I had a mental breakdown.

If you know me, you know that I’m a strong type-A personality. As Boromir would say, one does not simply lose control. So when my parents suggested counseling, I wasn’t exactly thrilled. “How did I get here?” I asked myself. “I’m not crazy. Why can’t I just be stronger?” The anxiety compounded day after day as I tried to “fix myself”. Defeated and utterly at a loss, I conceded. I saw a counselor. For weeks I told no one but my parents and boyfriend. The stigma of counseling isn’t something you can easily shake off, and I reluctantly opened up to my friends one by one. Much to my surprise, many of them had seen or considered seeing someone as well. It was a huge eye-opener, for sure!

Looking back, I realize that counseling is a good, good thing. It’s not for the insane or the weak. Counseling is actually for the brave. In America, acknowledging a need for help is often considered a sign of weakness. In reality, this is one of the bravest types of courage there is. Even to this day, I still get embarrassed when I talk about counseling. What will people say about me? Will they think I’m a total nut job?

Even though I am still embarrassed, I am trying to be braver.

Counseling was one of the best decisions I ever could have made, but it could not provide me with purpose. Now during these dark months, I used to break down in tears almost daily. I was completely overwhelmed with my life, which was nothing like I expected it to be. I began praying more. Read the Bible more. Opened up to friends more. I have always called myself a Christian, though I would not describe myself as an outspoken evangelical. But today I will proudly tell you that God single-handedly met all of my needs and took care of me from start to finish. Not my counselor, not my parents, and not my boyfriend — God.

He gave me an identity. Soothed my anxiety. Led me to the right job at the right time. Gave me the support I needed during some horrible and somber times. I am not a religious blogger, and you likely will not see more spiritual soliloquies on my blog after today. But to deny God his role in this story is an injustice, my friends. He kept his promises and used every ounce of pain to bring beautiful changes in my life, but it wasn’t easy.

Trying to sort out the pieces of my life consumed all of my time. I stopped working on my sequel, quit writing blog posts, jumped ship on social media. The idea of simply existing was so foreign to me. Until a few months ago, I never realized that just living is a full-time gig — even without all of the senseless clutter we use to fill our time. I had to learn to enjoy (not tolerate) time alone. Actually, I’m still learning! I put everything on hold because I needed that time for myself. I still do.

But things did get better.


Doing cool things at my cool job — like meeting the governor!

Thank God my life has made a 180! I have a new job that provides plenty of work and exciting opportunities (like meeting the governor!). I have rekindled old friendships and started new ones. Traveled to new cities. Spent time with family. Ultimately proved to myself that life goes on post-degree. Looking back, it is so easy to blame my circumstances. I could tell you that my job wasn’t exciting enough, that my apartment wasn’t big enough. That if I’d only had a master’s degree or more friends or a husband or a higher salary or a puppy things would have been alright.

But that just isn’t true, friends.

Everyone is struggling in some way — yes, everyone. In a world of non-stop Tweets and retouched Instagram pics, struggle isn’t something we’re used to seeing. After moving home I’ve bumped into a lot of old friends, and over the past month, where I’ve heard “You seem like you’re so successful on Facebook!” far too many times. Social media is so deceiving, and that’s one reason why I had to write this post. Everyone can see my accomplishments, yet so few see beyond that. It breaks my heart to think that someone who is battling loneliness or is unhappy at work might be intimidated by the way my life appears online.

This brings up a good question: why am I telling you all of this? It isn’t because I like attention or airing out my dirty laundry. It isn’t for the page views or Facebook likes. It isn’t even for myself, really. Inspired by the honesty of fellow blogger Sara Rowe, I wanted to open up with you today because I wish someone had been honest with me six months ago. By talking with my friends and family, I see now that countless others have struggled with and before me when entering the “real world.” The worst part is, no one talks about it. If we’re truly honest, being a young twenty-something isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be on TV — gobs of friends, a flourishing social life, true love, and a swanky apartment in the city. With social media, our lives are on display. It is so easy to get swept away in the comparison game.

But your life isn’t supposed to match someone else’s highlights reel.

This profile pic was taken just after a lovely cry-fest, but online you'd only see a perfect couple pic.

This profile pic was taken just after a lovely cry-fest, but online you’d only see a happy couple.

Shakespeare once wrote that “The root of all heartache is expectation.” Life is a game of expectations, and I was utterly unprepared for the unpredictability of being a young adult. I decided to be honest about what’s been going on in my life because I think we could all use a little more transparency. Six months ago, I thought I was completely alone — that I was the only one clueless and unsatisfied. This post isn’t a doom-and-gloom rant about the unsolvable human condition. In the end, it’s a story of hope and strength, to tell you that things will get better. I am so much happier today than I could have imagined six months ago, but I don’t ever want to forget the pain that brought me here. Author Joan Didion sums it up well:

“I think we are well advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not. Otherwise they turn up unannounced and surprise us, come hammering on the mind’s door at 4 a.m. of a bad night and demand to know who deserted them, who betrayed them, who is going to make amends.”

Joan Didion, Slouching Towards Bethlehem

If you’re a struggling young twenty-something, have faith. Pray to God. Seek counsel in good friends. Don’t be afraid to ask for help. Get rid of social media if you need to, and learn to find happiness outside of others. Build a version of yourself that you are happy with, and never compare yourself to others. This post has been difficult to share, but if it offers even a shred of peace to one person, then it was worth the embarrassment and worry over what others will think. There is a raw vulnerability in every story worth telling. Like a fire-breathing dragon, you cannot be your own hero without conquering darkness.

I will close with one of my favorite quotes.

“Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.”

Neil Gaiman, Coraline

P.S. This post is dedicated to my unbelievably supportive parents, my patient and ever-loving (plus devilishly handsome) boyfriend, and a whole slew of friends who had and have my back.

15 Times Nigel Thornberry Totally Got Your Life

1. Every time you walk into a Barnes and Noble.

2. The first time you were ALL about that bass.

3. HOLD UP. Did someone say Pumpkin Spice Latte?

4. You + Ulta + Marc Jacobs Perfume =

5. Whaaaaaat?! Your crush is going to that party? You totally had NO idea. #WokeUpLikeThis

6. Grandma has used “Surprise Kiss” attack. WHOA! It’s SUPER effective. Critical hit!

7. Pop Culture 101: This is a milkshake. It brings all the boys to the yard.

8. Remember that moment when you suddenly realized that your ex looks like Janet Reno?

9. Don’t lie. We all know an ugly baby. #RealTalk #SoPrecious

10. Two words. Ned Stark.

11. Why yes, I DID get a haircut. Thank you for noticing!

12. Oh, this? It’s just my new Bath and Body Works shower gel. You couldn’t afford it.

13. C’mon. We’ve all had at least one bad experience with Google.

14. That awkward moment when you pretend to be Ariel in your dog’s outdoor kiddie pool.

15. Remember when you read that super weird but totally hilarious Nigel Thornberry blog post?

Michael Scott’s 10 Tips for Successful Living

World’s Best Boss, rabies philanthropist, poopball prodigy. Michael Scott is highly accomplished in the art of life, and his wisdom has inspired countless others over the years. Today, for the first time ever, Michael Scott breaks his silence and shares the 10 Scranton secrets for successful living.

1. Confidence is key. Never be afraid to highlight your best qualities.

2. Know how you want to be perceived by others.

3. Through thick and thin, stay grounded in your beliefs.

4. Problems are inevitable. Always take responsibility for your mistakes.

5. When speaking to others, always use encouraging, supportive words.

6. Acknowledge your shortcomings.

7. Have a role model. Don’t be afraid to look to others for inspiration.

8. A healthy diet is a must in leading a well-balanced life.

9. Never be afraid to share your opinions with those you care about.

10. Last but not least, be true to yourself. No matter what.

For more advice on living well, check out Harry Potter’s guide to school exams or Zooey Deschanel’s rules of being a modern woman.

My Adventure Book

Hans Christian Anderson once said that life itself is the most wonderful fairytale. This is one of my favorite quotes, which is no surprise if you know me. As you might remember from a former post, I am a firm believer in bucket lists. For me, it’s less of a to-do list and rather a representation of someone I hope to be—brave, adventurous, spontaneous, uninhibited. My bucket list is a lot like Ellie’s Adventure Book from Disney’s Up!. “More Disney?” you whine. Yes, but bear with me!

I recently graduated from college and began my adult life working full-time. Like any newbie, there are days when I wonder what exactly I am working towards. What I want out of life. Where I will go.  The big “what next”. For the first time, my life isn’t scripted, and that terrifies me. Like plenty of people, I challenge myself to move one step closer to Paradise Falls every day. Even though I don’t really know what my dream is yet—maybe it’s becoming the next J.K. Rowling or marketing a Disney blockbuster—I am sometimes overwhelmed by the burden of making it come true. It’s a blessing and a curse, I guess. Maybe you’ve felt that way, too.

It feels sort of like this…

If you’re not moving forwards you’re moving backwards, right? That’s how I looked at college. Most days were part of an uphill climb to the next milestone on the road to successful alumna. I had this need to make something of myself simply to prove I could. The idea of mindlessly drifting along like a balloon-tethered house in the sky seemed like a total waste, and I used milestones to measure my progress in the Adventure Book of life.

Don’t get me wrong, those achievements were great! They provided so many opportunities. But those milestones seemed to me the very point of college, and now? I think I was wrong. When I look back over the past four years, those accomplishments sort of melt away in my mind. I tend to overlook the typical “highlights”—my first time making honor roll, studying abroad in England, landing an internship, my first time inside the Sooner stadium. Instead, it’s the little, seemingly insignificant things that stand out.

 Hitting the 24/7 donut shop at midnight with my friends, schooling my folks at Bananagrams, meeting up every week for the new American Horror Story episode, celebrating Valentine’s Day with my roommate, playing Mario Kart with my boyfriend until 4 a.m., waking up in my old bed at Christmas, skipping class to rewatch old episodes of Friends. Those are the things I remember most.


Note: My roommate and I have celebrated V-Day together for ten years.

And to you, that may seem uneventful because, well, it is! But there’s a moment in Up! that sums up what I’m trying to say. Near the end of the movie, Russell is talking to Carl about his workaholic dad. He talks about the way they used to get ice cream together and count the cars as they passed by. Then, in one sentence, our young wilderness explorer perfectly captures the point of the entire movie and, incidentally, life.

As Ellie points out in her sob-worthy note to Carl, life isn’t about the destination. It’s about the adventures along the way, adventures shared with others. Perhaps I will write a bestseller or work for Walt Disney Studios, but more and more I am realizing that the most exciting parts of life are happening right now. As we speak, I’m filling the pages of my own adventure book with “the boring stuff”. Yes, adventure really is out there. You just have to open your eyes and see it.


12 Things No One Tells You About Owning a Cat

Last week, I celebrated my first anniversary as a co-cat owner. Hooray! As I reflect upon my year with Oliver, I am reminded of a time when I knew absolutely nothing about cats. I mean, zilch. I’ve learned in our 53 weeks together, and here are a few highlights for your enlightenment and education.

1. Cats are not dogs.

Drop some food? Don’t worry. Your cat will bat it into some impossible-to-reach place, where it will inevitably rot into a liquid pile of fermented gross.

2. Underwear = Hammock 

Last week my cat tried to nap in my underpants while I was getting dressed for work. True story.

3. Spray bottles are everything. 

God forbid a single drop of water land near your cat, and you’ve got an impromptu exorcism on your hands.

4. Cats LOVE parkour. 

Nothing says “Good morning, my gracious and loving owner” like a parkour stunt over the breakfast table.


5. Boxes.

This pretty much sums it up.

6. Faces are for sleeping.

Thanks for the outrageously expensive designer cat bed, Dad. Too bad it’s not your face.

7. Walks are no.

You’ve got a better shot at finding the lost city of Atlantis than walking your cat to the front door.

8. Cats have no shame. 

Me: Oliver, do not scratch my new Bassett Hound sofa. Oliver. OLIVER. Do you hear me?

Oliver: Stares right into my eyes and drags his Edward Scissorclaws across my precious white linen furniture.

9. Purrs.

Eleven years ago, Hilary Duff asked us what dreams are made of. I think we know now.

10. Cats are all the laughs.

Both Internet and real.


11. Head butts mean “I love you”.

Apparently the clashing of skulls is a foreign feline sign of affection. Try to be tolerant of this painful ritual like a cultured human being.

12. It only takes one.

Cats. Clawing into hearts across the world since since 7486 BCE.

Working Full Time, As Told by Disney

You’re fresh out of college, on the cusp of life’s great harvest, teeming with ambition. As successful grown-ups do, you secure a full-time job.

Oh, the joys that await! Personal fulfillment, professional connections—perhaps even a promotion. But sometimes working full time is not all that we expect it to be…

First, you have to wake up before the sky. Fives days a week. On the heels of afternoon classes and optional morning lectures, yeah, it’s gonna’ hurt. Maybe 8 a.m. classes weren’t such a bad idea…

But it’s okay! It’s an opportunity to make use of that state-of-the-art Keurig system—the one you can’t even afford in your dreams after student loans. Each refill is a piping hot dose of get-it-together-you-infantile-weakling. 

So, remember that crazy micromanaging professor who lost her marbles at the sight of a water bottle in her precious 1960s wasteland of a classroom? Yeah, she didn’t make it in the corporate world—surprise! Your dedication to hydration is longer under siege. 

By now, you’ve probably got a closet filled with oversized Kappa T-shirts and a rainbow road of Ugg boots. Get ready to wear your “interview outfit” every single day, because—surprise!—you’ve been dressing like a bum. 

And because you cannot ween yourself from the mocha teet of Starbucks, you are poor. Like Bon Bon self-manicure poor. Kiss Antonio Melani goodbye, because those boots were made for walking—right up to the Dillard’s return desk.

Even at the most amazing job, 40 hours per week can occasionally feel overwhelming. Sure, there’s weekends. But Monday will be back, and she is a brutal, brutal mistress. Proceed with caution, young dancing queens of the world.

Regardless of the pros and cons, all is righted on one day. For on this day—oh, glorious day!—a check is received. Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou, pay day, surely art more lovely because NOW I’M FILTHY RICH, SUCKERS!

Naturally, there’s only one thing left to do.

Until you’re poor again.

It’s a vicious cycle, really. Yes the legend of the rent may be way hardcore, but the heroic tale of the entry-level worker bee is not complete. The dawn comes early and the coffee pot often runneth dry, but nothing beats financial independence. 

And that, dear readers, makes everything worthwhile.