Category Archives: First World Problems

Haven’t done this in a while

God, how long has it been since I’ve blogged? Since the election? Since I started my new job? I’d have to check, and it’s taking enough effort for me to even write this thing, so, I’m going to say it’s been at least seven months or so.

I’m going to try to get back into blogging at least 1x per week from now on. After the election, the plan was to wait until the rage-and-despair-fueled fire burning in the pit of my soul subsided before trying my hand at this blog again, but then things got even worse, so, like, fuck it, whatever. I like to be funny in this space, y’all, and not much has seemed funny for the last six months, but I’m just gonna have to make some lemonade out of the shitty, moldering, Russian-grown lemons Cheetolini has given us in lieu of a future for Americans’ health care and, you know, the planet. First, though, an update on my life.

I started a new job eight days before the election. The job is great, but twice since 11/8/16 I’ve dipped into suicidal-ideation-level depressions. Twice. In six months. That’s not good. I’ve just come out of one of these troughs, so now’s a good a time as any to make this thing work.

That’s…kind of the whole update. I got a new job, been working, been depressed, been trying to make it through each day without bursting into tears and/or making a papier-mâché Trump and burning it in effigy in front of my apartment. Also been eating way too much and not working out enough/at all. WOOHOO ISN’T THIS UPLIFTING AF?

I’m better now, though. I swear. I hope. Please, God, let me be better. I mean, I feel better today, but that might be the rosé wine and Carly Rae Jepsen combo I’m jiving to right now. Also, I bought new cleaning supplies for my apartment and that always makes me feel awesome (I’m not kidding. I love cleaning supplies.). I walked 10K steps each of the last three days. I ate, like, a salad yesterday, with minimal cheese in it*. These are all good signs, right? Honestly, I feel like I accomplished a lot more this week than Donald Trump did in Europe. Like, at least I didn’t insult and alienate the United States’ closest allies and follow the rest of the G7 leaders around on a golf cart like a toddler who’s overdue for a nap! See, lemonade!

Depression is pretty funny though, I have to say. Like, last week I broke down and collapsed in a ball on the floor because I dropped a towel on the floor when I meant to hang it up on the hook on the back of my bathroom door. This was apparently more than my sick mind could bear. I just lost it, and sobbed uncontrollably as I stared at it for a moment before bending over, picking it up again, and finally managing to hang it on the hook. I was convinced that I was a terrible, disgusting, evil person because I had a moment of clumsiness and accidentally dropped a towel, which, in case you’ve never encountered one, is a soft, unbreakable object which is not spoiled from resting on a moderately clean hardwood floor for 3.5 seconds. Honestly, I should have been celebrating instead of crying– in getting that towel on the hook in only two tries, I still accomplished more for the good of our nation in one day than the President has in 130 days, so I’m just going to go ahead and pat myself on the back for that one.

Maybe I’ve been looking at this “our president and his entire posse are traitors” thing the wrong way – really, this guy just gives all of us a pass to be our most incompetent selves at all times. I mean, my dog puts more effort into shitting on the lawn than Trump puts into leading a nation of 330 million people, so let’s give that (literal) bitch a gold fucking medal, right? RIGHT!

Huh, I feel even BETTER now. More rosé! More Carly Rae Jepsen! Depression, go fuck yourself.

Till next week!IMG_20170528_193437

*minimal cheese means a lot of fucking cheese but whatever








10 Reasons I Sometimes Hate San Francisco

I grew up in a small town in New Hampshire, where most people looked alike and many thought alike and there wasn’t a Starbucks until the Target opened in the late aughts. My mind was blown when I moved to San Francisco, to NYC, and then back to SF over the past nine years. I currently live in the Haight in SF, which is a great area – Golden Gate park is a 2 minute walk away from my front door; I can order any kind of food, from Thai to Korean to surf ‘n turf, and have it delivered within an hour; I can write and work in one of what seems to be a million indie coffee shops; there are endless dogs to pet, interesting people to meet, and pretentious bookshops to browse around every corner.

And yet, sometimes I miss the hell out of small-town life and HATE this fucking place. Cities can be as isolating as they are exciting, and as unwelcoming as they are diverse. So while I’m sure I’ll feel better about San Francisco tomorrow, today I’m sharing the 10 reasons I sometimes hate this city:

10. Cost of Living: SF is always listed as one of the most expensive cities to live in not only in the US but in the world. The tech boom is a double-edged sword; it provides many well-paying jobs, but it creates so many true million- and billionaires that even people making hundreds of thousands of dollars a year have trouble keeping up with climbing rents and impossible price tags on houses. And if you’re a teacher or a fireman or a server or an otherwise normal person? HA! Forget about it! And rent control is great until your landlord sells your building to a tech CEO who turns it into his third home for his purebred dogs, and then you can’t afford anything else and have to go live in a van down by the river…or Walnut Creek.

9. Public Transportation: If you live in SF and you’re reading this, you’re laughing because HAHAHAH WHAT PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION? To be fair, MUNI was not built to handle the population boom we have going on, but that doesn’t make it any less frustrating to wait for a bus that never comes, or have to stand under the fragrant armpit of a man who’s never heard of deodorant on Caltrain for the 90 minute commute from San Jose.

8. Weed Smell: I have no issue with weed in general; I think it should be legal. But, my God, can people please just go to edibles and pills already? I do NOT want to smell cigarette smoke, and I sure as HELL do not want to smell your skunky weed every night at 10 pm, DOWNSTAIRS NEIGHBORS! Also, you have a TWO YEAR OLD KID MAYBE LAY OFF THE SECONDHAND WEED SMOKE UNTIL SHE’S AT LEAST SIX?

7. Walking on the street as a woman: I have nothing but sympathy for the many homeless men in San Francisco – until and unless they harass me when I’m walking alone, especially in the evenings. I’m not talking about panhandling (“Do you have a dollar? Have a good night!”); I’m talking about following me while ranting vaguely sexual shit, or pinching or poking me as I walk by, or even staring menacingly from a doorway and licking their lips (ew, and yes that has happened). Homeless men are not the only offenders when it comes to street harassment, but because of pure numbers they make up the majority of street harassers I deal with on a daily basis–and mental illness is not an excuse for a large number of them; they are sound enough of mind to know what they’re doing. Attention all men, homeless or otherwise: DO NOT HARASS PEOPLE ON THE STREET, PARTICULARLY WOMEN! It is actually frightening for us! For real!

6. Lines: Okay, this is not just a SF thing but a West Coast thing: WHY DO YOU PEOPLE FROM THE WEST COAST ENJOY LINES SO MUCH? Lines for brunch, lines for the food cart, lines for the McDonald’s, lines for standing in lines, and never any urgency on the part of the line-standers to move things along. LIKE, YOU JUST STOOD IN LINE FOR FIFTEEN MINUTES AND YOU STILL DON’T KNOW WHAT SANDWICH YOU WANT? How are you alive? This would not fly back East.

5. People Everywhere: As an anxious, introverted person, I get very overwhelmed by crowds, and sometimes it seems like every block in SF is Bourbon Street on Mardi Gras. So then I stay in my apartment more than is good for me and become lonely and isolated in a city of 800,000, all of whom seem to be standing on the sidewalk with me at any given time. It kind of blows.

4. Parking: Sometimes, you just want to park like a normal person in a parking lot, go into a store, buy your shit, load it up into your car, and then drive back to your place. In SF this is nearly impossible because a.) like me, many people don’t have garages or parking spaces and therefore don’t have cars, and b.) there is no parking anywhere. I KNOW CARS ARE BAD AND EMISSIONS ARE BAD BUT MY GOD CAN’T WE JUST DRIVE TO TARGET TODAY FOR TOILET PAPER INSTEAD OF TAKING TWO BUSES AND AN UBER?

3. People yelling “wooooo!!!”: In the dead of night, people stand in the streets, drunk or high or just really excited to be awake when everyone else is sleeping, and yell “WOOOOOOO!” at the top of their lungs for several minutes, waking you and everyone else in your building up. It sucks, and does not happen in my parents’ cul-de-sac in New Hampshire.

2. Thin layer of poop on everything: All cities have this issue, but San Francisco is one of the worst I’ve seen – there is basically a thin layer of dog and/or human feces on EVERYTHING, everywhere you go. Walking down the sidewalk is an endless game of hopscotch to avoid the poop, but even if you avoid the obvious piles of excrement you know that the entire surface of the road and sidewalk and probably the floor of your apartment is coated in invisible fecal matter. Really lovely.

1. All my friends are here: This is the best and worst part of San Francisco – ALL MY EFFING FRIENDS ARE HERE! Most days, this is a blessing, but whenever I hate SF and its people and weed and shitty buses and want to move to a cheap small town where I could own a Prius and drive to Target, I’m stopped by the fact that I LOVE YOU GUYS AND YOU ARE MOSTLY HERE! Talk about inconvenient. Any of you interested in establishing a small farming commune with me in New Hampshire? Eh?

Okay, I’m off to buy some organic kale at the local farmers’ market before taking in a yoga class because my SF life is SO HARD! 😉 #whining #millennialproblems



Please leave your thoughts in the comments and like and share if you enjoyed this 🙂

What Happens To My Tote Bags When I Die? (A-Z Challenge)

Dear Higher Power,

I know you haven’t heard from me in a while, but I try not to bother you unless it’s, ya know, serious. Thanks for being a sport, and…prepare yourself.

I’ve been grappling with something big recently; a spiritual struggle that transcends any I’ve known before. I’ve been asking myself a question, and no matter how I plumb the depths of my soul and mind, I cannot answer it. Do you know, Higher Power?

Do you know what happens to my tote bags when I die?

For years, I didn’t give the presence of tote bags in my life a thought. Before college, they weren’t even a factor. If you went to the grocery store, your purchased items went into a bag (“paper or plastic?”), and you took the bag and brought it to your car and then your house and then the paper bags became recycling bags and the plastic bags became liners for your tiny bathroom waste basket. It wasn’t uncommon to have a drawer chock full of plastic Stop-N-Shop bags, just waiting to be filled with tissues and tampon wrappers, or to be vomited into after a really bad night at the dive bar.

And then, overnight, or so it seemed, things changed. “Would you like to purchase an eco-friendly tote bag for $1.95?” the cashier asked one day, her cheerful gaze barely masking contempt at my obvious hesitation. Why would I buy a canvas tote bag when the plastic one provided by the store was free, I wondered? But then I looked into her eyes, and knew that $1.95 plus tax was a small price to pay to avoid the shame of being publicly labeled as against the environment by Cheryl at the organic Co-op in the Financial District in NYC. “Yes, please!” I said, handing over my debit card and grasping the hefty canvas tote–to the cashier’s obvious approval and relief.

Suddenly, the cheerful offer to purchase a tote bag with every grocery trip became more sinister: “Do you need a bag today, or did you bring your own?” I was horrified to discover that it was now expected that I bring my own tote bags to the grocery store, so as to save the environment. If I didn’t, I was irresponsible, callous, even discourteous. Unplanned stops at the grocery store caused extreme shame as I babbled my excuses to the unimpressed baggers: “Oh, I was just out for a run, and then I realized I needed some milk. Usually I bring my own bags! I have tons of them at home, I promise, it’s just this once!”

It was never just this once, and the baggers knew it–and they showed their disappointment in their scowls.

But the truth was, I did have tons of tote bags at home! The drawer that once contained crumpled masses of plastic was now brimming with yards of canvas covered with the logos of every grocery store in NYC. And yet, I could never remember to bring an empty tote with me at all times in case I needed to make an unscheduled purchase–earning me the wrath not only of grocery employees but of my fellow customers at well. “Someone forgot their bags, hmm?” the lady in the fur coat would ask, apparently unaware of the existence of the word “irony.”

Then, after a move back to San Francisco, my tote bag shame became codified into law: California taxes 10 cents per a paper bag at the grocery store, which you can of course avoid if you bring your own. My tote bag collection, which had diminished during the packing process, was sorely lacking, so I slowly built it back up again, with totes from every establishment in the city gracing the floor of my coat closet: Whole Foods. Trader Joe’s. Burger Urge. That Store With The Fifty Dollar White T-Shirts. Even Walgreens, for Christ’s sake.

Even Walgreens. 

And here is where my spiritual crisis began to arise. What the FUCK, I asked myself as I selected two of my favorite tote bags, so chosen for their wide, sturdy handles, for a trip to the local market, is going to happen to all these damned tote bags when I die?

The purpose of these multi-purpose bags is to save the environment, but when I die, whether it’s six years from now or sixty, won’t my friends/family/children/pets/landlords just want to throw these things the fuck out? Should I provide for their distribution in my will? Will a crafty friend have them made into a really uncomfortable and ugly commemorative quilt? Will my great-great-grandchildren be showing my tote bags to their kids in a far distant future where they all live on the starship Enterprise? Behold, these are the tote bags of your ancestor, who lived before the advent of warp speed and universal health care; treasure them always! If they are thrown out, do they compost? Or will they just add to a giant landfill somewhere? And if they are thrown out, then what was the point of anything?

What was the point of anything?


Is it all a lie, Higher Power? Am I really helping the environment? Or is it all a conspiracy funded by Big Tote, and are all my canvas bags destined to choke poor, innocent dolphins in the ocean? What is the answer, HP? WHAT HAPPENS TO MY TOTE BAGS WHEN I DIE?

As always, thanks for your consideration, Higher Power. I’d like to hear back on this before Tuesday, when I’m planning on going to the grocery store. Whole Foods is offering a 2-for-1 deal on Spring-themed canvas tote bags with every purchase, and I’d like to know ahead of time whether I’ll be wasting my money or damning my soul and the fate of the human race for all eternity.

Peace, love, and tote bags,




Please leave your thoughts in the comments, like and share if you enjoyed, and if you need a tote bag, just come by my place and I can probably hook you up.





Jackie’s Foolproof Process for Furniture Assembly and Losing Your Soul

Occasionally, despite my college education and now 31+ years of experience living as a Human on the Planet Earth, I make a Life Errorso gargantuan that it shakes the very fiber of my being and makes me doubt whether I am worthy of success, happiness, or love.

I order self-assembly furniture online.

I know, I know, but it wasn’t my fault! I am A WRITER, DAMN IT, and writers need desks. I could write while sitting at my kitchen table, but it’s cold in the kitchen. I can also go to a coffee shop, but a coffee is two bucks MINIMUM and it’s much cheaper to just make coffee at home. The obvious solution was a small-ish desk that fits into the bay window nook in my warm-ish bedroom with the cheap homemade coffee only feet away!

So I went on Wayfair and ordered a desk. Five days later, the desk arrived. And thus began my descent to the ninth level of hell, where I joined Brutus, Judas, and…Cassius (is he the third guy? too lazy to google) in being chewed in the giant maw of Satan.

The process began auspiciously when the FedEx guy cheerfully offered to haul the giant desk-containing box up three floors to my apartment. I immediately set out to assemble the desk, whereby I rediscovered Jackie’s Foolproof Process for Furniture Assembly and Losing Your Soul:

  1. Using a knife, cut through the tape along the edges of the box.
  2. Attempt to open box, and discover that there are apparently three more layers of taped-up cardboard between you and the desk.
  3. Hack through these layers while dripping sweat everywhere. Finally remove all the cardboard to discover the furniture is encased in a sarcophagus of styrofoam, which is all stuck together with a kind of tape that is probably used to seal airlocks on the International Space Station.
  4. Hack at the styrofoam, getting bits of it all over your apartment and inhaling a good 20% of it into your lungs.
  5. After 30 minutes of chopping at styrofoam, reveal the desk. Take a water and stretch break and realize that if you can’t open a box without getting breathless that you might want to sign up for the gym.
  6. Using the included mini toolkit, attach the four legs to the desk. Easy peasy! You’re 90% done- the last step is attach the knobs to the two little drawers that are built into the desk.
  7. You go to pull out the drawer. The drawer falls apart in your hand:wp-1452825930873.jpg 
  8. Ok, you can fix it! Get out your hammer and nails to see if you can cobble the drawer back together.
  10. Breathe through the pain, breathe through it. Ok. You’ve got this.
  11. Go down the block to the local hardware store and buy superglue. Return home, glue the drawer back together, let it set for 20 minutes per instructions. Huzzah! It looks great! YOU ARE A GODDESS!
  12. Lightly touch the drawer with one finger to test the strength of the superglue. The drawer explodes.
  13. A single tear escapes your right eye. You remove the drawer and put the desk right-side up. The desk leg lands awkwardly and stubs your right toe.
  15. Call your mom, who is bewildered but manages to calm you down.
  16. Ashamed at your outburst, you try to go online to request replacement drawers for your desk, only to discover that the new Comcast set-top box that Infinity made you install earlier that day has DESTROYED THE INTERNET and the only network in range is called “We Can Hear You Have Sex” but it’s fucking PASSWORD PROTECTED.
  17. Cry.
  18. Remember that your phone has internet, and use that to request the parts. Ok, they’ll be here in a few days. It’s all good.
  19. Go out to a friend’s open bar birthday party to destress and consume three of these:
    Yeah, that’s a shot that gets poured into it in addition to the rum.


  20. Go home and vomit up everything you ever ate or drank, but because you’re an IDIOT you throw up in the shower and not the toilet, and so when you wake up at 3 am and go in the bathroom you discover that you have to clean up a hell of a mess. You go back to bed and at 6 am you clean up and hydrate and go to the laundromat when it opens to wash your vomity clothes. Call Comcast, fix the internet, and wait for your replacement drawers as you recover your dignity.
  21. A few days later, the drawers arrive, in perfect condition! You replace them and the desk looks GREAT! HUZZAH! WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS OF THE WOOOOOORRRLD! wp-1453430169027.jpg
  22. Decide to take a walk to celebrate. Pull out your headphones so you can listen to some TUNEZ while you traipse through the park.
  23. FUCK
Ain’t it always the way?



Last. Self-assembly. Desk. Ever.

The world is falling apart still, so, screw it, here’s another beauty post

So yesterday I was going to do my beauty post but I was still reeling from the Planned Parenthood shooting and so I wrote a thing about visualizing a better world, and then as I was writing it there was another mass shooting and I was like ARE YOU KIDDING ME? So today, screw it, before anyone can murder a lot of other people (or at least before I can read about it on Twitter) I’m going to tell you what shit to buy/not buy from this here Allure beauty box.

As with my first beauty post, I’m listing the products in order from my least favorite to most favorite.  The box itself is pictured below, super cute as usual, but only one of the six products was actual makeup, which disappointed me because I love putting colors on my FACE. Whatever, though, #firstworldproblems, amirite?


Here goes!

Product Ranked #6 – Klorane Floral Eye Make-Up Remover ($16 for 6.7 oz.): So…meh? I mean, it smelled nice, and it did take off my makeup after some rubbing, but it sort of stung my eyes, which is the opposite of what I want in a makeup remover (though there was no lasting irritation). To be fair, I am in general not a fan of makeup removers in bottles-I prefer wipes, and love the Neutrogena ones in particular. I’ve been using them for years and they don’t sting, don’t irritate my skin, and get off all my eye makeup and other makeup with one or 2 wipes, max. With the Klorane stuff, I went through 3 cotton balls, which I felt like was equivalent paper-wise to 1-2 Neutrogena wipes, so overall I was let down by this stuff. If you really want an eye-makeup remover that smells like flowers, though, knock yourself out. I will be disposing of my bottle of this stuff, however.

Product Ranked #5- Crabtree & Evelyn Verbena and Lavender de Provence Bath and Shower Gel ($22 for 8.5 oz): This stuff was fine and smelled fine (a little strong for my taste, but the scent itself was pleasant). However, this is some damned expensive body wash. I didn’t actively dislike it, but I will go back to my Walgreens-knock-off-of-Dove body wash after using up this sample and won’t miss a beat. Buy it in bulk if you are stocking the bathrooms at your charming bed-and-breakfast that you co-own in Connecticut with Lorelai Gilmore. Otherwise, pass.

Product Ranked #4 – L’Occitane Divine Youth Oil ($106 for 1 oz.): I loved the scent of this weightless oil, which somewhat prevented my skin from entering Cryptkeeper territory while I was in New Hampshire over Thanksgiving and dying from an awful cold. However, does my skin look any smoother or younger than it did before a week of regular use? Nope. I honestly liked the results of the oil from last month’s box better (the Jouer Repair oil) – more moisturizing, longer-lasting, and less than half the price of the L’Occitane. Don’t get me wrong, the Divine Youth Oil is nice enough, but not worth the price for me.

Product Ranked #3 – Mally Beauty High-Shine Liquid Lipstick ($20): Now we’re getting to the good stuff.  I really liked the applicator for this liquid lipstick lip gloss (come on, guys, it’s lip gloss, who do you think you’re fooling here?); it’s some sort of a hard brush? Or something? Anyways, it makes it easier to apply more precisely than your average lipgloss, which I usually end up glooping all over half my face like the Joker. I ended up getting the palest shade (Pearly Girl) in my box, which is almost clear on me, and was surprised by how much I liked it with some eye makeup to create a ~natural look omg~:


I am interested in acquiring other shades, but for now am enjoying the one I have and have also applied it over darker lipstick (it’s some random revlon shade, below), which looks nice, too.

Ignore how dead I look in the eyes my eye makeup faded in the rain I am alive and not a zombie I swear!

Overall, I recommend this stuff!

Product Ranked #2 – Kevin Murphy Anti-Gravity ($25 for 150 mL): This is a hair volumizing serum, which is good because my hair often lacks volume. I’ve been using it consistently for the past week and really liking the results. My hair is shiny and definitely bouncier than usual, and the serum seems to bring out a natural waviness to my layers which I like:

Ignore how dead I look in the eyes my eye makeup faded in the rain I am alive and not a zombie I swear!


Twenty-five bucks for 5 oz. of this stuff might seem excessive, but honestly you just need a little bit in your palm (like a nickel-sized dollop) and then rub your hands together and run through your hair. Presto! Nice hair! This little tub is going to last me a long while. Good hair FTW!

Product Ranked #1 – Hanae by Hanae Moi perfume ($92 for 1.7 oz): I don’t wear perfume on a daily basis, but if I did I would wear this every day. It smells fruity, but not too fruity, with a hint of vanilla, and is just yummy. When I go out for, like, a nice dinner and stuff, I generally wear Coco Mademoiselle as my go-to, but I might have to switch in the future to this (I’m using up that coco first tho because $$$$). If you want to smell super good, you can’t go wrong with this perfume, because it’s lovely. Highly recommend!

Ok, so that is the November Beauty Box! I’ll be back in late Dec/Early Jan with my picks from the December box, and in the meantime please STAY THIRSTY MY FRIENDS PRETTY!





The Ten Worst Things about Europe: Eurotrip 2015, Part Deux/Due

As promised earlier this week, I’m back with my list of the Ten Worst Things about Europe.  BE WARNED: THIS LIST CONTAINS PICTURES OF MY LEG AND ANKLE!  (This warning is mostly relevant to any of my readers who have traveled in time from the nineteenth century.  If you are reading this, sorry for lewd images, and also can I borrow your Tardis?).

10. Getting this bruise:

It has been nine days
It has been nine days

So I guess it’s kind of hard to see in that picture, but my first afternoon in Paris I was walking along the Rue Montorgueil (or as my non-French-speaking friends called it, the “Rue Mononmont…ugh, whatever”) and it was raining, like, SUPER hard, and I slipped in front of a bunch of skinny, smoking French people, and fell on my knee hard and it hurt like a motha, and the bruise is still there and going strong.  MERDE!

9.  Rain: This is a continuation of number 10, I guess, but it rained hard three days when I was in Europe and THIS WAS BULLSHIT.  Didn’t Europe know that it was me, Jackie, who was coming to visit it?  It couldn’t have held off on the rain for, like, one more week out of courtesy?  THANKS A LOT, EUROPE.  This would never have happened in California.* (On the plus side, I guess Europe does look pretty cool in the rain, see below).

Siena in the rain.  Pretty awesome, actually.
Siena in the rain. Pretty awesome, actually.

8. Air France:  Ok, this one isn’t funny and I don’t have a pic, but basically those assholes stole 216 bucks from me and I hate them and am never flying them again.  It’s a long story but if you really care you can check out my Twitter from this morning lol.

7.  Hangovers: When I was last in Europe, I was twenty years old and could literally club all night and drink endless wine without any repercussions.  Now that I am thirty this is most definitely not the case.  I paid dearly for this concoction, for instance (but, my God, was it delicious):

omg omg
omg omg

6. These shoes: 

So...chic?  Ugh.
They speak for themselves

So this is also a result of #9 – the evil RAIN.  My friend T and I were walking in the rain in Toms shoes to the Louvre, which was ill-advised on many levels, and we had no choice but to stop at a random shoe store and try to find waterproof shoes in our size.  Sadly, the only shoes available in my size were these (though T picked up a decent blue/black glittery pair which she threw out – bad decision, T!).  Apparently, the French have tiny feet.  The worst part was that I had to wear the above shoes with these pants:

The patterns really mesh well, don't you think?
The patterns really mesh well, don’t you think?

Not chic, guys.

5.  The number on this scale: 


Who am I kidding?  I’ve been too afraid to get back on this old horse.  No matter how much walking I did, no way it made up for this:

TIRAMISU – I know I put this in the last post but it was SO GOOD.

4.  Bugs: The bugs in Europe are surprising vicious.  I was attacked by one especially horrid one in the courtyard of the Florence Basilica, leaving me with these scars two whole weeks later:

They still kind of itch, too.
They still kind of itch, too.

What I’m really saying is, the bugs in Europe hate Jesus.  Yeah, that’s it.

3. Smoking: Look, we Americans may be fat with big feet and cover all of our meals with melted cheese, but at least we’re not constantly inhaling poisonous fumes and blowing them all over other people.  I swear, no one in Europe can go twenty seconds without lighting up.  I’m kind of allergic, so this is genuinely awful for me.

2. Hot guys: Too many of them.  There’s such a thing as an embarrassment of riches, Europe.  Though they’re all skinnier than I am, so that helped matters.

1.  Paper and Candle Stores: Ok, Europe, what the hell – do you want me to be INCREDIBLY BROKE?  YOU HAVE STORES THAT SELL JUST PAPER AND JUST CANDLES EVERYWHERE.  Just LOOK at this beautiful effing fan I bought:

It's not ok that it is this beautiful
It’s not ok that it is this beautiful

I spent, like, twenty euros on this fan.  When, you may ask, am I ever going to use this fan?  NEVER, THAT’S WHEN.  But it is so pretty and made of hand-painted paper!


Welp, there's another 20 Euro down the drain
Welp, there’s another 20 Euro down the drain


Don’t get me started on the soap stores.  I just didn’t go into them.  I would have had to declare bankruptcy if I had.

So, yeah, these are my top ten complaints about Europe.  As you might imagine, this was my face when I had to leave:


Love ya, Europe.  Never change! xoxo Jackie

*I am aware that it is actually a bad thing that it never rains in California.  I am not making light of the drought, which hopefully will be alleviated by El Niño.  Chill out, guys.  I care about the environment, GOD.