Putting Your Best Face Forward in 2015

So, it’s New Year’s Eve. It’s a time of celebration, reflection, and resolution-making, complete with glitter, confetti, and all other things that are a pain in the rear to clean up (including red wine spills). As we look forward to the new year with sparkling eyes and open minds, we are also forced to reflect upon the past year. In doing so, we tend to get a little nostalgic and perhaps even sentimental. Some folks thumb through old photos and messages to one another, while others…ugh, who am I kidding? It’s the age of technology. We all review the sappy little year-end video that Facebook has already created for us, which saves us the trouble of…thinking on our own. Thank you, Facebook. Some of these memories we welcome and remember warmly, while others we mentally file under “forget immediately” (enter: bad dates, Fireball, shady acquaintances, and snakeskin print leggings). And then, something magical happens — we turn the page and start a new chapter that hasn’t yet been written. We close the “Pandora’s Box” that is 2014. We shout aloud and with much enthusiasm, “That’s a wrap!” (Side note- If you perform this cathartic act as I did, while standing alone in a room with only your dog as a witness, said dog will give you the stink eye while passing judgement…so much judgement.) dog

Moving on!

What are you bringing with you into 2015, and what are you leaving behind? Is there a new art class you’d like to try, or a sporting event you’d like to attend? Would you like to spend more face time with your friends and family (no, not FaceTime), and less time consumed with your tech gadgets? Whatever it is, figure it out. After you figure it out, make a list and try your damndest to stick to it. There is a reason you have these convictions and these goals – try not to forget them.

As for me, I’d like to continue on a journey that I started in 2014 when I decided to wander down a path outside of my comfort zone and one that was unfamiliar to my human GPS. Those who know me well already know that I could manage to get lost in a brown paper bag, so me getting lost is not new news; however, this time was different. I was really lost – as in Google Maps and Siri couldn’t even save my ass. I had lost sight of myself and subsequently my own happiness, a heartbreaking yet common side effect of people pleasing. I had gotten so wrapped up in nurturing outside relationships that I neglected one of utmost importance – my relationship with myself. I forgot how much I loved to dance and sing, write, create, explore and wander. So I wandered. I danced and sang so loudly that my dog often found refuge under my bed or in my closet at night. I daydreamed and brainstormed, and I began writing again. I rediscovered the joy of smiling and laughing without effort. I stumbled across new people and experiences that changed my life and renewed my spirit. Even my trials and failures contained an element of refreshing satisfaction. My sense of self reached an all-time high and I became addicted to the reality of it. I just felt like — me.

Before the clock strikes 12 tonight, I encourage you to consider this — who do you want to be in 2015? If you’re struggling with this question, look no further. I am here to help. I took the liberty of narrowing down a vast list of options and possibilities to 5, and gave them a little test drive…

1) Lindsay Lohan 5 To secure “the Lindsay Lohan”, you’ve really got to master that bewildered, just-climbed-out-of-a-dumpster look while simultaneously appearing offended and maybe even a little frightened. Smear a little soot under your cheekbones if you’re running low on bronzer after a long night of partying and no one will ever know the difference. Go for a light peach toned gloss or stain to plump up that pout, and get your strut on, crazypants. Just keep in mind that “the Lindsay Lohan” is renowned for its clumsy recklessness, so strut slowly, if you must.

2. Colbie Caillat 4 The best of both worlds — “the Colbie Caillat”. You get tingles in your toes, but only on the left side. It makes you crinkle your nose, but only on the ride side. This look is perfectly indecisive chic for the indecisive chick. Do you tend to answer with, “I don’t know” when your significant other asks what you want for dinner? Have you changed your college major 5 times, and you’re now considering major number 6…maybe? Do you want to stay in bed tonight and complete that Netflix marathon, but you’re also itching to hit the town and rage? No worries, “the Colbie Caillat” has got you covered. Now go for it! Or don’t…whichever.

3. Kylie Jenner 7 Maybe she’s born with it. Maybe it’s Restylane. To pull off “the Kylie Jenner”, you’ve got to be really, really committed…to your phone, your selfies, and yourself. That’s it. Wait, no it’s not. You also need to be committed to the stories you tell. For instance, if you privately bid farewell to certain physical features that you were born with and then suddenly appear in public sporting a newly enhanced bee sting pout, you must continue insisting it’s au natural when questioned…over, and over, and over again. #Natural #RedLips #Selfie

4. Olsen Twin #1 9 Ahhh, the elusive “Olsen Twin #1”. So elusive that I don’t even know which twin is which, I just know that there are two of them. They are dark, and myserious…or at least one of them is. This little Dark Knight of beauty is a deep thinker…or is she? Do you want to stop people in their tracks with your blank stare and make them wonder? Well, they will. And you will too. You don’t even know what you’re thinking. You just know that you’re really, really hungry.

5. Olsen Twin #2 8 The “Olsen Twin #2” is a great option for people watchers. You don’t have to say much and your main duty is to appear generally disinterested in…well, everything. Your daily routine consists of observing, smirking, observing a little more, and smirking. This is not a complicated process, so don’t make it one. If you like routine but desire a lifestyle that’s not quite so monotonous, you can throw in a Starbucks latte here and there to change things up a bit. Whatever you do, just don’t take your designer shades off. Rain, shine, indoor, outdoor — the aviators stay on. Just trust me on this one.

If you still don’t know who you want to be in the new year and any of the aforementioned options are appealing to you, you can become one of them in 2015! All you have to do is refresh your wardrobe and your makeup bag, refine your social circle, drop all of your old habits, learn a few new tricks, and tweak your personality. If you don’t have the time, money, or dedication it takes to transform into a generic version of someone else, just be yourself! Be your best self in 2015. There are already too many folks out there pretending to be someone else. Don’t be afraid to wander, explore, and create. You don’t need a new identity, you just need new goals to exercise your mind and fill your heart. Put your best face forward in 2015 and make it great!

Wishing you all the safest and happiest of New Year’s!

Witty Critty out.



Spanx on a Plane

After the past few months of prepping for, participating in, and recovering from a slew of epic bachelorette trips followed by equally memorable weddings, I’m excited to be back from my little blogging hiatus! Suffice it to say that 28 doesn’t bounce back quite like 21 did. Maintaining this relentless pace at 28 requires more rest, hydration, and concealer than ever before (as well as an increased stockpile of oversized sunglasses and baseball caps). I’ve found that even the inherent act of breathing has become more taxing these days. There’s a chance I could be mistaking that for my Spanx performing one hell of a tapering job around my midsection, but nonetheless, I’m done recuperating and now I’m moving full steam ahead.


To recap, I willingly and excitedly went AWOL for roughly three months this summer in the name of the three B’s:
• bacheloretting
• boozing
• bouquet tosses

I loved every minute of the bedazzled, laced, and ruffled chaos. My friends are very dear to me, and I love real life love stories. When you put the two together, it’s a winning combination, every single time. What’s not to love about nights of endless laughter and fellowship in the presence of good company?

If there’s an open bar at the wedding reception, you can bet your bottom dollar the dance floor will come alive when the DJ starts playing “Shout”. A subtle reminder to my likeminded friends: the “a little bit softer now” part of the song is not a challenge to see how low you can get to the floor before your knees buckle and you dislocate a kneecap. When your legs start shaking, it’s time to abort mission before you end up in a compromising position, also known as “crying drunk girl on a stretcher” and/or paying a costly visit to your local Emergency Room for a five dollar Ace Bandage and extra strength Tylenol. For my girls dancing barefooted, watch out for the bride’s divaesque younger cousin when the “Cupid Shuffle” starts playing. She walks like a baby deer in those red-bottomed stilettos, so you can only imagine how coordinated her interpretation of the dance is. Your toes don’t stand a chance against her wobbly little twig-like ankles coupled with her Pinot Grigio buzz. This is merely a “dancer beware” PSA. One too many steps to the left (to the left, to the left, to the left) and you just might lose one of your little piggies.


After pirouetting a few times around the dance floor, it’s mandatory that you touch up your makeup and rehydrate…with another glass of wine. The cute server wearing the penguin suit makes his third round around the dimly lit room, this time balancing a tray of Oysters Rockefeller on one hand, and a tray of bacon wrapped scallops on the other. You definitely just danced off all four courses of the reception dinner, so you treat yourself to a couple of these bite sized delights for the sake of soaking up the alcohol that is now sloshing around in your bloated belly. As soon as you polish off that last glass of Riesling, the DJ announces it’s time for a champagne toast before the newlyweds cut into their elaborately decorated, three-tiered wedding cake. Everyone giggles as they make their way towards the cake table, wondering aloud if the bride and groom are going to smear cake on each other’s faces as they partake in the age-old tradition of feeding it to one another. Then, there’s me…trying to mask my bacon breath with a fresh glass of bubbly as I silently wonder if the cake is red velvet or vanilla. Glasses clink, wedding cake is devoured, and before I know it, I’m begging my new best friend – the cab driver – to make a late night pit stop at Taco Bell before dropping me back off at my hotel. He obliges and I am pleased.

(Repeat scene x3)

Fast forward to present day, two weeks out from the Caribbean cruise vacation I’ve been looking forward to since the beginning of the calendar year. I’m trying to plan well by packing lightly and coordinating outfits appropriate for tropical destinations that are hotter than a sumo wrestler’s undercarriage. That goes without saying that the clothing to skin ratio decreases exponentially as I mentally prepare for a much needed and anticipated dose of vitamin D. In light of the aforementioned bachelorette and wedding festivities, you can probably imagine that my diet hasn’t exactly consisted of celery and rice cakes over the past few months.

As I’m packing and moving my current fall wardrobe of stretchy leggings and oversized sweaters to the side, I am forced to face the reality of my fluffy new physique while examining the seemingly smaller tank tops and jorts from last season that I’m now reconsidering taking with me on vacation. I walk from room to room, holding these articles of clothing up under different lighting while repeating ad nauseam, “If it fits, it ships.” Despite (and maybe even in spite of) my forced optimism, one bone chilling truth still remains – the bathing suit test doesn’t lie.


There are two different types of women in this world. Women that fall into the first category will try on every single bathing suit they own, and scrutinize their bodies in front of multiple mirrors prior to making their scantily clad debut at any public beach or pool. Women that fall into the second category are liars that claim they don’t participate in this cruel ritual. In other words, we all do it. When it comes to examining our bodies, we become acrobats. We contort our figures into shapes that test the limits of our flexibility just to determine how much our bodies have changed over the course of a few seasons (FYI, “wedding season” has now been added onto the list). This evil practice is usually accentuated by gasps of horror, pulled hamstrings, four-letter expletives, and yes – even ugly crying. We swear off carbs and solemnly vow to attend every hot yoga class within a 20-mile radius until we are content with our trimmed down, toned bodies once again.


When I say I fell off the bandwagon of health-conscious eating and exercising, I mean I fell way the hell off at the intersection of Skinny Jeans Street and Sweet Tea Circle. There was no easy way to recover from it, so instead, I hitched a ride from the Twinkie Taxi over to Camp Cupcake before voluntarily admitting myself into Little Debbie’s Rehab Center, where I’m currently residing.

Since my new friends, Muffin Top and Back Fat, insisted on tagging along for the first legitimate vacation that I’ve taken in years, I decided to come up with a fool-proof game plan that would allow me to comfortably enjoy my upcoming time in paradise. Complete wardrobe overhaul is now in session…

photo 1
How fedorable is this little number? My fashion blogging friends have motivated me to create my own online vision board of Caribbean-inspired couture. Spanx are both slimming and nude colored, so no one will ever know that I’m just one Snickers bar away from relapsing into a sugar-induced coma.

photo 2
Nothing says, “I’m here to party” like a nice mustard-colored cowl-neck sweater tank underneath a triangle bikini top. I hear the upper decks of cruise ships can be a little windy at times, hence the neck protection that this particular selection provides. Better safe than sorry.

photo 3
Bathing suit cover-up? Try bathing suit cover-under! That’s right, ladies, I’m going for it. This is a total trendsetter move, but I’m confident in my decision to pursue it. I really wanted to channel Regina George’s gym class look here, only in reverse…and I think I nailed it. Am I right? Am I right?

photo 4
Did someone say conga line? Of course they did, it’s the freaking Caribbean! This ensemble offers all the coverage I could ever want or need, while still allowing just enough wiggle room (minus the jiggle!) to both comfortably and confidently exhibit my killer dance moves. Nobody puts Critty in the corner.


And this, my friends, is what I’ve come up with. These are the only options I have now, with a mere two weeks left before I jump on a plane and head south to warmer weather. I can either embrace my body as is, or dress like a nun to conceal three months’ worth of slacking in the diet and exercise arena. (No offense to nuns…I’ve seen Sister Act 1 & 2, and I’m a fan.)

While composing this post and piecing together these ridiculous getups, my wheels really started turning. My new, “fuller” figure – whether it be temporary or permanent – is not going to keep me from receiving my blessings. I’ve got my fair share of insecurities, just like anyone else, but I’d prefer to focus on my happiness rather than condemn myself for being human. Life’s most memorable moments aren’t reserved only for the days when we feel on top of our game. It’s time to stop waiting for the so-called “perfect moment” to both appreciate and live the precious lives we’ve been given.

Maybe next year, beach body; but this year it looks like wedding cake and Taco Bell won.

Witty Critty out.


Because when you cannot, you just can’t.

Everyone has their own personal list of pet peeves. For some, it’s sketchy coworkers that steal lunches and snacks from a shared office refrigerator. For others, it’s an annoying uncle that chews his food in a manner similar to that of Mister Ed. When I encounter a person or a situation that strikes a nerve, I often find myself saying, “I just can’t” (usually muttered under my breath as I rest my forehead upon my hand). As you read on, you may find yourself throwing your hands up in the air and singing, “hallelujah!” Or, you could be the perpetrator, silently mouthing “guilty” with each passing point. So, here goes…take a deep breath, take a mental note, but please don’t take your coworkers’ sandwiches. It has mayo on it, and you don’t like mayo.

1) Tailgating. I don’t care if you are driving a truck, a car, a motorcycle, or a horse and buggy…don’t tailgate me. I’m sure you’re very important and you’ve got somewhere to be, but know this – I don’t care. Running late and in a hurry? What a coincidence, me too! I am chronically late for everything – every single day, for every single occasion. That is why you’ll typically find me hanging out in the left lane, trying my best just to make it to my destination only 15 minutes late. I’ve got a touch of Ricky Bobby syndrome – I want to go fast; however, when it comes to road etiquette I do try to mind my P’s and Q’s. When I notice that I’m being creeped up on in my rearview mirror, I will kindly steer my way right on over into the right hand lane so that you, too, can shake-n-bake. If, for some reason, you ride my rear in the “Driving Miss Daisy lane” – aka the right lane, I will brake check you. I will brake check you like you have never been brake checked before. I could be en route to a family dinner, transporting 10 piping hot, made from scratch casseroles in the backseat, and I’d be willing to risk it all by pumping my brakes so hard that I’d inevitably end up wearing the food I’d just slaved over all day in my hot, stuffy kitchen. I know it’s going to grind your gears. I know you’re going to throw your hands up in the air as if you’re appalled by the bright red glare of my brake lights illuminating the interior of your car because your grill is now an inch away from my bumper. I know you’re going to swerve around me like you are on the last lap in a life-or-death game of Mario Kart. And last, but not least (my favorite part, actually), I know you’re going to flip me the bird as you pass me by with red ears and a furrowed brow. And then…I will smile and wave the most delicate Miss America wave you have ever seen. It’s going to infuriate you, and it will probably make my day (even if I am wearing green bean casserole). Whatever happens after that is between you and Jesus. I just can’t.

photo 1


2) Laziness. My regular 9-5 may or may not have something to do with reviewing claims that pertain to one’s ability to work. I come into contact with a lot of folks that claim they’re incapable of working when really, they’re just unwilling to work. I once worked with a client that stated they couldn’t find gainful employment because they were simply “too short” to work. On their paperwork, they entered their height in centimeters. As I stared at this number, trying to mentally convert centimeters to inches and inches to feet, it hit me (I may not have had enough coffee at this point). There’s this neat thing called the Internet. On this Internet, there is a popular search engine tool thingy called Google. Can you imagine what I found when I performed a Google search for a measurement converter? You guessed it – a freaking measurement converter! Eureka! Upon entering the client’s height in centimeters and clicking on a little blue rectangular box that said “convert”, the results displayed the following: 5 feet, 3 inches. Well, I’ll be…guess who else is in the 5’3” club?! Yeah buddy, that’s me…the one working on your claim! Yes, my vertically challenged friend, I know the struggle is real for nuggets like us. But I need you to understand that your height – or lack thereof – is no conspiracy against your ability to obtain employment. Apparently I overcame this so-called obstacle, and I believe that with a little bit of effort, you can too shawty. After all, Napoleon made it work. I just can’t.



3) Interrupting and/or talking over people. You know that question you asked me…in the middle of my sentence? Well, you caught me…in the act of answering it, before you even opened your mouth. You’d already have the answer by now if you respected my words enough to let me finish my initial thought. This is the verbal equivalent of cutting someone off in traffic. It’s inconsiderate. I’m on a real roll with traffic issues today, aren’t I? But still…I just can’t.



4) Rudeness. I’m a bit of a coffee feign and I likes me some Starbucks. However, on some days my caffeine fix comes straight from cafe a la McDonald’s, just to save myself a penny or four hundred. The truth is, if I ran to Starbucks for every craving, I would be living in a cardboard box with my chihuahua on the jazz flute playing for tips. That being said, even with the flavor palate of a 5-year-old, I can still taste the difference between the two. Being an adult requires sacrifices though, and when it comes to my coffee addiction, it’s deciding between resting my head on a pillow at night, or falling asleep in a fort made of cardboard boxes (and not the fun kind). Recently, while waiting for my coffee order at cafe a la McDonald’s during my lunch break, I witnessed an act of classic rudeness that made me cringe. A woman dressed in business casual attire, who appeared similar in age to myself, was throwing a hissy fit because her coffee was not prepared to her liking. And I quote, “What did y’all do, burn the beans? It’s lukewarm, how long has this been sitting out? How hard is it to make a cup of coffee? My 3-year-old could do better than this.” Okay crazypants, what exactly did you expect when you spotted the golden arches of cafe a la McDonald’s and decided to purchase your coffee from there…Starbucks? Wrong! Oh, and good luck at the ER, trying to explain the third degree burns that your little barista of a 3-year-old sustained while trying to make your perfect cup-o-Joe. Check that ‘tude at the golden arches, girlfriend. I just can’t.



5) Justin Bieber. Even with a high dollar pixie cut that would make the one and only Peter Pan envious, it’s still not appropriate to act like a brainless tool bag out in public. Sorry “beliebers”, but your idol isn’t exactly the brightest bulb in the tanning bed. At this point, I would pay someone to gift him a bra. I can’t handle anymore TMZ shots of him running around half naked doing foolish things, looking like the missing cast member of Orange Is the New Black. I just can’t.

Justin Bieber grins for police


When in doubt, just don’t. Because I can’t.



Witty Critty out.



…Collaborate and listen. That’s not how I really intended to start this post out, but when Vanilla Ice calls, you answer. If you dig ole Vanilla as much as I do, just be patient and read through another crappy blog post, and you will soon be rewarded (promise).

What I really wanted to say was this: STOP feeling the incessant need to proclaim exactly who and what you are all the time. If you’re interviewing for a job, that whole song and dance might fly; otherwise, cut. it. out.

I’m a Caucasian female with brownish-blonde hair and green eyes. If you have decent vision, you can reliably confirm these facts with your own two eyes, and without any sort of announcement. If I were to introduce myself as such the first time we met face-to-face, you would probably think I was intellectually challenged, would you not? It’s the same difference when you approach an individual, or a group of individuals, by proclaiming who/what you are (and, of equal importance, who/what you are not). In doing so, you are sending off crazy mixed signals and the only message you are truly communicating is that you may be a little insecure and/or unsure of your words. Being the conductor of my own brain train is sometimes exhausting because my thoughts come roaring in at approximately 100 mph, so let me try and explain via example numero uno, and example numero dos…

•Example #1: “I am the most honest, trustworthy person you will ever meet!” Whenever someone says that (or anything remotely close to it), I almost always begin to question why they felt the need to announce it. Has your character come into question before? Do you have a reputation of being dishonest or untrustworthy? Do you feel the need to set the record straight? If so, SHOW ME. Show me that you are honest. Show me that you are trustworthy. Your words are merely words, and I am wise enough now to know that they mean nothing without legitimate actions to support your claim. Wondering why I emphasized the word “now,” aren’t you? I’ll explain. It took me 28 years and a whole lot of heartache to both learn and appreciate this valuable lesson. I’ve fallen in like, love, and everything in between with people’s words over and over again — family, friends, significant others, colleagues, complete strangers, Dora the Explorer, you name it. Words can be misleading. They are subjective and oftentimes volatile. Actions are more concrete. They are evident, they are proof, they are the real deal. Show, don’t tell. (No, you may not use that last line as an excuse for your public indecency citation.)

•Example #2: “I am rich. I am so filthy rich that I am liiiiiiterally drowning in an ocean of my own riches, upon which I enjoy a little yachting from time to time. You know who’s sitting on my yacht right now, eating hors d’oeuvres? Oprah. Oprah’s on my yacht, eating hors d’oeuvres and drinking bubbly.” Ok, first of all – ew. I really try to refrain from summing my thoughts up with a single, abrasive two-letter word like “ew” (thanks 90210, thanks Clueless, thanks Melrose Place…thanks Snooki), but really — ew. If you are truly wealthy, by man’s mortal definition of the word, then there is no need to announce it. We will see you cruising around in your yacht, or rolling through town in your Rolls-Royce, or your Bugatti…whatever the “happening” mode of transportation is these days, we’ll see it. Quite frankly, it’s just too darn flashy to miss (isn’t that the point?). We’ll gawk at your mansion from outside its gates, and probably snap a selfie or two in front of it with some lame caption like, “I’m so faaancy #iggy” before posting it on Instagram using the always trendy Valencia filter. But, the moment you announce it I will likely think one of two things: 1) there’s a good chance your father is a very rich man, and you are enjoying the runoff of his riches from the proverbial family pool, hence the shameless showboating (pun completely intended), or 2) I just feel downright sorry for you because your chosen identity is both superficial and fleeting. Find your self worth in something richer than riches, something that has roots and can withstand the weather (or a zombie apocalypse, whichever).

The examples given above are not all-inclusive, they are merely used to demonstrate my point. In case you’re not picking up what I’m putting down, let’s review:

•Tell others about yourself. Tell them what your hobbies are, and what you’re passionate about. Tell them what your favorite color is. Tell them where you’re from, and how you ended up where you are. Tell them about your pet hamster or guinea pig…or your long-haired Chihuahua named Henry. Tell them what your favorite foods are, and be sure to tell them if you’re allergic to shellfish should you ever be invited to an oyster roast. Tell them about all the things that make you unique, everything that makes you – YOU; but for the love of cupcakes and Mexican cuisine, please stop announcing who and what you are. Your presence is not defined by a label, nor is it validated by a fancy title. Preserve your dignity and dig a little deeper. Tap into your inner awesome and sprinkle sprankle that ish everywhere. ‘Na mean?!

na mean

My brain train is running low on fuel, so I’m putting it in park for the night. If your wheels are still turning, that’s good and I’m glad — mission completed. If the hamster on your wheel is dead, I’ll try to include more pictures next time. Good night and good luck getting the lyrics to Fancy out of your head now. Stay tuned for some cool new updates in the future (think “Ice, Ice Baby” cool)…


Witty Critty out. 



Allow Myself to Introduce…Myself

Welcome to my brand spankin’ new blog, dudes and dudettes! In order to continue reading, I ask only that you come prepared with the following three things:

  1. Patience. I’m new to the blogosphere. I’m going to trip and stumble…a lot, before I get my bearings and produce even mediocre, let alone decent, posts. In the mean time, I’ll try to at least use as many colorful little pictures and link-ups as possible to keep you entertained (entertained: verb, past tense: a tactic used to distract you from the amateur crappiness of my beginner blog). Bear with me please.
  2. The ability to detect sarcasm. It’s my primary, if not only, language. If you can’t pick up on it, you’ll either think I’m incredibly dense or a cold-hearted female dog — maybe even both. That doesn’t sound like a good time. I beg of you, please don’t waste your precious time if you don’t like it or simply don’t “get” it. After all, this is like, totes magotes just for funsies #seewhatididthere (Are hashtags blog appropriate?  Did I just commit a blogging sin? Am I already failing at this? Shit.)
  3. A sense of humor. I like to laugh…a lot. There are few things I appreciate more than a good joke — whether it be cheesy, crude, clever, or purely juvenile. I’m pretty good at finding the silver lining in things, and laughing at myself. If you can’t laugh at yourself, I’d be glad to do it for you.

I would now like to congratulate you if you made it this far, to the real introduction. Bonus points if you did it without yawning or punting sweet Baxter over a bridge.



My name is Christy, but my friends all call me Critty (you totally just had an aha! moment, didn’t you?). I’m a 20-something-year-old fun-loving connoisseur of Mexican food and cupcakes, learning more about myself and everything around me every single blessed day. I’m a little bit of everything, wrapped up in one tiny little nugget package, with my tiny little nugget sidekick, Henry. Henry is my 5 pound long-haired Chihuahua. I might be a little partial, but he’s basically the coolest dog in the history of ever. We have plans of taking over the world eventually, but for now…this crappy blog.

And there you have it, my friends. This is all you’re getting out of me — for now. Come back for more later if you’re really into rookie bloggers with lame posts, bad jokes, awkward pictures of pint-sized dogs, and unsolicited opinions and/or advice. I may even drink one too many glasses of wine on occasion and do a little bloggy blogging, solely for your entertainment, and not because I have an affinity for drinking cheap wine after long days at work. Hello, have you seen The Social Network? Mark Zuckerberg once drunkenly played on the Internet, and look at what came out of that. Mark. Freaking. Zuckerberg.


I digress. Thanks for following along thus far, all one of you…hi, Dad.


Witty Critty out.