Nobody Should Make Fun of Any Body.

So, I went to the liquor department at my local grocery store with B.

We made our selections and went to the front. I handed the cashier my ID. He looked at my ID, laughed and mumbled something.

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“125? Seriously?” He answered laughing. I was honestly confused for a second until I realized he was talking about my weight.

“I mean…. 125? *haha* My license says I weigh 220, but come on.” He said.

I didn’t really say anything in reply. I couldn’t think of a response that wasn’t, “F U, doofus.”

I just paid for my crap and took my receipt. As I turned to leave he said, “Haha, I’m just being a jerk.”


First of all, I do weigh 125, you butt. I weighed myself recently and to my dismay had gone from 130 back to 125. I don’t like it and it’s stressing me out. I don’t need some rando at the grocery store pointing that out.

Second of all, I think he was comfortable teasing me because I’m of a thin stature.

Middle school, high school, and even now, I get comments like “What do you weigh, like, 2 pounds?” “You need to eat!” “Someone needs to give you food” and the worst one “Anorexic!”

Because I’m skinny, I wonder if people think that making rude comments like that isn’t mean or hurtful. I don’t think anybody should make fun of any body. It’s just rude.

I can’t really do anything about my skinny body. I guess I could eat Krispy Kreme and Gallagher’s Pizza every single day. But, that ain’t healthy, bro.

I’m gorgeous, dammit. And so are you.


Also, this is me before I ate a lobster in Boston.

Because lobsters are delicious.

Lobsta in Boston



I’ve been a full-time adult for about 2 months now.

There are perks and downfalls.


1.) 85% of my mail are bills.

2.) I have to pay those bills.

3.) Budgeting is real (and it’s hard!).

4.) I have to pack my lunch every single day.

5.) I have to get up and go to work every single day.

6.) Did I mention bills?


1.) No homework (I come home and live my life).

2.) Having my own apartment is pretty sweet.

3.) I’m an independent person.

4.) Actually having some free-time to pursue new hobbies (yoga, cooking, baking, etc).

5.) I read books for fun.

6.) I like my job.


This is me with what I worked for 3 1/2 years to earn.

My Bachelor’s Degree.



The thing about adulthood is people say “it’s the beginning of the rest of your life”.  I don’t like to think of this stage of my life as the beginning of the end. That sounds morbid.  I have a lot planned for every stage of my life.

I’m just getting started.


My Pants are Stressing Me OUT

I’m madder than a bee that’s been slapped in the face while trying to drink nectar from a flower!
I’ve bought several nice black pants for work/internships from various stores such as New York & Company and Express. I paid $60 for the Express pants and $25 for the NY & C (on sale!)
I’ve noticed BOTH pairs of pants quickly start to get worn on my outer left thigh.
I even called Express, complained, and got a new pair sent to me because I thought it was a defect; however,  the same thing happened again! (Oops, sorry Express customer service. You were very helpful, though!)
It looks like I bought these pants at a crummy garage sale (I’m not slapping garage sales because I’ve found some pretty cool things at nice garage sales).
It looks like my cat rubbed against my legs and made the fabric look worn (I love when cats/animals rub against me, it’s so sweet).
My hips don’t lie because it’s only happening on my left outer thigh and it’s not happening from sitting too much because that part of my body does not touch the seat.
I didn’t mind paying $85 total for some nice black pants because I’m trying to look professional. But now I paid $85 to look like a wannabee.
Where did you get your professional attire? How has it held up?

Who Punched Elva’s Butt?

A few weeks ago, something awful happened.

I was walking to my beloved car, Elva, with B and I noticed something on her right rear.

Someone had dented her in the school parking lot and drove away!


I freaked out bad and poor B just had to stand there as I shook my fist and shouted every profanity I could think of to say.

Poor Elva. What did she do? She was just innocently sitting there, minding her own business and some chump smacked her butt. Then this chump just drove off.


I was extremely upset about this, but I’m not a complete moron. I am aware of several things:

1.) It was probably (hopefully) some poor college kid like me who punched Elva’s butt and then panicked and drove off. Understandable, but still upsetting.

2.) Elva is an old (but reliable) car and at least it wasn’t my future suped up Porsche.

3.) Everything will be fine.


A day or two after, I told someone later the story of what happened to little Elva. Obviously, I was very dramatic and theatrical in my story telling because that’s what I do. This person responded to my story “geeze, calm down. It’ll be fine!”

Excuse me?


I’m allowed to be upset about this!

There are going to be situations in life when something crappy will happen to you for no reason. You are most certainly allowed to be upset. I hate when I’m upset about something and a person tells me to “CALM DOWN” because saying that to me makes me more agitated!


When someone tells me his or her car’s butt was punched I’m going to say to them “NO! THAT SUCKS! THAT HAPPENED TO ME!” and then I’ll offer advice on where to go from there.


Anyway, my dad kicked Elva’s butt from the inside and the dent is mostly gone.


The moral of the story is; when something bad happens to you have yourself a little freak out and then call dad to help kick your problem in the butt.


I’m So Jealous of My Cat.

Today, I was thinking about my cat.

Well, I think about my cat every day, but today I was thinking deeper a thought about my cat.

I’m so jealous of her.

Lately, I’ve been having two strong feelings: stress and boredom.



Wisconsin is definitely not as exciting as England. No fun travel plans, no new people from all over the world, and because I feel like I’m doing the same things over and over again.

I’m washing the same three dang mugs.

I’m reading the same dang things.

I’m sharpening the same two dang pencils.

I’m wearing same two dang coats.

I wake up in the middle of the dang night to stick my dang feet out from the covers because it’s too dang hot in my room!



I’m stressed out because I feel like I don’t have time to do anything anymore except get through each thing to get to the next thing.

There are too many things! How did I let this happen again?

I need more sleep.

I need to read lots.

I need to practice flute.

I need to poop once a day (isn’t happening right now).

I need to figure out life.

I’m eternally hungry.



Back to the cat:

Little Zona just eats, sleeps, plays, and poops.

Zona sleeps to play.

Then she plays to eat.

Then she eats to poop.

Then she takes a nap.

What a wonderful, glorious cycle.

Isn’t that basically our cycle?

I sleep to study.

I study to eat.

Wait, I don’t eat.

I read the 100+ pages a night of reading.

Then I stress out over flute.

Then I watch an episode of Downton Abbey.

Then I write a story for my fiction workshop.

Then I feel bored.

Then I read a book for fun.

Then I stress out.

Because I should be studying or practicing flute.

Then my stomach hurts because I’m nervous.

So then I finally eat.

Then I try to grab a few winks of sleep before repeat.


I wish I was a cat.

Specifically orange.

I wonder if Zona likes Downton Abbey.


This Weird Craving Feeling.

I believe it is widely known that I have a bit of a sweet tooth.

Let’s get real, I have sweet teeth…

I love candy or anything with sugar.

A little piece of happiness.


I remember buying myself candy on my breaks at Piggly Wiggly.

I used to swing by McDonald’s and grab a milkshake after a shift at Marshalls.

I used to stash a pile of candy in my desk at Perlick and nibble throughout the day.

At school, I always have a few treats on hand.


This summer is different. In order to make ends meet and save a little money, I’ve cut out most of that. I’ve got bills to pay, tuition to think about and a semester abroad this fall.  I don’t eat fast food anymore, I only eat candy every couple of days and now when someone offers me a treat I can barely resist grabbing his or her face and yelling “YES, I WOULD LOVE A TREAT THANK YOU I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!”

Tightening my already tight purse strings has caused some depression. It was too easy to think of my financial woes and quick pop in an Air Head to feel better. Now I just tough through it.  Sometimes I even taste candies that I crave.

Treats always get me through The Hard Times. From dealing with death, break ups, school, and financial woes, I can always nibble on something chocolately and feel a little better.

Surprisingly, no cavities.

Someone once told me “Your skin will look better if you give up eating sweets.” You know what, idiot, my skins has gotten much worse. Either feeling depressed over the loss of candy has caused my pores to clog up or MAYBE IT’S SIMPLY GENETIC.


I just wonder how much longer I have to feel this weird craving feeling.






How May I Better Suit Your Linguistic Needs?

Sometimes, I legitimately feel as though I speak my own language.

Am I truly that hard to understand?

I know I talk way too fast for normal humans, but if I say something too fast just ask me to repeat it.

Sometimes I don’t explain myself clearly (don’t we all?), but I promise I always try to get my point across and if I don’t, just ask for clarification.

I’d much rather repeat or clarify then have someone take away the wrong meaning.

Also, I know I say a lot of things and have a lot of feelings, but sometimes I feel like people shut off their ears while I’m talking. I try my hardest to always be respectful and give people my full attention. Please do the same.

The Golden Rule: Do unto others and you would have done onto you.

Simple as that.

Here’s what I’ve learned:

  1. Half time I say something to someone I get, “what?” I then wait a few seconds and the person usually begins to answer without me repeating. It’s as though a human’s instant reaction to what I say is just “WHAT?” even though they clearly heard me. Please wait a few seconds after I say something before you react. Just a few seconds.
  2. If I say something and someone asks me to repeat, which I do, do not interrupt me while I’m repeating myself. I’m granting your request.
  3. A lot of times I tell someone something and they usually forget in a few hours. That’s fine and dandy, but when I tell you I already told you, please don’t yell at me “YOU NEVER TOLD ME THAT!” Relax. I don’t expect people to remember everything I’ve ever said. Plus, I did tell you. You forgot.
  4. If I, or anyone else, uses a word you do not understand please don’t hesitate for a clarification. When I do explain what the word meant, don’t criticize me for using a “complicated word” it’s not my fault I’m a nerd.


“She’s so gregarious.”

“What does that mean?!”

“Gregarious means like, social or someone who enjoys being with people.”

“Ha, then why didn’t you just say ‘She’s so social?’”

“Oh, my bad, I didn’t realize your vocabulary was different than mine. I’ll be sure to study how you speak so I am better able to suit your linguistic needs.”

5. There are no tricks. I’m not being tricky when I talk. If you ask me something and I answer, “No” that means no. No tricks. Why would I say no when I secretly mean yes? I’m 20 not 12.

6. Speak so that you never have to retract what you said. Instead of having to take back your words, think before you speak. Simply stated: stand by your words.


Happy Fat Tuesday.

Wow. Fat Tuesday is upon us.

Which means it’s almost Ash Wednesday.

Which means it’s almost Lent.

Which means no candy for Claire.

I’m giving candy up.

Dare I?

Do I dare give up the sweet, tempting friend I know as candy?

I only had one piece today and let me tell you, that was a struggle.

Candy is the antidote for life and all the problems that come with it.

At least for me.

The thought of giving up something so comforting to me makes me tear up.

How sad.

However, I am committed to giving up candy for lent.


Wish me luck, dear readers.

Wish me luck.

Hi, My Name is Clarence.

Lately, I have been suffering from  low confidence, lady problems and socks with holes in them.

I’ve been sitting in a pile of estrogen wondering why I couldn’t have been born a dude.

Come on.

So much easier.

I’ve come up with a few specific reason as to why I wish I were a stereotypical male.


1. Hair. The daily battle with the rat’s nest on top of my head has been driving me nuts. If I was a boy I would buzz it.

Totally manageable.

I wouldn’t have to worry or think about split ends, layers, bangs, bobby pins, headbands, hair dye and all that other crap women do to their hair.

Over it.


2. Clothing.  Stereotypical men wear tshirt, pants, tennis shoes.

A shirt with your favorite sports team?


Instead, women have to worry about keeping up with fashion.

We have to find clothes that fit well, can mask pit stains, are stylish and cheap.

Annoying beyond words.


3. Fights. When men fight their either just let it go or just punch the person they’re mad at in the face and it’s over.


Women, on the other hand, hold grudges.

Oh, we hold grudges.

We become snarky, evil creatures who will do anything to get people on “our side.”

“oh stacey is sooo awful she wore the same sweater that I have. I hate her for life.”

50 years later

“Stacey! It’s been so long. I still hate you, you sweater stealing piece of crap!”

I wish I was a dude.


4. Child birth. I don’t really need to go into this one, do I?


5. Money saved on shoes, jewelry, makeup, hair products, nail polish, acne products, and hair styling products.

I don’t even want to calculate how much money I’ve spent on makeup.

I will pay anything to be beautiful.

I think my tiny bottle of liquid foundation costs $13 alone and it still barely works.

Men don’t worry about it.


6. Menstrual Cycle/Spotting. I am forever envious of men.

I consider my insanely uncomfortable and frequent menstrual cycle a medical problem, so I’m rather vocal about my issues and discomfort.

I can’t tell you how many people think I’m gross because of it.

Oh I’m sooooooooooooo sorrrryyyyyyy. Should I stop talking about it? YOU’RE NOT THE ONE DEALING WITH IT.

Men don’t have to worry about their “Aunt” randomly finding them at the worst possible time.

Men don’t have to bother with tampons, pads, and pantiliners.

Men don’t have to deal with spotting (I’m not even going into this one, too awful).



Men. Embrace your testosterone.

I’m so jealous.




Abe, Drinking and Listening.

There seem to be a few misconceptions between me and the world.

Well, I’m here today to clear them up.

1.) That I find Abe Lincoln sexually attractive.

I hate when people ask me “Would you do Abe?” “Does Abe make you hot?” “Would you marry Abe?”


I look up to Abraham Lincoln because he was not afraid to make mistakes.

He made many mistakes and he learned from them.

He was exactly who he said he was. A favorite quote of mine from him is, “If I was two-faced, why would I be wearing this one?”

Honest Abe.

He was a problem solver.

The Union was falling apart and he stepped up to kept this country together.

He was self-learned. He learned to read from the Bible for gosh sakes.


His life is an incredible story.

He’s an incredible person whom I look up to very much.

I do not; however, find him sexually attractive.

I don’t fantasize about Abe.

He is my hero.

Not my crush.

2.) I hate drinking.

This is something I feel very misunderstood by.

It’s not that I hate drinking.

I just don’t do it.

And it’s not just because I’m an RA.

It’s not what makes Claire Westlie.

And that doesn’t mean I hate when people drink because I’m an RA.

I am sad when people make poor choices while intoxicated and sometimes I worry about the safety of people I know who drink.

I hear many times from people who do partake in drinking that they drink to have a good time.

I would say I have good times without drinking.

I do not find drinking to be a necessity to having fun.

But, that doesn’t mean you have to feel the same way I do.

It’s seriously annoying when people condemn me for not drinking.


I don’t condemn you for drinking.

Let me be me.

3.) When people don’t listen.

I don’t feel like this one necessary to explain further, you all know what I mean.

This blog has a little more sass and a little less humor than usual, but these things have been on my mind.