Call Me Trouble.

with a side of optimism and wit.


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Officially Living in Nashville: Setting Intentions.

A Brief Update

As of last Friday, we have lived in Nashville for a week. A whole week. I existed on this earth as an official resident outside of Northeast Ohio and am still around to talk about it. Change is possible. Real change is possible. It was a week without a schedule, a week that mostly involved living here with only what fit into our cars. I baked on tin foil and we slept (tossed and turned) on an air mattress. The moving truck arrived on Wednesday morning and since then, it’s been a whirlwind of unpacking. As of this moment – there is only one box left unopened, titled “ornaments” and it shall remain taped until the holiday season; which is closer than I would like to admit. God help me if it’s where our paper towel holder and cord for the vacuum is.

I’m really here to tell you about a yoga class I went to on Saturday. Yes, my whole life has been picked up and placed down over 500 miles away and I want to write about a freaking yoga class. Stay with me.

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Saturday, August 23

Being that I have moved to a popular weekend getaway spot – good friends are bound to visit. A darling yogi friend, Alex, was in town for a girls reunion. It’s funny – I remember when she was first planning this trip and I had no idea I would be LIVING here when their trip would take place. As I was figuring out what to do on Saturday morning, Alex texted me asking if I would be game for a 90-minute hot vinyasa flow class. If there’s anything my body could use after countless takeout meals, goodbye dinners, and forgoing workouts for packing and unpacking boxes, it was a good yoga sesh.

I set out on foot for the studio and arrived at the same moment Alex was hopping out of a cab. I could see the yoga studio’s logo on the second floor windows but was without a clue of how to get up there. On the first level, however, there was an IHOP. I thought this might be a sign to abandon what would surely be an hour and a half of work in lieu of some fluffy pancakes. Instead, an IHOP worker popped out of the front door and clued us in on the elusive back entrance. People in South are scary nice.

Setting Intentions

Before the class, our instructor, Jamie, asked us to set an intention. I knew exactly what mine would be, which is relatively shocking because normal I cop out and go with “present” because I’m terrible of thinking of things like that on the spot.

Walking into the yoga studio, I was reminded so much of the Cleveland Yoga Studio in Uptown. Relatively new. Warm. Lots of tiny women in Lulu. Walking into the hot room with Alex felt so comfortable. As I began to stretch and twist and get into my body, I recognized the gentle piano notes from the plastic bag scene in American Beauty. My favorite movie and probably my favorite scene. For the first time in a long-ass time, I felt at home. I felt a well-known peace inside of me. In that moment I was no longer in a strange place. I was with someone I’ve known for years, about to engage in a practice I’ve been active in for a while, and hearing music that transported me to a place of ease.

My intention would be “familiarity,” I deserved it, after all. I had pretty much forgotten what familiar felt like. It was good. It was like eating vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce and peanuts before bed in the house I grew up in. It was doing the same cheerleading dance routine to the fight song after knowing it for six years. It was arriving at a destination so mindlessly, I couldn’t remember a darn thing about the trip.

Class commenced. No less than fifteen minutes in, the Universe laughed at my intention and said, “nice try.” I distinctly recall being in downward dog and I felt sweat dripping into my nostrils. I felt a lot of things. Challenged, driven, hotter than hell, but not familiar. I must be more out of shape than I was (am) willing to admit because I’ve done lots of hot sweaty yoga classes, including Bikram, and never, ever, has sweat dripped INTO my nose before. It stung. It grossed me out. And it made me let go of this irrational desire to embrace familiarity and comfort rather than change and challenge.

There’s not a lot of room in adventure for a boring life. I may be tired of unpacking, not knowing where my socks are, or having to try three different cabinets before I find my tea, but dammit, it’s exciting.

Other notes:

  • I’m terrified to hang anything on the walls because I’m afraid I’ll hate it or it won’t go with my “theme.”
  • I have no idea how to decorate a new place.
  • We’re headed to an area just North of San Francisco this weekend. Not really sure how that’s going to go after the crazy earthquake.
  • I somehow forgot to post a “how I lost 20 lbs in four months” piece but I’ve managed to gain 13 of them back! So let’s see if I can repeat my magic and then not move across the country while finishing grad school and keep them off.
  • We have opted to not get cable and instead I have access to Netflix and HBO Go. Any recommendations?


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The Special Two.

Four years ago, in July of 2011, I posted a piece to an old obscure blog of mine. The blog has since been made private but once in a while I open the archives to see if I predicted well. To see if my gambles paid off or where I’ve crapped out. 

Almost fifty months ago I posted a new, favorite song. A number by Missy Higgins titled, “The Special Two.” At this time, Nick and I would have just, actually met. I didn’t live in Lakewood yet. I hadn’t met my first roommate. I didn’t know my next roommate would be someone from my tennis team in high school. I had no idea.

I had no idea the song I loved so much would very much become a reality for me, in the sense I would be a part of a special two. I didn’t know I’d find someone worth fighting for. I didn’t know about the fast friendship I’d find in Nick and the loving, caring relationship that would blossom out of that. I was aloof to knowledge I was meeting my future husband.

In 2010, if you would have told me the guy I was going to marry would be a golfing chemical sales rep who grew up in Chicago, and I would be moving to Nashville in a few years with him – well, I can’t say I’d be in disbelief or punch you in the face, but I’d be skeptical. Without him, I’d be without my renewed appreciation for oysters or, perhaps more importantly, the love of my life. My adoration for this Missy Higgins song hasn’t changed but so much else has.

Funny how the meanings of songs, stories, and films transform over time even though they haven’t. You have.

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The Previous Post – July 15, 2010

Music moves me. Music moves throughout me. And every once in a while there’s a song that makes me grip my iPod, scan for title and artist, because it moved me. Today, as my iPod was on shuffle, the Missy Higgins song “The Special Two” came on. It was beautiful. She has a strong voice, but beyond that, I adore her writing. She uses the word scrupulous!

When you’re young you have this image of your life:
That you’ll be scrupulous and one day even make a wife.

Delicious. I don’t tend to listen to “heartier” music in the summer but lately I’ve needed some melodic TLC (editor’s note: tender, loving care, not the girl group TLC – but they’re cool too.) Don’t get me wrong Girl Talk is a go-to when I want to car dance (which I do;, all the time.)

Promise I’ll write more tonight…just excited about this song and wanted to share! (editor’s note: I didn’t “write more tonight”)

Other favorite lines to listen for:

  • And we will only need each other, we’ll breathe together,
    Our hands will not be taught to hold another’s
  • So is it better to tell and hurt or lie to save their face?
    Well I guess the answer is don’t do it in the first place.
  • The darkness helped until the whiskey wore away,
    And it was then I realized the conscience never fades.


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On Moving: Hashtag – Emo Post.

When your most feasible piece of furniture is a yoga mat. The taste of Shock Top on freshly brushed teeth. When every step echoes against barren walls. When setting down your bottle of beer feels sacrilegious on Brazilian walnut floors. This is moving.

When a drive home from the suburbs with the windows rolled down feels too familiar. Like you might know where you’re going without checking Google maps for the last time in a while. When calls to one, two, five, girlfriends results in voice mails. It’s obviously a Monday night before a big time in your life on a night that is every other night to everyone else. When the smell of campfires or grills seamlessly transitions into the  smell of gunpowder.

95% of your worldly things are packed but you still have you.

Staring at the ceiling asking yourself, the world, your betta fish, who am I? Who am I supposed to be? What is my purpose? And not evening minding when the answers do not appear and simply knowing they will in time.

Trying not to let the tears well up in your eyes while you figure out what you might miss. What wouldn’t you miss?

Forty-something boxes are packed. A few more to go. Then you’ll stumble through your final MBA class and head south.

Your mom said something tonight about wanting to find a time to celebrate a graduation.

“Who’s graduating?” you sincerely ask.

“You are.” She replies.

You forgot. You seem to be forgetting so much despite the sleepless nights trying to remember everything. On the list of work, class, wedding, and packing, you forgot that you were graduating. Despite the madness, you fret for it not to be over. What would you do if your time wasn’t dictated by a full week’s work or class until 10 p.m.? Precisely. So much of your life has been designed around not having to fill your time with your own personal desires or quests because, what if you have none? What if all you want to do is lay around in your pj’s and watch Netflix? You’re pretty sure that isn’t you; but it sure is your biggest fear. So you just haven’t given yourself the chance.

You hope your new condo takes forever to decorate. An infinity. Because once everything is set up…then what? You don’t even like interior design.

All quotes talk about facing your biggest fears, about waking up and doing what you always dreamed you’ll do. What if my biggest fear is figuring out what my dream is. No question mark. Not interested in the answer. Not in this moment.

As someone who values “firsts,” I can tell you my first CD, kiss, rated-R movie, and slow dance. I’m having a much harder time with “lasts.” Last time I park in this spot. Last time at this restaurant. Last time looking over this balcony at this time. Last, last, last.

My favorite way to leave a party is the old “Irish Exit” trick. You just slip out. No goodbyes, no awkward hugs, no well-intentioned promises of seeing each other soon. Just slip into the night with the moon. I’m just not sure I can Irish Exit from Cleveland. Slip into my car with eight hours worth of podcasts ready to take me to Nashville. My life here has been more than that of my life at a few hours of a delightful party. More meaningful. I’m not even sure what Cleveland taught me, but I’m sure I’ll know later. It’ll have something to do with being humble, hardworking, and never taking anything for granted. It’ll be about the people I met and connected with. It’ll be about polka, and running, and loving something greater than myself.

I have about 48 hours left in my home and roughly four weeks left in Northeast Ohio. This is absolutely unreal to me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled and blessed to be able to go on this new adventure but it doesn’t mean I don’t want to feel every last ounce of what it’s like to leave the area you grew up in. When you see what it’s becoming. What it’s going to be. What it can be. What you hope it will be. What you know it can be someday. And when you know someday is sooner than later.

I will not go gently into this good night. For my remaining time, I will rage, rage against the dying of the light.(Paraphrased from Dylan Thomas.)


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I Plan On Writing More: But first, a caveat.

Sometimes I’m afraid you won’t get my humor, so I don’t write, or I do write but I don’t post. Much of what I find funny, I find it humorous because it’s so completely wrong. (To me.) Just because I think something is broken, doesn’t mean I don’t love or respect it, though. Hell. I’m broken and I still wake up every morning and look in the mirror and say, “you’re enough and you matter,” and I mean it. So, if I point something out in a wicked way and make obvious some flaws or irony or gaps or mistakes or areas of improvement, it’s because I want it to get better. If I wished ill will to someone or something I wouldn’t say a word. I would be quiet and witness the inevitable demise from what I didn’t care enough to say anything about.

If you understand and appreciate Hunter S. Thompson, you’ll understand me. Me, when I’m at my best. When I’m at my me-ist. When my biting sarcasm can draw a guttural laugh. When the people around me and including me aren’t taking life so damn seriously.

Lewis Black doesn’t raise his voice and point his finger because he’s apathetic to the world around him. It’s because he wants better for it, for us. Sometimes we confuse people who challenge the system, our beliefs, and institutional rules as mean or dissenting. I’ve heard someone being described as mean because they asked hard questions. I fail to see how critical thinking makes someone malicious. Granted, there’s a difference between thoughtful inquiry and being difficult – there’s always a balance. There are right times and places. But all other conditions being right, people asking “why?” shouldn’t be met with such resistance. Has anyone or anything ever gotten better by staying the same? Nope.

I’ve struggled to find my voice in my tiny piece of real estate on the internet this year. I’m sure much of it has to do with time and excuses but I know a large part of it has been identity. In many ways, I’m still figuring out who I am and I don’t want to risk losing the written journey because I was nervous about what people might think, or if something I say is going to be taken the wrong way. I am very much the peppy, optimistic, high energy person that people think I am. I am also the sarcastic, observant, impervious person that other people think I am. I’ve struggled to comprehend how I can be both, but I am. And maybe I won’t be any of those things in a year from now and that’s fine. If there’s evidence out there that I’ve had my armpits waxed before, I certainly can’t fear writing a few sentences that might portray my disbelief over fallible ignorance.

At the risk of babbling on and on, this is my peace. This is my permission. This is me permitting myself to write what I want to write because the next big step in my life is going to be fun, and thrilling, and scary, and tough, and I don’t want to miss writing down a word of it because I was afraid of what others might think. Writing is a passion of mine and one I yearn to develop and that’s the purpose of this whole thing.

I remember listening to an NPR piece on Nora Ephron, a fast-growing heroine of mine, and she was described as “vulnerable, but never destroyed.” Though they were for someone else, I couldn’t think of better words for me. That’s what my world is about, being open to the world and the energies around me and taking in everything I possibly can before the breaking point. I don’t know who I am outside of someone constantly in school, or living within thirty minutes of where she grew up, but I’m ready to find out and I want it all, the good, the bad, the ugly, the broken, the beautiful, the loving, the wreckless, the safe, the peaceful, and the mundane, on here.


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Big News: We’re moving to Nashville.

On January 31, 2013, I wrote a few paragraphs about where I imagined myself in the future, in my ideal state. It was warm, there was a breeze, I was surrounded by music and living in a little oasis with Nick. We lived within walking distance of a local grocery and our favorite watering hole. Our record player was on more than our television. I woke up with the sun each morning, drank lots of tea, and read books in a big papasan chair.

Careful what you wish for, because it just might come true.

In just a few weeks, in mid-August, Nick and I are moving to Nashville, Tennessee. “Mixed” doesn’t even begin to describe my emotions. I thought about creating a pie-chart for them but I need some time to compile the averages because it varies by the day, hour, or 5-minute interval. Mostly excited, a lot of nervous-happiness, and a fraction absolutely terrified. Outside of undergrad – I’ve always lived in Cleveland. I surprised myself by coming back but I don’t regret a moment of it and I know I’m leaving Cleveland at a very, very exciting and likely, pivotal time. I’ve only been to Nashville once and I don’t have any family there. But I love the weather, the southern charm, and I cannot wait to live in a city for the first time in my life – up until this point I’ve never lived somewhere truly “walkable.”

I’m also just plain relieved to have this out there, now. It’s all happened very fast but slowly at the same time. Long story short though, Nick has accepted a new career opportunity within his company. I will for sure post more details as I recount the last few months and days but this is good for now. I’m pumped to explore a new city and grow a couple new brain curls learning my way around and meeting wonderful new people!

If you have any recommendations of what to do in Nashville, I’d love to hear them!


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Nick and Katie Take Engagement Pictures.

I cannot even count all of the wonderful and super exciting things going on one hand, maybe not even two. But hey, I bet if I get my toes involved, we could cover most of them.

Thankfully, wedding planning has stayed on the positive side of the ledger. Our engagement picture photo session went better than I ever could have imagined. Our engagement and wedding photographer is the one, and only. Jason Thomas Crocker. He was a referral of my close friend and event planning extraordinaire, Lauren, and he is quickly becoming a fast friend of ours. Hell. Anyone that can get my fiance to take pictures for nearly four hours without complaint should be considered family. Jason has posted some highlights over at his blog - I recommend checking those out first if you haven’t! Then, if you’re not sick of looking at us yet, I’ve included my favorites below. And THEN, if you’re still interested, I will post just about all of them on Facebook.

In Ohio City

JTC_Katie_Nick_Engagement-4JTC_Katie_Nick_Engagement-7 (1)JTC_Katie_Nick_Engagement-16JTC_Katie_Nick_Engagement-25 (1)JTC_Katie_Nick_Engagement-24 (1)JTC_Katie_Nick_Engagement-26JTC_Katie_Nick_Engagement-22

Our Model Faces

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The Ring + My Favorite Books Ever

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Edgewater Park

JTC_Katie_Nick_Engagement-40 (1)JTC_Katie_Nick_Engagement-46JTC_Katie_Nick_Engagement-53JTC_Katie_Nick_Engagement-47   Ta-Dah! Like I said these are  just my absolute favorites and I will post the rest on Facebook sometime soon. AND in case you’re wondering, yes, you should book our photographer and he loves to travel! Any favorites? 


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Unapologetic Thoughts.

Yes, this is a result of needing to decompress after writing a midterm paper about innovation. There is so much innovation. So much. Product, and service, and management, and my favorite – disruptive innovation. I want to be disruptive. In a good way, don’t worry. But, can you imagine creating something that literally changes the way you live your daily life? Literally? One literally every glass of wine. Literally. Just kidding. I’ll never tell.

My darling fiance stocked our wine stash with a 2011 red from Sonoma, called “if you see kay.” Obviously, I love this because it’s a reference to spelling out a certain favorite swear word of mine, but I think I love it even more because I know he had no idea that it did. Just has a rockstar label. As it should. But let me tell you, it’s delicious.

If you’ve ever wondered how wonderfully useful this word is, I share with you this – it is NOT safe for work (NSFW) unless you work at home. In that case – proceed. I’m just a sucker for words with such great versatility in the English language. It’s too bad it’s considered so crude. When I was in middle school, I figured the f-bomb would be as bad as saying “pissed off,” by now. I’m sad that the future hasn’t beholded this prediction. What happened? Has the generation after me been slacking in coming up with horrific words that are not to be used? Are they too busy playing on iPads or developing Apps? This is so unfortunate.

May we can trade a word and bring the eff word into normalcy? Just switch it out with a much less useful word. Like didgeridoo. Can we have a “d-word” now and bring the f-tastic word into mainstream?

Also. What’s going on with the word “bitch”? I hear it on Jimmy Fallon all the time, but it’s still censored on the radio. It’s exhausting.

Speaking of Jimmy Fallon – I’m working on a list of celebrities that I wish would come to our nuptials party. He definitely makes the list. Let’s assume their significant others are a given, too. Seth Meyers makes the VIP list. And Howard Stern. I really tried not to like him but Boyface listens to him incessantly and sadly, I’ve garnered the appeal. He’s a really strong interviewer. Definitely a result of experience and wisdom. His time in the industry is crazy. I can’t stand the extremist stuff or bits that goes on but gosh, when he talks to Lady Gaga or Eric Stonestreet, or Louis C.K., I’m interested.

There’s so many more people though. Gwen Stefani. Zooey. The lead singer of Postal Service – so he can get back together with Zooey. Cara Delevingne and her eyebrows. Alton Brown. Peter Segal and Karl Kasell.

I still cannot internalize Karl Kasell is not announcing for Wait, Wait..Don’t Tell Me, anymore. Wait, Wait was the beginning of the end for me and podcasts. Podcasts make my 45 minute commute feel like five. I love quiz shows. They make me wish I was on a trivia team.

(Interlude)

I am eager for this round of classes to be complete. I must be honest. I have a week of vacation on deck for after this summer session of courses. I want to read every book. All the books. Every single book. And for for FUN. My authority issues really cramp my school style. It’s wild how many books I was “forced” to read in high school that I loathed and then really read after the class and loved. Why is it that when you’re “made” to do something that you would elsewise enjoy, you abhor it? I can’t wait to finish the new Freakonomics book. Perhaps finally finish Wicked? The book buffet is practically endless.

This is about as far as I can go without talking about real things, like my first experience at the Kentucky Derby, or my birthday, or taking engagement pictures, or how I feel about Suburgatory and Mixology being cancelled, or our recent trip to Nashville, or wedding planning, or fitness/weight loss. Or how the news makes me so very sad. But I think this was an okay start. Just okay.

And Emma Stone. I’d want her to be there. And to sing Blues Traveler to us.

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