Rosie Glow Wellness

Mind body health for the deeply fabulous


This Year

Hello and an extra sparkly post-Christmas, pre-New Year to you all. Here’s my gorgeous family prepping to party party party:


Yes. I come from women exclusively.
And yes, my jumpsuit brings all the boys to the yard.

Last night we celebrated/mourned/karaoked my Emma-friend‘s relocation to the weird state of Texas. I tried to sing I Will Survive with my super sexy inflamed larynx, and had very real flashbacks to a 6th grade talent show in which I croaked My Favorite Things while likewise laryngeally impaired and also wearing a dirndl in front of five hundred middle schoolers and their families. Just some junior high PTSD. Don’t even worry about it.

Today I cannot move. Elmer the cat keeps headbutting me with all of his might like a fluffy baby rhinocerous and there appears to be a force field of some kind around my bed that only yields for the promise of caffeine. I’m listening to a playlist that contains only New Order, Bright Eyes and Dashboard Confessional songs (made by yours truly, obviously) so now the internet at large knows the enormity of my reflective melancholy because it creeps me out to set up a “private session” on Spotify. I mean, the nomenclature of a “private session” on the internet is icky, right? Whatever. Music shame is for the weak. And pervy.

Given the time of year and the goings-on of life lately — loved ones coming and going; a birthday and another year gone; gratitude for my family and sad acknowledgment that not everybody has it this good; the close of 2013 and the excitement of new beginnings — plus some rare time to meditate, I’ve been thinking about how far I’ve come this past year. Conclusion: pretty f*cking far.

When I started this blog one year ago, I was still suffering from the aftermath of an eating disorder. To clarify, I had already beaten the eating disorder, itself, but when somebody focuses all of her brainpower on food and thinness and the relationship between the two for too long; that somebody loses sight of herself. Her eating disorder becomes her identity. When I finally shook off the remnants of my eating disorder, I couldn’t remember who I was; who I’d been or even who I wanted to be. And that was scary.

Career-wise, I didn’t know myself, either. When opera singers really go for it, music is all that they are and all that they do. Music performance was another huge part of my identity that I just… lost. For my entire life, I had been an aspiring opera singer. A really skinny aspiring opera singer. And then I just wasn’t anymore.

So I started this blog. I talked about teasing out my authentic self. I talked about self-care and inspiration and envisioning my future with the ultimate goal of knowing myself, and it quickly became obvious that everyone my age was grappling with the same questions. First point: I was not alone.

Second point: writing saved me. When you write, you give meaning to your life. Not in a fatalistic “nothing else matters” kind of way or a sappy, vom-inducing “buy her this necklace because she is your everything” Kay Jewelers kind of way. It’s much cleaner than all that. When you write about your life, you’re forced to seek symbolism in your day-to-day. You analyze and make sense of experiences that had you not written about, you may have never made time to confront. Plus, you try to live in a way that someone might want to read about. That doesn’t mean you hyperbolize the happenings of your life: it’s not phony like that. When I live with the intent of sharing my heart with readers, I want to really live. I want to be a fleshed-out character in my own story, and I want to know, firsthand, what I’m talking about. I hope that makes sense, because it’s everything.

Third point: like I said, I was still healing when I started this baby, and at that time I had very much internalized the need for space. Every relationship was a sacrifice of time and energy. Last year was spent retreating into myself; reestablishing and rediscovering my needs. And I did it. I know what I need now to love myself and be here, be present, to love others. I need a routine: I need to give myself time to ruminate on my existence while I run, while I eat, while I’m caring for myself. And then I need to use my findings to make stuff. To write. To share some truths with you guys. That’s it. That is the essence of who I am. When I give myself that routine, I can do anything.

The rest of what comprises me is just detail. My favorite foods are champagne, roasted root vegetables, hummus and guacamole, in that order. I spent more money this past year on arugula than I spent on clothing. I would like to be paid to write books, but until that happens, I think I would like to be a female Don Draper (less cowardice in the face of personal demons, less adultery; same amount of sex and glamour)/marketing creative. I don’t understand how anyone has time to be in love, but I hope that it’s obvious that I’m in love with life. I don’t know if I ever want to get married, but if I do, I want a bouquet made out of wild flowers and rainbow chard. Non-negotiable. I only own one pair of jeans that I stole from my sister. I do, however, own three jumpsuits and several tutus. I believe that all you need for insta-style is a faux fur, a top knot and winged eye liner, though, so don’t worry if your jumpsuit library is woefully small. I didn’t think I was a pet person until I acquired a cat. I dance like a Charlie Brown character, and I dance often. I’ve let go of a few people in my life that I think about too much. Guilt is unbecoming, some people are undeserving of my kindness, nothing is final. All of these things are true, but they only color me. They are dynamic and they do not define me.

But reflection, self-care and creativity: that combination absolutely defines me. I am proud of it. I am thankful for its home in me. And I am thankful for the chance to share my discoveries with all of you.

2013, you challenged me. You woke me up and illuminated my insides. You brought some wonderful people and a new home into my life. You changed me, and I’m so ready to see what 2014’s got cooking. SO BRING IT, 2014! We can handle whatever comes our way.



Birthday Baby

Thank you for all the birthday well wishes, everybody! My weekend was full of sequined jumpsuits and flower crowns and people I cherish.


I will never leave the house without a Rookie crown every again.
Thank you, Chelsea!

It was also full of feelings. To be completely honest, I’m extremely sensitive about my birthday. For one thing, I guess baby Jesus was born this time of year… so bully for him. My family never tried to jilt me with double-whammy Christmabirthday gifts growing up, but people have shopping and traveling and holiday-type activities to partake in, so I’m annually stood up by most of the Western world. Second, try as I might, I’m not immune to holiday stress, myself. I’m still not finished with my shopping, and I think it’s been a universally exhausting December for all of us.

Third, and most importantly, I can be a giant baby. I’m very proud of the growing pains I’ve endured this past year in terms of personal development, but Maslow would give me a serious side eye if I claimed to be self actualized at this juncture. Self actualized people don’t pout because all the humans can’t drop everything that burdens them to flounce around the city at their command. Self actualized people celebrate every day as an opportunity to flourish. Self actualized people don’t consider candles and vegan cake and manicures and aforementioned urban flouncing true markers of whether or not they’re loved. They don’t demand to be loved on their terms. They know there’s no such thing as a perfect day… it’s all of the days woven together that form the tapestry of who they are. Self actualized people aren’t inflexible assholes, and every year, on my birthday; I am an inflexible asshole.

Holding out hope for 27, biddies. In the meantime, I made myself the soggiest, most hideous birthday cake that ever was. And then I glazed it in Pepto-Bismol and stewed brains.


Jk. It’s a vanilla apricot layer cake with rose flavored cashew frosting.
It had such potential, you guys.

A disclaimer: I have an incredible family and dear, dear friends who constantly pour their energies into making me feel special, despite my asshole-ness. 25 was a truly transformative age, and I’m measurably happier than I was a year ago. For real. I have a whopper of a post pending on that subject. But if you, too, turn into a birthday jerk, you’re not alone.

How do you all feel about birthdays? I sparkle all over this damn blog every other day, so I hope you’ll forgive me for my birthday blues. I’m still super pumped for Rosie Glow’s first Christmas, and I promise to cheer up in time for vegan eggnog and Christmas cookies. Actually, if anyone wants to bring over Christmas cookies now. Or I could just put my birthday present on…


All better! Thank you, Mama!



Christmas Presents I Would Like to Make Everyone…

…in an alternate universe where I have time for that degree of festivity. Next year, I’m giving myself a few days to prep and craft some fabulous gifts. I’ll pour myself a hot toddy and listen to my favorite Christmas Carol (Santa Baby by Everclear — YEAH, WUT. ) on repeat. I’ll situate myself next to a seasonal novelty plate stacked high with Christmas cookies until I have to hide them, obviously, because I’d like to meet the woman who can stay strong in the presence of Christmas cookies all day. And I’ll spend a blissful day hxc craftin’, biddies! Merry Christmas to me!


Pretty sure I’m agnostic, but HILAR. Buy it.

Christmas Craftapalooza 2014 (because 2013 is OVER, Babe.)

1. A bedazzled flask for the the fabulous lush in your life:

rhinestone flask

Next year, Emma.

2. Remember the tiny art gallery I was talking about? I would so much rather get a miniature portrait than a tacky “To:_ From:_” label. Buy those suckers here.

3. If you have a particularly crafty friend, buy them a potential project! If I was organized and also superhuman, I would’ve bought my roommate a sh*tty piece of furniture (but not a chair because we have SO many chairs), and all of the accoutrements necessary to pimp it out, i.e.: spray paint, decoupage materials, funky drawer pulls, spongey brushes, sand paper. Next year, Smiley. Or for the broke-ass budding chef, buy the ingredients necessary for a super complicated, too expensive for every day recipe. Example: it costs about a million dollars to make one of my raw cashew cheesecakes, and for those who are simply veg-curious and unwilling to dole out $15 on nuts, the makings of this recipe are PERFECT. (I use toasted pecans in the crust though, because yum.)


A mint chocolate variation for Christmabirthday, maybs?

4. Nut butter (teehee) specific to everyone on your list. Maple Bourbon Pecan for Emma. Chocolate Cherry Hazelnut for Tori. Cinnamon Toast Crunch Butter for all! Seriously. People will think you’re a culinary genius when all you really did was pulverize some sh*t. Just put your creations in mason jars and seal with a ribbon and a homemade label. You’re done!

5. Flower crowns. For everyone. From Emma with love. (An aside: I’m insisting that everyone make their own flower crown at my apartment before we go out on the town for my birthday. Important stuff.)


I would also make mobiles (inspired by my roommate) and collages and cat toys and button jewelry… but I have a job. Next Christmas!

What do you want for Christmas? Lay it on me. Maybe I can hook a sister up.

Ho ho ho,


On Being a Grown Ass Woman, Part III: Birthday Edition

I fell in love with this drawing seven years ago, and can't remember who did it! If you know, help a sister out!

I so wish I could remember the artist! That’s me on the left.

Hey Babe. Remember when I was around here er’day? Back before I dropped my morning routine like a hot potato with a big, fuzzy spider on it in favor of sleep/work-work (as opposed to blog work, or the focused work of becoming a self-actualized human, or werque-ing the universal “it”)/nuzzling my roommate’s cat for as long as he’ll have me? Falling out of my daily writing habit was a huge mistake that I haven’t quite recovered from, and as a result of missin’ you all, I am twitchy. As. Sh*t.

Writing this blog does not pay my rent. I’m still holding out hope that Joyce Carol Oates will stumble upon my interminable digressions and rain fame and Twitter followers down on me, but so far; no cigarillo, Homie. Writing this blog does remind me who I am, though.  It reminds me that I’m truly myself when I’m writing about what matters to me and connecting with others who are likewise afflicted by the perennial need to know themselves; express themselves; fill up holes in the terrestrial sphere — holes unique to the size and shape of their souls — with the seeds of authenticity, vulnerability, curiosity and kindness. Seeds that, if properly tended to, can germinate in the hearts and minds of others. Brain blossoms; wild, weedy octopus orchids; infinite variations on a floral motif: that’s the science of inspiration.

You guys, I turn 26 on Sunday, and as such, I thought a new set of rules for grown ass womanhood would be apropos.

1. Learn what you love. Do what you love. Truth: it took me an awfully long time to settle into my genuine interests, as opposed to the interests that I thought might make me more… interesting. Those who’ve been reading for a while know that I double majored in music and poetry in college. (FYI the BA in poetry was my backup because I’m terribly practical like that.) Now, I love performing and I love writing… but I’m more passionate about new, avant garde music and self-help/#realtalk than Bizet’s Carmen and John Donne sonnets. I used to think this made me sorta fluffy and thus inferior to my peers, but it turns out that being honest with yourself and unashamed of your assorted affections makes you happy. For reals. If you don’t actually like Rilke, don’t spend your time reading freaking Rilke! Write about your feelings or bedazzle a bustier or paint tiny portraits of your favorite humans on tiny easels and arrange them all in a tiny faux-gallery (get excited, roommate.) Life will never slow down. The time to be yourself is now.

Turns out, I like Ke$ha more than I like Beethoven. What of it?

Turns out, I like Ke$ha more than I like Beethoven. What of it?
(With my homegirl Chelsea)

2. Quit stressing about where you should be in your personal life and your career. There is no should. When you fully engage in the life you have NOW, you’re free to meet people who affect you. You allow experiences to change you. Every day brings with it the opportunity to teach you who you are and what you want. So if you don’t know yet, you will. If you do know and you don’t have it yet, you will. Keep learning. Keep working. Keep faith that you’ll get to where you need to be.

3. Be grateful for everything that you do have. Without a venue in which to vent my spleen, I might as well not have a spleen. (Anatomically speaking, I am also grateful for my spleen.) I love interacting with you all in this space. I love that this space has evolved along with me, to reflect all aspects of wellness. I’m proud that this space is representative of me and I’m proud that readers associate me with rhinestones and odes to Fiona Apple and long-winded metaphors involving Jay-Z and Beyonce on a yacht or some sh*t. I’m grateful for my creative spirit. I’m grateful for this outlet it plugs into. I’m grateful for the resulting electricity and the illumination of all my shadowy bits.

All right, lunch break over. Let’s light things up, Man/Lady. Happy birthday to me!



Holiday Healin’


Not to be confused with this. Luh you, but you do that on your own time. I’m BACK, Biddies, and it feels grand! Considering that I only managed four hours of sleep last night and the most nutritious thing I’ve eaten in the past three days is a martini olive (edited to add: this was true yesterday… have since overhauled my wellness routine.) I think I’m functioning at an impressively non-zombie level. But this girl needs some BRAINS  greens and a good night’s sleep, and I’m willing to bet that some of you are likewise burning your last metaphorical Chanukah/Kwanzaa menorah candle at both ends. So, as usual, I’m here to preach exactly what I need to hear: reasonable ways to stay well this Festivus season.

1. Too much Pabst Glögg makes you feel like crapst you’re in a fög? …Like eating the entire yule lög? Thanks RhymeZone. Look. You all know my health philosophy. To quote myself (who DOES that?), “actual food is but one facet of nourishment. Equally important means of sustenance include sleepsexintellectual stimulationexercisean alleged purposea happy homea baller support system and dreamin’.” The antioxidants in red wine and the … antibacterial properties?… in whiskey don’t make up for the fact that alcohol straight up steamrolls your thinkin’ wrinkles/ synapses into brain pavement, so that you’re left helplessly making out with the hired elf at your office Christmas party or maniacally munching through the spoils of your family cookie exchange. As usual, it’s about balance, and know that I’m largely counseling myself when I say three cosmos does not a dinner make.

I get it: you want to partake in the season of celebration but you have 14 dollars in your bank account, so you prioritize martinis at Creepy Bistro ahead of food #projecting. Finals/a ridiculous year-end workload/the general anxiety of buying stuff for your loved ones (more on that in a mo’) and still managing to pay your rent and feed your mouth make for a truly hectic December with myriad reasons to imbibe. Plus, it’s not a celebration without pink, sprinkle-rimmed Ke$ha Kocktails!

The final word is this: you are presumably an adult. If not, get off the internet, Bebe! Go skip rocks or play with fireworks or something. Whatever kids do, Idk. BUT AS AN ADULT, you should know what alcohol to food ratio leads to optimum enjoyment as opposed to embarrassment/sickness/insta-sleep. And if you nodded in agreement in regards to my “I have money for alcohol OR food” dilemma (bless you! solidarity!), then girl… we just gotta make it work. If you’re anything like me, you could stand to cut a little frivolity with your spending. Not all the frivolity… that’s boring. But you can’t live like Holly Golightly on champagne alone. I know. I’ve tried. Sell your used Prada pumps and go buy some groceries.

2. Healthy eating can be festive eating. Observe:


green cropHo.





Fancy-ass collage, amirite? You guys, assembling beautiful things is one of my favorite pastimes. Example, here’s the bustier/former burlesque skunk costume I’m re-purposing for our Ke$ha Kri$tmas party tomorrow:


Work in progress.

I also apply this principle to bedazzling my meals. Example: I don’t want to eat a plate full of raw kale, but I DO want to eat a rainbow bowl overflowing with the precious jewels of MOTHER NATURE. Gussy that sh*t up.And I know it’s super weird to snap pictures of everything you eat, but if you pause to appreciate every edible work of art you create, you’ll start to think about food differently. Taste the rainbow, Homies.

3. Stop worrying about buying the “perfect present” for every human you know. This one’s really hard for me. In my youth (so yesterday and all the days proceeding it), I put a TON of energy into purchasing and packaging the most thoughtful gifts for everyone I loved, and I expected the same kind of effort and attention in return. But after years of spending and stressing and running around and then having the nerve to be disappointed when others didn’t share my terrifying zeal for, you know, winning Christmas… I’ve decided that I’m done freaking out. My family and friends will enjoy my company more if I’m not frantic and/or giving them all one big side eye for not commissioning Father John Misty to sing me O Holy Night because that’s what I REALLY want. I’ll give what I can afford, time-wise and money-wise, and I’ll relish the opportunity to hang out with loved ones, because that’s all anyone really cares about, anyway.

That’s all for you, Darlings! I’ve missed you around here lately. Trust me when I say that I’m anxious for things to normalize a little so I can check in more often. Take care of yourselves this holiday season!



The World, Oysters, Etc.

Darling Friends! Did you have a warm, fuzzy, positively gluttonous Thanksgiving, I hope? Mine was magical. I needed some serious family time and I got it.

It’s strange that I wasn’t around here with gratitude lists and a recipe for my almost raw vegan pumpkin cheesecake with salted pecan crust (based on the frosting in this recipe). Seems like a missed opportunity: Rosie Glow’s first Thanksgiving! But the truth is, I’ve been a little busy… feeling down on myself and my abilities. So I’m going to do what any sane person with a public forum at her disposal would do — tell herself what she needs to hear in a thinly veiled second person narrative. Obviously.

You are young. You are talented. The world is your motherf*cking oyster. 

I'm going to embroider that sh*t on a pillow.

I’m going to embroider that sh*t on a pillow.

Look. Hater’s gon’ hate. You will always be “too much of something for somebody.” Too wild. Too messy. Too young, Son. Here’s what I think: when people sh*t all over you and point out your purported flaws, it’s because they’re terrified of your tremendous strengths. So let’s start this week off on an unapologetic foot: you be you. Uninhibited, unfettered, untamed you — and see how the jerks among you manage without a willing scapegoat.

Happy Monday, Boo. What do you need to hear today?