Rosie Glow Wellness

Mind body health for the deeply fabulous


An Inappropriate + Untimely Post From Yours Truly : Dream Man List

Sparkle Bunnies! I feel like it’s been so long! Two silent days for a girl with as many feelings as myself is an awfully long time. So today’s post will feature the Friday love list I neglected to post yesterday morning since I woke up on an air mattress on my grandma’s living room floor (actually I woke up twice – my mom had to re-inflate my nest in the night); a general update on what’s goin’ down in the house of Rosie Glow, because let  me tell you, last week was a WEEK; and a humorous but not untrue inventory of qualifications that my hypothetical ideal male has. Women and disgruntled manfriends alike, feel free to weigh in.

K, so first thing first: a big part of the reason this past week was a little rough is that I’ve been feeling crappy… but not cold or flu-crappy… wack hormones-crappy. I’ve been burdened by imbalanced and ever fluctuating hormones since I was wee, but because I’m optimistic to a fault (and also because I’m easily overwhelmed and prone to procrastination), I only think to really tackle the problem when it becomes a problem, you know what I’m sayin’? I’ll try to avoid my TMI tendencies here on the internets, but sleep weirdness; mega-anxiety; majorly irregular, daily or nonexistent lady cycles; and fluctuating degrees of extreme skinniness have always given me reason to pursue whatever issues I’ve got… but those pursuits were always half hearted because I knew in my churning gut that a HUGE, huge cause of my issues was my tumultuous relationship with food and my body. No more! Now that I’ve rebuilt that personal bond with self-lovin’, baby, I’m finally in a position to get to the root cause of my struggles – and to trust that those struggles aren’t self-inflicted. All this to say, I’m workin’ on it… but the past week I’ve been especially unfocused/cranky/fatalistic. Anywho, I have all sorts of theories for all of the above. I just need a doctor to agree with me and then I’ll be the zen, hippie mama I’ve always wanted to be!

Bomb. Now I can blame my crackpot hormones for any nonsense that comes out of my mouth heretofore (like “heretofore.”) First on the agenda of musings I don’t necessarily want to hold myself accountable for airing to the universe: qualities of my dream man. Listen, I heart being a single lady, but mayyyyybe if I met the unicorn I’m about to describe, I’d consider hearting coupledom instead. Just maybe.

The Rosie Glow Shangri-la Beau:

  1. Must be as fun (re: embarrassing) as I am and therefore not embarrassed by the innumerable  embarrassing things I do, like beet cake photoshootsburlesque operas (more on this fab experience to come!), dancing like a Charlie Brown character, and always insisting on going out in costume according to a theme determined by ME, i.e. painted tribal skank/Ke$ha, technicolor Gatsby glam or creatures of the forest. Bam.
  2. Must have or be in the process of pursuing a fulfilling career and must have some interest in making money. I don’t want to be no sugar mama! (But I reserve the right to change my mind when I’m in my sixties and the pickings are slim.) Must, likewise, support me in my quest for gratifying, well paid work. I find myself digging corporate creative types, but I would happily date an investment banker if he loved investment banking. Did you hear that, girlfrans who keep trying to set me up with artists? Dude does not have to live in Pilsen, have an Emmy (seriously, who keeps giving these guys in their twenties Emmys?!), or run a screen printed t-shirt business to fund his ironic moustache maintenance rituals. When all is said and done, I WANT TO BE THE QUIRKY ONE.
  3. That said, must have man style. There is some corporate creative overflow here: slim cut pants, button downs that fit, sweaters and bow ties are appreciated. Okay, scratch that – obviously, that is MY version of man style. Must acknowledge and enjoy that he can express himself by how he dresses and grooms himself and must do so in a way that isn’t gross. Fair?
  4. Must be independent and must cherish said independence. I’m totally cool with Dream Man needing alone time – in fact, I insist that Dream Man disappears to do his thang, whatever said thang may be as long as it isn’t making out with someone who is not me. And duh… I would expect the same. We all know that I need to hide sometimes.
  5. Must be a self aware, responsible, straightforward communicator. Did I mention that I LIKE TO BE THE QUIRKY ONE? Let me put that another way: Dream Man can and must be quirky. Dream Man cannot be flaky. Or confusing. Or perpetually confused.
  6. Must be health minded. I’ve never dated a fellow vegan, but I guess Dream Man is vegan! This is my pie-in-the-sky checklist after all, and it would be so easy if Dream Man lived on salads and smoothies of his own accord. Even better: Dream Man cooks. And in terms of health’s wider scope: Dream Man is in tune with his emotions and can see that mental and physical health work in conjunction to yield happiness. Dream Man just wants to be happy.
  7. This is important after all of the above: Dream Man likes women. More specifically Dream Man likes me, and he likes the version of myself that I like most – this lady – the self that I’m striving for.


Is all that too much to ask? Don’t answer that. I love a lot of things, but in the interest of NOT putting you right back to sleep on this Saturday morning, my love list is short and sweet:  the fly women of my family; my family at large, and a big fun trip we’re planning in May; getting valentines in the mail from friends who are way cuter and more put together than I am; yoga sculpt… and if I can do down dog with free weights, you can, too!; vitamin D supplements in THIS ENDLESS WINTER (drama), Prabal Gurung’s new line for Target and my understanding pals with whom I had to break super fun weekend plans because I’m ailing 😦

Who’s your dream man/lady? What are you grateful for this week? Any other frenzied, hormonal readers out there? Can you think of more disparate points for a blog post than the three I just mentioned?!?!

XOXO forever and ever,


The Vegan Thing

It’s Friday, kumquats! For all my mouthing off about how insomnia gave me post-a-day super powers, I managed to abandon you all for the latter half of the week, didn’t I? And yes, I am feeling more rested thankyouverymuch.  A friend/commenter told me February is THE season for irregular sleep patterns, so it looks like we’ve all just gotta flow wit it. And since we’re awake anyway, let’s talk veganism, shall we?

Just me and my meat friends

Just me and my meat friends in Argentina

As you’ve probably gleaned from my little internet queendom, I eat vegan. I specify “eat” as opposed to “am” because I’m currently wearing suede moccasins and I bought the most (vegan) buttery(-spread-like) leather jacket in Italy for 65 American dollars. My point is this: being vegan-ish for the past three years has made me healthier and happier, but it has not given me the right to judge anyone else for their lapses in social consciousness. Above all, I think our characters are defined by how we treat people, not least of which by how we treat ourselves. I know eating vegan is best for my bod, and I feel good about that.

Truth: gently advocating a green, harm-fee life has sort of become my jam amidst co-workers and people I’m not closerthanclose with (i.e. people who don’t feel entitled to point out all of my flaws and inconsistencies on a regular basis.) For instance, at the insistence of a  favorite colleague, I recently led and landed myself in major trouble for hosting a lunch-hour “vegan challenge” for curious peers… Sigh. As I mentioned in Midwest is Best, I love being that girl: the smiley one who eats her spirulina quinoa snack in lieu of beef cheeks (beef. cheeks.) because before I found veganism, I was that other girl: the one who sullenly poked her meat, ate an oily vegetable or two, came home starving and threw DOWN with an entire bag of generic cookies and ancient Halloween candy. Not pretty, and not terribly representative of inner peace and self respect.

But the truth I was getting to is this: I still, albeit very rarely, have slip ups – slip ups in my mastery of a functional vegan diet (because it takes dedication, it really does), and even more rarely: slip ups in self respect. Last year, for a little while, I decided that I was going to eat Greek yogurt again – it was one of my favorite foods prior to being vegan – partially because it’s delicious, and partially because it contains a crap ton of protein for not a lot of calories. The problem? I’m allergic to greek yogurt. Eating it makes me feel like I have a jalapeno plant sprouting up my esophagus and gives me terrible, horrible, no good cramps. The larger problem? I was intentionally eating food that made me sick because I equated it with being thin – this after I considered myself free of disordered thoughts. No bueno, pals.

There have been other discrepancies in my veganism – just this past Christmas, whilst in the throes of relationship dissolution, my poor family watched in bewilderment as I ate all. of. the. cookies. But, but… I hadn’t brought any vegan options and I really needed cookies, okay? I am much more comfortable with that than I am with my yogurt affair because I was listening to my (admittedly emotional) needs rather than ignoring them. And even IF the end brings some Gandhi-figure/dairy cow in the sky who evaluates whether I should come back in my next life as Ivanka Trump or a floating piece of plankton, He’d totes understand that sometimes a girl NEEDS a freaking cookie no matter how much butter is in it.

For me, being vegan is just a small part of being the person I wish to become: a thoughtful but not preachy hippie goddess who contributes as little abuse as possible to the world around her, and nourishes her own vibrant health and blooming spirit. In my head, this fly lady is 99% vegan… but Hell, yes she’ll eat a macaron or 20 in Paris, or a slice of her G-mama’s famous pie once a year. And she’ll be all the healthier for it.

I mostly wanted to air this lest anyone reading thinks I’m a “perfect” vegan, or even that I care to be a “perfect” vegan. Nah. What I really care about is being kind to myself and making choices as a consumer that I’m proud of. Now you. Does the way you eat play into how you see yourself? Do you plan to douse me in red paint next time you see me in my leather?


P.S. This week’s baby love list: cara cara oranges (they’re pink inside!), dramatic exchanges with my two girls, biznass videos from Marie Forleo, plotting out crazy delish Valentine’s treats for da blog, planning to spend V-day WITH MY MOM! (awwww/#motherdaughtermanhaters), experimenting with hair chalk (T$, I had to), attempts to make a headpiece a la this one for a Midnight in Paris themed soiree. I’ve gone through two pairs of pliers so far but I have faith! ❤