Against all odds and natural laws, we did it. We finished the tub of yogurt. Why is this a big deal? Because I’m fairly certain this has never once happened in the history of The Bag Tag household. Maybe you, Taggie, have accomplished such feats before, but here? This is uncharted territory. A new era. A yogurt milestone. How it took this long, I have no idea.

Is this how it ends for me? Not in a blaze of glory. Not even crossing the terrifying threshold of thirty (the universally agreed-upon expiration date for anyone under 29) but by something as pathetically weak as a cough and a sneeze? I wish I could say I was being dramatic, but trust me, dear reader... I am not.

There was a time when flying was all about the thrill. The magic of soaring 30,000 feet in the air, the novelty of seeing the world as a miniature model beneath you. The early airlines figured it out fast: feed the people, pour the drinks, and let the window views do the rest.

But then flying became… normal. Frequent.

Suddenly, staring out the window didn’t hit quite the same when you’d seen Kansas from the sky five times that year. And the excitement of a lukewarm chicken or pasta option wore off. So we collectively asked the question: What are we supposed to do up here for 3+ hours?

And the answer became clear: The same thing we do at home. Watch sports.

Let’s be honest, deciding whether to go to the work happy hour is always a toss-up. On one hand, we genuinely like our coworkers. But once the clock hits 5:00, there’s a deep part of my soul that just wants to retreat into the comfort of sweatpants, kettle chips, and absolutely zero small talk. Bliss.

It all began one fateful night. The Seattle weather was out to play. We ran through the streets trying to dodge every drop. We were soaked. Then went the heel. A devastation we could not have imagined. This could not be the end of these boots. They were a vintage find. They were high end. And most importantly, this happened to Chantel.

Ever return from a trip and feel like you accidentally left your soul somewhere between Duty Free and the customs line? Yeah. That’s me right now. Trapped in the weird post-travel limbo where everything feels a little… gray. Not sad, not mad, just meh. Like I could stare at a wall and emotionally match its paint swatch for hours. Not a thing people say, but hey, it’s the best I got.

We did it!!! We survived!!! My least favorite portion of the year January 1 - Early April and we made it out of the other side!!! Yes, there are some hidden gems mixed in there. Super Bowl, birthdays, holidays (Groundhog day!) so it’s not like the end of the world miserable but it’s overall pretty brutal. And what lies ahead, starting with April 11th, really just magnifies the dungeon we just crawled out of!

Let’s just call it what it is.
Going to a baseball game is basically like going to a bar, a food festival, a summer concert, and a casual hangout spot…all at once…with a live sporting event playing in the background like a really long, slow-moving playlist.

Sure, there’s a game happening. Someone is pitching. Someone is batting. People are clapping occasionally. But if we’re being honest, you’re not really there to watch every pitch. It’s more like, “Oh cool, we scored?” as you’re balancing a garlic fry tower in one hand and a craft beer in the other while trying to find your friends near the outfield bar.

I did something foolish. Again.
I signed up for another half-marathon. Grandmother’s.

To be clear, I did this back in the fall.
A different time. A different me. A more hopeful me. A version of myself that had not yet run a full marathon and didn’t know the kind of psychological damage distance running can cause. I was young, innocent. Naive. My joints still believed in recovery. My optimism was fully intact.

Now? I’m wise in my old age. And by old age, I mean the time since that full marathon where I’ve done nothing but rot. Well, nothing in terms of running.

I’m trying to process what Mike White just put us through. He dragged us around all season. He made us uncomfortable. And…he left some low hanging fruit in the plot (lololol see what I did there). Yet, I couldn’t help but think, I’d love to stay at a White Lotus. Oh, and if you think season 3 and or its finale were mid, your opinions are parallel with Kate’s beliefs! Let’s unpack the season and where the characters go from here…

I’ve had an idea for a children’s book lurking around for few years now. It was buzzing in the back of my brain, and it wouldn’t leave me alone. If I can’t shake it, then I must attack it head on. How hard could it really be? Silly me…it’s a very complicated process.

Fresh off the plane in Boston, we dropped our bags at the hotel and headed straight for a much-needed drink while waiting for the rest of our crew to arrive. Chantel was in the middle of a story, probably something juicy, but my brain had completely departed off on its own adventure. Instead, I was spiraling into a full-blown obsession with the bar’s wallpaper. I didn’t just want it. I needed it.

I’m willing to bet that everyone’s coffee journey starts the same way. Essentially drinking a dessert with a whisper of coffee in it. Maybe it’s a caramel-drizzled frappuccino, a hot chocolate with a rogue espresso shot, or something so sweet it barely even qualifies as coffee. But over time the training wheels come off. You move through the ranks, maybe dabbling in cappuccinos, flirty little macchiatos, and eventually staring into the abyss of a pure, no-nonsense black coffee.

Choosing what to eat for dinner might just be the single greatest challenge we face as humans. every. single. day. It’s a relentless battle, a nightly crisis of indecision that plagues us all. And sure, it’s manageable on your own, but it’s a struggle. When did food become such a solo operation anyway? Meals were meant to bring people together, to be shared experiences, not individual puzzles to solve.

We do our best to maintain a decent level of cleanliness in our home. Granted, we do actively live in the place so it gets dirty and isn’t what we would deem as 100% clean a majority of the time. I’d say it’s “picked up” 4-5 days out of the week and the other days aren’t really anyone’s business…lol kidding. Life just gets a few wins every once in awhile. But anytime guests are expected, we force ourselves into a cleaning storm.

Ah, the good old days—when road trips required a stack of printed MapQuest directions that were inevitably forgotten, leading to an unplanned detour back home. That was 20-some years ago. Fast forward to today, and we’ve evolved past the need for printers… or so I thought.

I’ve been playing catch-up all day. This morning? A disaster. I was dead tired. My alarm went off at 6:40 a.m., and instead of seizing the day, I hit snooze…over and over…until 7:30. By then, the beautifully structured schedule I had so carefully crafted the night before was nothing more than a distant dream. So now, here I am, typing away when I should be scrolling in bed.

None of this would’ve happened if I had just dunked my face in a bowl of ice water.

I made a huge mistake last night. I dropped the freshly baked pizza. As I was cutting the pie into slices, half of it slid like a gallon of water off of a cliff creating such a miraculous fall. I was caught up in the result of the whole thing to truly appreciate the scene of the fall itself. It likely could have made our travel march madness bracket. As I stood their observing the mess that was created, I couldn’t fully process what the worst part about the whole situation was…until now.

I was kind of in on Groundhogs Day this year. Or, I at least declared I was gonna start getting more hyped about the Holiday. January is an extremely brutal month and beginning days of February often carry the same energy until you reach Super Bowl weekend. In an effort to find some joy in the darkness, going all in on a typically considered mid-holiday seemed like a good place to start. I may need to reconsider.

March Madness is here. Whether you're a die-hard basketball fan, an obsessive bracketologist, a casual gambler, or just someone who can’t escape the endless chatter from coworkers and partners, the madness has fully consumed our lives. And for some inexplicable reason, I thought, You know what would be fun? Running a travel bracket! Spoiler: it was not a good idea. So much work, so little payoff, and now I’m officially drowning in the madness.