I've been in LA for over a year now, and it's been wonderfully magical and filled to the brim with adventures. Couple that with my last few years in OKC, and you'll understand what brought me to Whole30. Sure, I'm active and relatively healthy, but at 30.5 years of age I could feel my body begging for a reset. And that's exactly what I gave it.

All you really need to know about Whole30 is that it's the removal of certain food groups that more than likely have a negative impact on your health and fitness (more here) for 30 days. It sounds simple, but like any "diet" that forces you to change your habits completely, I knew I'd be in for a challenge. No popcorn, even if it's air popped, no margaritas, even if they were made solely from lime juice, no pizza, because of course. These were the best friends I was scared to leave behind, and now that I've got just 9 days left on this reset, I can say that, while I miss them terribly, I know the distance has been beneficial.

The first 4 days of this new lifestyle were a challenging, but pleasant surprise. I realized that I do eat generally healthy meals during the weekday. I wasn't upset at making a big salad with chicken for lunch, or doing the same for dinner because this has always been my preferred go-to. What I hadn't planned for was the sugar withdrawals that came after both meals. Sure, I'll have a piece of chocolate after lunch and perhaps another after dinner, but I had no idea that it had become such a regular occurrence for which my body begged. Did I even realize I was putting a form of sugar in mouth, or was I mindlessly listening to my brain? I stayed strong, fighting the craving with the godsend that is hazelnuts, and prepared for my next battle: Carb Flu.

As I'm sure most think, I was under the impression that I didn't eat that many carbs in a day. Yes, I will happily admit that popcorn is one of my biggest vices, but I pop it on the stove in coconut oil! Sure, I will eat a bag of chips from the pantry at work, but it's only snack-size and they're baked! Well, I realized by Day 5 that my body was going through serious withdrawals from the lack of carbs it had gotten so used to. The headache came on in the late afternoon every day, and on Days 7 & 8 I found myself going to sleep with a headache so intense I couldn't fall asleep fast enough. A Google search and discussion with my Whole30 partner later, I learned this was the infamous carb flu. It was then that I sat down and thought back to my daily eating habits, wondering where carbs slipped in that I wasn't aware of. The rice in the fajita bowl, the breading on the chicken, the bagel you didn't plan on eating but your boss brought in so you ate it. Sure, I didn't buy loaves of bread (because carbs!) but I was still consuming a lot more than I realized.

Thankfully, the carb flu passed around Day 10, at which point I had made it through my first Whole30 weekend. Because I know my self-control can be lacking, I stayed in the entire time, enjoying the productivity of hangover free days and nights of solid sleep. There was, however, one pesky temptation staring at my for 48 hours. My beloved margaritas. My margarita machine (thanks again, Matt!) sat on my bar, always watching and silently asking, Why haven't you used me yet? But as I sat in my living room or on my balcony, I realized I wasn't craving the margarita, I was simply in situations in which I was used to having a margarita. Reading a book, watching a movie. Much like the sugar to which I had grown accustom after meals, my mind associated relaxing at home with a goblet full of frozen goodness. I stopped and reviewed the past year and a half in my apartment, wondering when a margarita in hand on the weekend had become the norm. Much like everything else I had discovered in these 10 days, it was a habit I didn't realize had formed.

And as these unknown habits presented themselves one after the other, that's when I knew without a doubt that I would see Whole30 through to the last day.

Stay tuned for Part 2 of my experience, coming at ya July 3rd.

A few weekends ago, after conducting research for my job (ok, I went to the movies) I found myself wanting to get out and do something active. So I decided to face the streets of LA and bike the 3.3 miles to the beach without my roommate guiding me. In fact, this time I would be serving as the guide to my trusting friend, and the pressure was on.

Of course, a bike ride to the beach wouldn't be complete without stopping for brunch on the way, so I made an 11:15 reservation at The Independence in Santa Monica hoping it would serve as fuel to our pedaling fire. With helmets securely fastened and backpacks on, we took off for the bike path, finding it easily and with few automobiles interfering. Unfortunately, my cockiness was soon stifled when my friend exclaimed from behind me, "Your tire is almost completely flat!". I knew there was a reason this trip had already ripped my quads to shreds, and only five minutes in.

With the promise of stopping at a gas station dangling over me, I continued down the quiet street, pleased to find everyone still sleeping and not threatening my life. However, before I knew it, we were at our brunch spot, and my tires were still flat. On top of that, we weren't exactly sure where to lock our bikes up. Another active Angeleno had secured his bike to the bus stop shelter, but being the new in-city biker I was, I had no idea if this was legal. It was then that my brilliant friend pointed out two posts across the street, which were either for bikes or horses, so we took a gamble and locked them away.

I must say, we only glanced at our environmentally friendly modes of transportation once or twice. Every three minutes. After asking the hostess for a specific table by the window so we could keep an eye on said bikes, but the point is, they were still there when my time ran out on my bottomless mimosas, and I was faced with a new challenge. Make it to the beach safely. Maybe because my mimosa haze had me feeling like Lance Armstrong pre-scandal, I completed this challenge with ease, and we settled into spots on the sand, books and towels in hand. Two hours later, after a hard-earned nap, we began the 3.3 mile trip back. This time, in an effort to avoid all the people on the boardwalk, we took city streets. Without bike lanes. At this point, my legs were burning, and I wanted to cry and call a car to save me, but my fit friend motivated me by pointing out a gas station, complete with an air pump. Sure, I was terrified biking without those two solid white lines "protecting" me from cars, but that fear was quickly surpassed by relief when I spotted that air pump.

We filled my tires and safely made it home, my ego swelling like my quads. I had just biked to Santa Monica. To brunch, and the beach, from my apartment. I was terrified of biking around my neighborhood in Oklahoma City, let alone city streets, and I had just navigated this LA area on my bike. I had never felt so metropolitan and I look forward to making this routine a weekend staple.

Brunch at the beach, anyone?

One aspect I forgot about apartment life is that of fire alarms. More specifically, when one goes off, they all go off. And always at the worst time. It was a Wednesday a few weeks ago that I got into bed around ten and shut off the light, ready to be ushered into a dream-filled sleep. I hadn't even pulled my hand away from the switch when I hear the fire alarm ring throughout the apartment. I throw on a robe and run into my roommate in the hallway, asking if it's going off in the whole building. We go outside to look and, sure enough it was.

But that's when the differences between college apartment fire drills and adult apartment fire drills kicked in. College? Smell for smoke and when none was found, go back inside and remove battery from fire alarm. Adulthood? Work as a team with all tenants to track the source of the problem and remedy it. Now that's all fine and dandy, I love solving mysteries like all Sherlock Holmes' of the world, but let me remind you it was past my bedtime already when the alarm went off and now I'm standing in an atrium with six of my neighbors, dressed in a short robe (I was still decent, don't you worry) with coconut oil moisturizing my face. These poor souls probably thought I was getting paid by BP to produce oil.

We track the source of the ringing down, an uneventful pushed button in the elevator, and I look toward my front door, wanting to dive under the covers, hide my face, and call it a night. Instead, my mother's advice ringing in my ears, I stayed and got to know the neighbors. We talked going-ons in the area, issues in the building, and I got to know the people who I hope will guard my packages. I now know my neighbor's names, as opposed to college when I knew five neighbors total over the span of three years.

Of course, the whole time I was thinking "I should be in bed, I'll regret this tomorrow" but I was proud of myself for being the adult and sticking it out, oily face and all. Conveniently enough, as I hover over the 'publish' button, I can hear another building's fire alarm ringing in the distance.

I consider myself an active and fit person. I'm not about to enter competitions or run a race any time soon, but if I needed to walk ten miles to a gas station in the middle of nowhere, I (think) I could do it (with some griping, of course). So of course, one of the things I was most excited to enjoy in LA was the endless amount of hiking trails now laying at my feet. Exercise in which you walk, can talk with a friend, AND get sun? Count me in.

My first goal was to enjoy a hike every weekend, but sometimes weather gets in the way and prevents that from happening. Like those first few weeks I was here in which it decided to rain every.weekend. But hey, SoCal needed it and I digress. My first solo-hike was a big day for me, not only because I got up and got out on a Saturday but because I fought any urge to stay in my apartment and fill my day with something else. I've realized that I tend to avoid putting myself in places I've never been to in LA, because I get ridiculously freaked out about parking. Everyone knows parking here is the worst, so I just assume wherever I go it's going to be impossible to find a place to leave my beloved car.

So here I am, Saturday morning, driving out to Temescal Canyon, excited and proud all at once. I take the first parking spot along the road I find, which is a mistake I'll continue to make (keep trying a little bit closer, Kaitlyn!), and start my trek. I park at least half a mile from the Canyon entrance itself, and by the time I get there I'm thinking, "Did I even look up anything about this trail, besides how to get to it?" The answer is no, I did not. Thankfully I find a map, but only spend twenty odd seconds looking at it before I decide to just find a trail and go. Brilliant idea.

Somehow my navigational mind gets me to the correct path and up I go, earbuds in listening to music and reflecting on the past few weeks. In just over a month I had up and moved, sold the house, started a new job, and made new friends, plus I was working out on a Saturday. This must be the new and improved LA Kaitlyn. The hike was a challenge, I won't lie. I was trying to get to a waterfall, and with no cell service and no companion, I started imagining I'd get lost up there and wander for hours on end. That I was on a trail not leading to a waterfall but further back into the canyon. At this point, after taking a few pictures of course, I ask the first person I see if I was close, or even on the right path, to the waterfall. "You are!" she tells me, then proceeds into how close I am and just go this way then that.

It wasn't as close as she led on, but I ended up blindly following her directions and the trail to wind up at the waterfall. It was cute, and after I took more pictures to send my parents, I stared back up the steep trail I had just come down. I wanted nothing to do with going back up it, and when I saw people were walking down another trail, I decided to blindly follow them. I'm sensing a pattern. Fifteen minutes into this endeavor I grew nervous, but I somehow convinced myself it was a loop and I would end up at the parking lot, able to walk to my car half a mile away. And if it ended up elsewhere? Good 'ol Uber could get me to my car.

Great news - it WAS a loop, just like I had read earlier that day but conveniently forgot, and I ended up in the place I started. The hike was a wonderful challenge, and the time to myself to think and feel super independent was welcome. Not knowing exactly where I was going? That's the key takeaway I took. You can run through random streets in Paris, picking at will and knowing you'll still end up in the city, but randomly picking a trail in a canyon? Definitely a no-go. Get a map, Kaitlyn, and make a plan.

As an avid fan of these frozen concoctions, it's only right that I review the margaritas I discover in this city, especially since I was told I would be hard-pressed to find my beloved Texas-style margs.

The number one thing I heard before I moved to Los Angeles (NUMBER ONE!) was "You're going to live with LA traffic?" Yes, yes I am. Now, having been here for over a month, I can accurately speak out on the traffic here and what it's like to live with.

First off, I got ridiculously lucky. Where I'm living sends me against traffic to work, and as you'd expect, against traffic going home. As I take the on ramp to I-10, I merge at a solid speed, grinning like a weirdo at everyone stopped on the highway headed to the coast. Should I feel bad for those stuck behind the bumper of a non-moving car? Nope. You made your bed.

However, what I have noticed as I attempt to blissfully cruise to work is that Angelenos don't seem to understand what to do when there isn't any traffic. They lollygag, driving like it's Sunday and they're just out to see the sun and sit in their car. If the speed limit says 65, why in the world are you going 40? I can see there is no one in front of you for at least a mile, so what do you think is going to happen should you speed up? I fully understand going slower because you're afraid traffic is going to pop up at any second, but the good news about highways is that you can see ahead of you and see when it's slowing down. Does your fear mean you're not paying attention to the road and perhaps texting, or listening to the soothing voice of an audio book?

On the flip side, when prevented from selecting their own speed, inhabitants of this city will fly around cars in traffic, hitting the gas the second there's an opening in a lane that appears to be going faster than theirs. Why can you not drive with that speed when the open road is all yours? Is it simply because you want to call the shots?

Here are a few new sayings I've incorporated into my driving life that allows me to express my annoyance without it physically manifesting.


Feel free to incorporate any of the above into your driving life to alleviate any annoyances you may have with those around you. Safe driving, friends!

I closed on my first house today. The first house I ever bought, the first house I saw a future in, and the first house I've ever had to say goodbye to. I didn't even make it two years in that place, and looking back it's so bizarre to be able to pinpoint the moment I realized I wasn't going to be spending much longer in that house, and that was even before I'd lived in it for a year.

I grew so much in that house, even in the short span of 18 months. It's where I truly became comfortable in myself, happy to spend a weekend night in my living room, watching 20/20 and hanging with my dog. Where I realized the importance of a good front porch, a comfortable seating arrangement, and a good cup of coffee on a Saturday morning. I learned how to fix common plumbing problems (and some not so common), wire a chandelier, and weed whack.

Nothing is guaranteed in life, no matter how much you wish it were. Wanting to further my career at my former job, wanting to share that house with someone, none of it mattered because I had no control over any of it. Circumstances changed, people changed, and what once seemed so certain suddenly became unfathomable.

I also never imagined I'd finally make it to Los Angeles, complete with a job I'd been dreaming about since college. I sat in the Quail Springs theatre on December 3rd, watching a special screening of La La land, praying and hoping the entire time to get the job I had been dreaming about for the past month. To find myself dancing along Mt. Hollywood Dr, most likely by myself, in the most comfortable weather, or spend a Saturday hiking along the PCH. I wanted to insert myself in the movie as quickly as possible. I was able to see La La Land again tonight, but this time it was at a screening on the studio lot. I left my desk and walked a couple hundred feet to the screening theatre, settling into the plush seat.

18 months ago I never imagined I'd be leaving Oklahoma City and the life I had built over time. But in, what felt like, an instant, everything changed. At the time for the worse, only to ultimately be for the better in the end. I got emotional when I saw the sappy Instagram post of my home's new owner, my house featured in the background, but there was no better way to close the book on my Oklahoma life than by watching the sites of La La Land play out in front of my eyes, in more ways than one.

Now it's time for the next book.