Why I Post More Food Than Faces (And Why You Probably Prefer It That Way)

Ever notice how my social media is basically a never-ending buffet of food pics? Like, I’ll post a perfectly lit, mouthwatering shot of my meal but barely a glimpse of the people I’m eating with. If you’ve ever wondered why, let me break it down for you.

First off, privacy is a thing. Not everyone wants their picture taken, let alone posted online for all to see. Some people are camera-shy, and others just don’t feel like being immortalized mid-bite. I respect that.

Second—and this is the big one—you, my lovely audience, don’t actually care. I mean, let’s be real: do you really want to see a bunch of strangers’ faces popping up in your feed? Probably not. Most of us scroll for entertainment, inspiration, or, in this case, food envy. Aesthetic food shots? Always a win. Random people you don’t know? Not so much.

So, instead of subjecting my friends (or myself) to the horrors of unplanned candids, I choose the safer, more universally appreciated route: food photography. Because a well-plated dish never complains about bad angles, closed eyes, or looking “too tired” for the internet.
But hey, if you ever do see a picture of me or a friend pop up, just know it’s because:

1. We were actually feeling ourselves that day.
2. The lighting was doing us a favor.
3. Or, most likely, we were feeling sentimental enough to override our usual "no photos" policy.

Until then, expect more food. Lots and lots of food.
What about you? Do you prefer seeing people in photos, or are you just here for the food content? Let me know in the comments!

And here’s the tricky part—even if most of the people I’m with don’t mind being in a photo, all it takes is ONE person who does. What am I supposed to do? Say, “Hey, get the f*ck out of the way, I need this shot”? That’s not exactly the vibe. I’m not about to turn a casual meal into a weird social standoff over a photo. So, to keep it simple, I just skip the whole situation and focus on the one thing everyone can agree on—the food.

And honestly? I get it. If someone were to snap a pic of me, I’d want to make sure I looked at least semi-polished—decent lighting, no weird angles, no accidental double chins. But let’s be honest, most of us on a day-to-day basis? We’re rocking “acceptable to be seen in public” levels of effort. Maybe that’s a brushed-through ponytail, maybe it’s a hoodie and jeans combo, but it’s rarely photo-worthy perfection.

The Cable Hoarder’s Survival Kit: Are You Also Guilty?

Raise your hand if you, too, have THE box. You know the one—overflowing with every cable known to humankind. USB (A, B, C, mini, micro), FireWire (400 and 800, because why not?), HDMI (standard, mini, micro), Ethernet (probably Cat5, Cat5e, and Cat6, because you never know), RCA, S-Video, VGA, DVI, Thunderbolt (1, 2, 3, and whatever Apple is calling it now), old-school printer cables, random power adapters from long-forgotten devices, and, of course, that one mystery cable. The one that looks important but has absolutely no identifiable purpose.

Why do we keep them? Because one day—maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow—but one day, we might need to connect a device we haven’t touched in over a decade. And on that day, my friends, we will be ready.

The Psychology of Cable Hoarding

Let’s be honest—getting rid of cables feels dangerous. What if you finally declutter, only to find yourself desperately needing that exact FireWire 800 cable six months later? What if you stumble upon an old hard drive and gasp it requires an adapter you threw away? The regret would be unbearable. So, we keep them. Just in case.

This is doomsday prepping, but for tech. A survival kit for the modern digital archaeologist. 😂

The Evolution of The Box

At first, it starts small—maybe a single drawer. But then, technology evolves, connections change, and suddenly, you’ve got a sprawling mess of wires, chargers, and adapters that no longer serve any real function.
Somewhere in The Box, there’s probably:

• A 30-pin iPod charger from 2006
• An Ethernet cable that’s at least 50 feet long (because who doesn’t love hardwiring their connection when Wi-Fi inevitably fails?)
• A power brick from a device you swore you were going to fix someday
• A headphone adapter for a phone you haven’t owned in years
• A random coaxial cable—because why not?

And yet, despite this chaos, The Box remains an unshakable constant in our lives.

Should You Declutter? …Probably Not

Organizational experts might tell you to Marie Kondo your cables, but let’s be real: these little tech relics do spark joy. Or at least, they spark a comforting sense of preparedness.

That said, if your collection has reached “I can start my own RadioShack” levels, maybe it’s time to:

• Wrap cables neatly with Velcro ties (future-you will thank you).
• Label the obscure ones (because guessing games aren’t fun in a tech emergency).
• Keep only one of each common type (do you really need six micro-USB cables?).
• Donate the excess—some electronics recyclers or makerspaces would love your spares.

Final Thoughts

We may never truly escape The Box, but maybe that’s okay. Because on that fateful day, when a long-lost gadget demands an ancient connector, we’ll be ready.

Tech hoarders, unite. Stay strong. And may your cables always be untangled.

First World Beauty Problems, Theme Park Edition

You know you’ve been spending too much time at Knott’s Berry Farm when your foundation no longer matches your face. Seriously, I went to do my makeup the other day and realized my foundation is at least two shades too light. Now I look like one of those aunties who refuse to acknowledge that their skin has seen the sun.

This is what happens when you go full theme park mode—running around in the California sun, stuffing your face with boysenberry treats, and completely forgetting that SPF is not, in fact, a one-and-done situation. Reapplication? Never heard of her.

The Curse of the Accidental Tan

I started noticing something was off when I caught my reflection in a bathroom mirror at Knott’s. Under that unflattering fluorescent lighting, it hit me—my face and neck were living completely separate lives. My body has fully embraced its sun-kissed glow, while my face? A ghostly reminder of my winter complexion.

I don’t even tan on purpose! But between waiting in lines, walking from one ride to the next, and spending an unreasonable amount of time debating whether I should get another boysenberry soft serve (spoiler: I always do), my skin has naturally leveled up a shade or two.

First World Beauty Problems, Theme Park Edition

This is peak first-world problems. I mean, in the grand scheme of things, accidentally turning into two different skin tones isn’t exactly a crisis. But still! My carefully curated makeup routine? Wrecked. My foundation, my concealer—useless. Now I have two choices:

1. Buy a darker foundation to match my new summer shade.

2. Accept my fate and just blend down to my chest like my life depends on it.

Neither of these options change the fact that I’ll probably forget to reapply sunscreen again next weekend and continue this never-ending cycle.

Lessons Learned (Or Not)

Let’s be real—am I going to start carrying around a travel-sized sunscreen and actually use it? Probably not. But in case you’re smarter than me, here are some quick survival tips for anyone who practically lives at a theme park:

• Reapply Sunscreen Like It’s Your Job – Every two hours, especially if you’re sweating or eating anything messy (which, let’s face it, you are).

• Find a Foundation with SPF – It’s not a replacement for sunscreen, but every little bit helps.

• Embrace the Tan – Maybe it’s time to lean into that post-theme park glow and stop fighting it.

So, will this makeup dilemma stop me from going to Knott’s every weekend? Absolutely not. But will I be the person in line at GhostRider with a half-blended face and a mild identity crisis? Also yes.

If you’ve ever had your theme park obsession mess with your beauty routine, tell me in the comments so I know I’m not alone! And if you see me at Knott’s, just pretend my face and neck match, okay?