My name is Tyler Lucille.
I’ve noticed via Google Analytics that there are new folks ’round these parts. Welcome! I hope you aren’t expecting a great deal of organization. I have a post in drafts about the five pantry staples for vegetarians. I also have one about the time I got my tongue stuck in a bottle.
See? We’re a little discombobulated, but I embrace that. I’m not a one-dimensional person, so it would stand to reason that anything I write wouldn’t be one-dimensional either. I like food and silly stories and serious topics and animals and a thousand things in between, so if you’d like to know a little more, please keep reading!
You can call me ty. Lots of people do.
You’ll notice all of my social media handles (and basically every log-in I have) is Why Hi Ty. That was my AIM/AOL name in eighth grade, circa 1997. I guess it just stuck.
While I was typing that out, it hit me that I’ve been Why Hi Ty for twenty years. *gag
I’ll be 33 in April. *double gag
I have mixed feelings about getting older because on one hand, I’ve done none of the things that BabyTy thought would be done by now (you know, the wedding, the kid, the cake-baking and June Cleavering, etc.), which sort of makes my figure and my eggs feel old and useless, but on the other hand, your thirties are basically your twenties with more money and less self-doubt, which is bad. ass.
I have the cutest little mutt you ever laid eyes on and if you disagree, you’re wrong.
I’m a lawyer who works for the biggest retailer in the world. That’s not even hyperbole. It’s great, and I love my job and my coworkers, but this experience has definitely redefined the term “little fish, big pond.”
I have a sister and a brother (well, brother-in-law, but he’s been around for a decade, so he’s really just brother now) and the sweetest, most rotten three-and-a-half year old niece you can imagine. She’s got sassy pants and curly hair like her Ty. She’s smarter than me, and she’s infinitely more charming, so I can’t wait until she goes to college and we can barhop together (earmuffs, Casey). For now, though, our Cracker Barrel dates are pretty cool.
I have a cute boyfriend with a cute beard who brings me flowers for the dining room table and likes red velvet cake.
Starbucks flat whites give me small amounts of life force and energy, sort of like the star on Super Mario Brothers.
I have a love/hate relationship with politics, going so far as to get a degree in it. I love the political process at its core, and I hate what we’ve managed to bastardize it in to. America: why we can’t have nice things, vol. 1.
My family is my whole life. They’re also my best friends. My parents are the coolest, and my sister (little sister, mind you) always makes sure I’m fed and clothed and giggling.
I went to the University of Oklahoma for my undergrad. I was the latest in a long line of Sooners. I love that place. I’m a die-hard Sooners fan and a huge proponent of Norman, Oklahoma. My cousin even owns a record store or two there. Guestroom Records. Go check it out, it blows other places out of the water.
I want to travel. I yearn to go places. I even love the thought of picking up and moving to a new spot. The Craigslist rental pages have turned into my favorite hobby.
I have big dreams, high hopes, and crushing student loan debt, which makes my foray into wanderlust-sating difficult.
My goals for this year include getting out of revolving debt. The other $90Kish of student loans might take a bit longer. Ideally, I would be able to buy some sort of abode in 2018, whether it be cemented to the grass or floating on wheels (let it be known, however, that at some point, I will have both).
I’m a vegetarian. I’d like to do a post on the reasons I stopped eating meat, but I’m not sure how to get there without sounding pretentious and/or judgey. When I’m asked why I don’t eat meat, I’m tempted to respond by asking why others do. In the meantime, you can check out my vegan chili recipe that didn’t taste like feet at all, promise.
My living room houses a shelf of books I haven’t yet read, but that doesn’t preclude me from buying more in bulk. I can’t help myself, it’s a true addiction.
I’d love to be able to write for a living, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t be any good at it. Baring some soul here. All that said, my fear doesn’t stop me from trying, which makes me a narcissist or an imbecile. Or a combination of both, yolo.
I can’t really decide my niche when it comes to blogging. Stories and recipes and budgets and the occasional fashion-y post … doesn’t that all fall under “lifestyle?” Whatever. I just write it. I ‘yam who I ‘yam.
I started blogging over a decade ago via Xanga (I’m really aging myself now), and I’ve turned into a cane-waving grandpa with all these newfangled, arbitrary “rules” and its accompanying bloggers with a barely months-old domain name telling me how to **increase my audience in five easy steps!!** … girl, bye. We can’t all be omgblogfamous because this over-saturated bubble will eventually burst, and as Judge Smails said, “The world needs ditch diggers too.”
However- if you can make some money, get your damn hustle on and do it. Hell, if I am offered some money to write something, you best believe I’d consider it (and disclose it). Just don’t go quitting your accounting job after three months of three-times-a-week posting to a four-digit audience in order to prance around in the Nordstrom juniors section, especially if you don’t have a fallback. This isn’t hateration, I promise, it’s simply me being realistic, which has admittedly never been my strong suit.
Or maybe I’m crotchety in my aforementioned old age. Hell. Carry on, little kittens, and do as your little hearts desire.
I love vacuuming because of the nice, neat little lines it leaves in the carpet.
Opera and classical have turned into my favorite genres of music, but I primarily listen to it when I’m alone. Nineties boy bands, though? Share that shit with the world.
I’ve gotten really into interior decorating, though my actual home would suggest otherwise. I blame adulthood and Pinterest and general coveting of my neighbors, but whatever the reason, I’ve become an etsy whore and I’m not mad about it.
On that note, I have a garage’s worth of furniture that’s in “waiting” status: waiting to be refinished, reupholstered, repaired, or otherwise changed. And I have zero time to do any of it. Damn it. Starting to rethink that whole rant from above.
I’ve broken a bunch of bones, I don’t eat the ends of my fries, I can rattle off facts about the works of Tolkien and Heisman Trophy winners, and I sing the wrong lyrics to probably 40% of the songs I know.
Me too. Surprisingly, it can be hard to write about myself without being wholly self-depricating or (semi)jokingly arrogant.
Anywhoodles. After all this chatter, I sure hope you come back tomorrow and the next day and the day after that. It may get stupid, but it won’t be boring.