You Probably Shouldn't Mention To Oprah That I Once Wanted to Tell Her To 'Shove It'

This is a phone call between me and a good friend... so I'll refer to this person as GF.

Me: What's up?

GF: Okay, I didn't want to say anything but I thought that the post you wrote about finally realizing the importance of writing in your gratitude journal was really awesome.

Me: Awww, thank you.

GF: And... I have a friend of a friend that knows someone who used to work for Oprah and I am going to get them to get your post to "O" Magazine!

Me: (unsure) O-kay...

GF: You don't seem that happy. THIS IS OPRAH! The Oprah! What if she loves it? What if she has it published?

Me: No, that'd... that'd be great.

GF: You know, I really went out of my way to call around and see if I could even attempt to get it to her people and now, you're not exactly acting the way I thought you would.

Me: It's just... I guess if I had known, and believe me, I know you did an unbelievable thing, but if I had known, I would have changed the title of the blog post.

GF: What was it again?

Me: "Sometimes I Really Wanted To Tell Oprah To Shove It."

GF: (long silence, then): Uh-huh.

Me: No one who works for Oprah is going to recommend to Oprah an article where someone says they once wanted to tell Oprah to "Shove it."

GF: No, they are not.

Me: Which means...?

GF: I probably wasted a lot of time.

Me: You kinda did.


But I still looooooooooovvvvvvvvve you for it. With extra Os and Vs... that's love I never give out.


This blog is dedicated to the awesomeness that is housesitting.

You Probably Shouldn't Mention To Oprah That I Once Wanted to Tell Her To 'Shove It'

Look Who Lost 20 Pounds By Her Birthday

I'll write longer soon. Just wanted to check in and say I had the BEST birthday ever... the festivities started last Friday night and they continue tonight with dinner and drinks near by.

And the best gift?

When I stepped on the scale yesterday (the real birthday)... I couldn't believe I am now down 20 pounds.

I was kind of surprised as I haven't been the most rigorous with my program of late. Fried ravioli and wine anyone?

So... here's to hallelujahs, happy birthdays and half off jeans at Old Navy. I already need a new, smaller pair!

Look Who Lost 20 Pounds By Her Birthday

Sometimes I Really Wanted To Tell Oprah To Shove It

Around the time my cousin passed away and my life was falling apart and I was eating a lot of 7-11 danishes; I was scheduling my day around Oprah because if anyone was going to make everything okay, it was Oprah.

Only Oprah, didn't make everything okay. Oprah made it worse.

Oprah was telling me that the key to solving all my problems during the downward spiral of my life was... (wait for it, wait for it...) for me to keep a gratitude journal.

Where I would write down what I was grateful for.

And I was thinking, "Is she f*&%ing kidding me?"

Supposedly, keeping this journal was supposed to make me concentrate on all the wonderful things I did have and not focus on the things I didn't (ya know, like a happy, healthy family, boyfriend or job).

It really made me resentful someone so rich, who had access to anything she wanted in the world, was telling me that what I needed to do to get happy was to go buy a $1,000 Kate Spade lamb skin journal and list all the things I was grateful for.

(PS, she did not tell me to buy a $1,000 Kate Spade lamb skin journal, that in fact, probably doesn't even exit. But when Oprah held hers up, it resembled something luxurious and that probably cost more than my monthly rent. And I cannot confirm, though I am probably sure, there is one less pink lamb in the world.)

Then, my therapist, who obviously went to the Oprah Winfrey School of Psychology, told me to do the same thing: Keep a Gratitude Journal. I imagined her watching Oprah and taking notes, "Tell all patients to make a gratitude journal, bill them $100 dollars."

I was BEYOND furious about this. Really, this is the best you have for me? I mean, I am really falling apart here. (7-11 danishes!)

But I did it, I wrote in my damn journal, because I'm a good girl and good girls do what they are told.

Now those were dark days and I just could not find anything to be grateful for. Somedays I would just write, "My dog." My therapist kept telling me that a day would come that I would have more things to be thankful for.

(She heard that on Oprah and was just praying it come true, lest I fire her and move on to a therapist that was watching Dr. Phil and was at least going to tell me to, "Get real about my life.")

So there I sat with my journal and wrote that I was grateful for my dog and the day that would come where I would not having to go to therapy anymore.

Then, I don't know how, but things started to change. I started noticing that everyone around me was complaining so much. About the little things. Things that to me, felt trivial. I felt like I knew what real problems were. They are people dying, watching your loved ones suffer and losing the ability to provide for yourself.

I started getting involved in a social network where people are dealing with illness and sometimes, terminal illness. They worry they won't live to see their children graduate grade school, they are having their home foreclosed on because their disease is so expensive, a teenager is asking for prayers for her sister who needs 7 surgeries that week.

And then I woke up.

Any of these people would trade their lives for mine, like I wanted to trade my with Oprah. To them, I have everything.

And then I realized, I have A LOT to be grateful for.

Tomorrow is my birthday and I can't think of one thing I want. That is the definition of a person who wants for nothing. How could I not see to be grateful for that?

Now I shoot things off in my gratitude journal like Oprah's favorite student. It was by seeing the things other people take for granted that I could see what I was taking for granted in my own life.

I started to see with wider eyes, the people in my neighbor hood collecting cans just to eat. A listing in the paper about a foreclosed home made me think of the family that lost the roof over their head. A friend losing their insurance because they lost their job made me feel lucky I could go to the doctor.

So I wrote and I wrote and I wrote. Health. Shelter. Food. Friends, really great friends. Family and family beyond just my family, that I could turn to if things got financially bad. Health insurance. Clothes. The ability to take care of myself.

Oprah.

Mostly Oprah.

It's kind of changed my life.

Because when you are not bitter and you are not feeling sorry for yourself, you get a lot done. Positive things. And then more positive things come your way. And then your life is swirling into something better than you imagined... it becomes something you could never see that you could create in the days of thinking you had nothing.

I'm not saying all dark days are behind... but I don't want to tell Oprah to shove it any more. And I haven't for a really long time.


This blog is dedicated to letting go of bad things so some more good things can come in.


You know what makes the perfect holiday gift, besides bourbon? This post! Send it to some friends by using the little email envelope icon below!

Sometimes I Really Wanted To Tell Oprah To Shove It

Let's Have A Contest!

Here's the deal... the adventure that I picked from my Adventure Bowl is to go hot air ballooning. I can't wait!

The thing is, I am so crazy busy, there is no way I can do it now. I mean, I could if the hot air balloon had Wi-Fi so I can work on my laptop. But I'm just guessing that will take away from the experience.

So instead, I'm going to write something fun and light AND will involve a contest where there will be cash and prizes. Okay, not cash... I just liked the way "cash and prizes" sounded. Like a real game show.

And technically, it's just "prize" and not "prizes" so I'm basically a big ol' tease.

Lately, I've been addicted to Facebook, mostly fascinated by how INSANELY personal some people's status updates are. Really? You want your boss (and other potential bosses) to know, "I really shouldn't have gotten black out drunk the last four nights."

That one is for real.

How about, "I really want more of what I got last night. Mmmmm." Yeah, we know you're not talking about Christmas chocolates. You're a whore. I'm sure a very nice whore. But still a whore.

So this is the contest, I want each of you to make up the most ridiculously funny, inappropriate and outrageous Facebook status report you can. The one that makes me and my friend S, who is a comedy writer too, laugh so hard we pee our pants a little, WINS.

The prize, it's gonna be good... bath stuffs. If you're a guy, not bath stuffs. Maybe a canned ham, instead. Maybe some old thing in a my apartment I just want to get rid of... like a naughty Chihuahua.

Kidding, ya can't have him.

Okay, you have until Wednesday, December 17, 5:00 PM (PST) to come up with the best-est one you can. Multiple posts are okay.

Here are some of the ones I made up:

FACEBOOK STATUS

1) is freaked out that she dirty danced with her uncle at the wedding last night.

2) just learned the dangers of mixing white wine and Xanax at the company Christmas party.

3) drunkenly shaved off my eye brows last night and I am FREAKING out.

4) just slashed my ex-boyfriend's tires. Oh, well! Maybe he shouldn't have slept with that slut he works with.

5) thinks the guy I took home last night might be dead. Blue lips aren't good, right? Oh, hey! Anyone up for chocolate chip pancakes?

Good Luck. I can't wait!!!!



This post is dedicated to chugging cappuccinos and exciting deadlines.

Let's Have A Contest!

How To Scotch Tape Your Dog To The Bed

I know I owe you a post about my unexpected in-town vacation. But listen, # 1, I have something else to blog about and # 2, I am so going to disappoint you my story about the ten man shower.

See... it was a shower that could fit ten men in it. At no time did it have ten men in it. Although at one point, me and this guy were in the shower together.

Only, he's gay and I was just showing him how awesome the view was from the bathroom.

Yeah, it's way sadder than you could ever image. I wish I had a better story. I wish I had slipped a Tylenol PM in some cute guy's drink down in the lobby bar and then used a wheel barrel to scoop him up and deposit him in my ten man shower - which by the way, had a built in bench in it because the things that are supposed to go on in the ten man shower - you need resting for...

Yes, I am aware of the orange level of pathetic-ness on this one. Hence, the not writing any more about it.

Here's the real drama.

My dog Cooper, who I have an admitted unnatural attachment bordering on a Maury Povich guest appearance, got really sick while I was gone.

Apparently, before he was dropped off at my friend's house (he could not come to the hotel with me because it's in the downtown area and he is so spoiled he does not poop on concrete), he ate one of my Thyroid pills.

I must have dropped one on the floor.

The signs of Cooper's trouble included, and I hope you are not eating your lunch, explosive diarrhea, throwing up, uncontrollable pooping on expensive couches, foaming at the mouth and hiding under a guest house.

I whisked him off to the vet and was mortified when the blood test came back the next day to say Cooper had eaten one of my pills. It was my fault. I was officially a bad mother. (Though I was so glad I had just given him a bath and cleaned his ears - to me that was the dog equivalent of wearing clean underwear to the hospital.)

There was a lot of guilt, crying, fretting, beating myself up. I was scared he was going to die. And I was so insanely grateful that he didn't. This dog means everything to me. In a way that could be used against me in a trial.

Now that he seems okay, of course, I am out of my mind with worry about what else might be lurking on the floor that I can't see that Cooper might eat.

That's when I came up with the idea of scotch taping him to the bed.

I think it's a good idea. Even better than dosing a cute guy with a Tylenol PM and kidnapping him via a wheel barrel into a ten man shower.

My pup's weak now, so scotch tape will work. As he regains his strength, I might need something more durable to tape him to the bed with. Like duct tape. Of course, that might hurt his fur so...

I'm thinking first, I put him in his sweater, then I duct tape him to the bed. Then I can just remove him in and out of the sweater so he can go to the bathroom when he needs to.

Then again, I could just... you know... vacuum my entire apartment.


This blog is dedicated to knowing it could have been worse. And having a little fun with something that scared the hell out of me. And mustard garlic pretzel bits.

How To Scotch Tape Your Dog To The Bed

Posting Tomorrow...

In which I will be talking about the importance of friends, in-town vacations, hotel roof tops with water beds, sneaking in your own champagne, eating Doritios for breakfast, how trash baskets double as ice buckets for beer and wine, giggling in a ten man shower is good for the soul and the memory of apple pie on a paper plate falling in the hotel lobby will always make me burst out laughing and mostly...

how unplanned things can be the best things.

Posting Tomorrow...

Beautiful Disaster

I highlighted where Part 2 starts because I like you.

My boyfriend once told me I was a "beautiful disaster." I didn't mind because I just heard "beautiful" and that was it.

Also, because it's true.

In work life, I am super organized. I am copious, I know where everything is. It's right under neath that pile of binders, scripts, notepads, post-its and pens that have no ink.

Yeah, disaster.

I'm cool with my work life way of being because it works for me, meaning, it does not hold me back. I always get my work done and always on time. I like having everything I need around me... I'm good with it.

Now, where being a disaster affects me is in my personal life. I would like to not have you over right now because I don't want you to see that I am a perfectionist... but in a bad way.

See, I can't recycle magazines. I have to sort them by theme and then by those themes, divide them into piles according to which hospital, clinic or dialysis center I will bring them to. I can't take clothes to Goodwill, that's what everybody does. I am a perfectionist so I have to scour out the most random shelter and bring them there.

But not until I have sorted them between stuff a teenager could wear (that goes to one shelter), stuff a woman could wear to an interview (that goes to a different shelter) and day-casual (that goes to a shelter all the way across town, the one with no parking... but I'm definitely going there... one day.)

Yeah... perfectionist.

Well, "perfectionist" until I am completely overwhelmed by piles and boxes and random bags of clothes.

If you knock on the door and I let you in, do not look surprised.

PS, the perfectionist in me wants you to know that my place is super clean. You just can't tell because you can't take your eyes off the pile of "Shape" magazines that are stacked to the ceiling.

So I have this talk with my shrink because life has really turned around amazingly for me recently. I have a great job and my butt is shrinking in ways that make me say "Yes!" with a fist pump when I try on my jeans.

I feel good. I want everything to look good.

I have this wish for this place that I live in and love and this is not it. I read "Does This Clutter Make My Butt Look Big?" by that organization guy who's always on Oprah. I get that this is a problem.

One issue is I am sentimentally attached to stuff. For instance, when my Dad was really sick when I was 12, we had to get 10,000 signatures from people in our state to protest that my Dad was going to get kicked off his health insurance because they didn't want to pay for his expensive, life saving, take his heart out and replace it with someone else's surgery.

When it was all said and done (we got the signatures, we won, he got the surgery), my Mom threw out the reams and reams of paper with people's signatures.

And I crawled into the garbage to get them.

Beautiful. Disaster.

We stood outside of churches, grocery stores and gas stations to ask people to save my Dad's life. And they did. And I wanted to be close to the people that had done it. That made my Dad be alive.

Maybe that's what all this perfectionism in donating clothes or magazines or other things to "the right place" is all about. I want the people I'm donating to, to feel cared for. Like some busy person rushing into that Stop N' Shop all those years ago made me feel by taking the time to sign that petition.

Part 2

Long story short. I xoxoxo my new shrink but when I talked to her about my weird "donation" hoarding she pegged me as possibly slightly ADHD and said some people cannot be expected to organize for themselves because they are "too genius."

OH, COME ON!

I mean, I lapped it up... but even I know that is bullshit.

She was trying to convince me to hire someone to organize me and my possessions and all of a sudden I was having some kind of freaked out vision of all my stuff being laid out in the drive-way while a camera crew from "Oprah" filmed me while I cried over an old Ritz cracker canister that I couldn't part with because it had too much meaning to me.

When someone tells me I can't do something, I become quite determined that, "Yes, I can."

I decided to go all Obama on my living room. Here's what I did:

I got some colored masking tape and I taped off 10 zones of my living room. All of a sudden everything became a manageable 2 x 3 area which I could attack daily. I had to be merciless and when I couldn't be merciless it went into a "Deal With This Later" box.

Everyday I have to deal with one zone. Buh-bye, off it all goes to be donated or recycled or thrown away.

I realize if someone walked into my apartment and saw masking tape lines everywhere, they would think I'm crazy but what's crazier - figuring out a way to do this myself AND overcoming a huge hurdle or having to pay someone $300 or $400 bucks to do it for me?

You let me know what you think. I'm about to tape square boxes all over my bedroom floor.

Genius.


This blog is dedicated to eatin' pants.

Beautiful Disaster

The Best Calorie Free Treat

Yesterday, after I left the gym, I stopped at Trader Joe's to pick up some groceries. On the way out, I saw this homeless man and he asked me for some change. I literally only had 32 cents.

32 cents is not going to get anyone any where or any thing.

I said, "Are you hungry, do you want a sandwich?" He looked completely shocked. "Yes," he said. "Turkey? Do you want turkey?" (I tend to take charge of things).

He said what he really wanted, and let me know I could get for the same price, was a Pizza Hut Personal Pan pizza... pepperoni.

I just thought... there was something so sweet about that.

I asked him if he would like a soda, too. Again, he looked at me with such a sense of surprise, it let me know the moments of compassion in this man's life were few and far between.

Lately, I've been thinking of all the things I have and how frickin' lucky and blessed I am. I don't even mean monetary. I have clothes, I have shelter, a hot shower every day. I have health care. I have friends who love me. I have a job.

We forget about the little things. Or, I guess I should say, we forget about the big things.

I did this little bit of volunteering and this girl emailed me saying I would never know what it meant to her what I had done for her. I told her - she would never know what it did for me. Just like that man yesterday, it totally filled me up...

So, it's right before the holidays and we are all hustling and bustling. But I wanted to give you guys some super ways to help other people that are easy and will fill YOU up and make you happier than 2 Twinkies and a glass of milk:

1) Ask everyone in your office to give you their old magazines. Then drop them off at a hospital, clinic or dialysis center. You will be loved!

2) If you're gathering friends for a holiday party, ask everyone to bring some clothes they don't wear and set them aside and then take them to a women's shelter. The women will act like you just gave them the keys to Macy's, that's how appreciative they are!

3) If you know someone in your neighborhood is sick, offer to walk their pet.

4) Tossing out some old sheets or blankets? Take them to your local pet shelter.

5) Keep a couple of McDonald's $1 gift cards and if you see someone who asks you if you can spare some change, buy them lunch instead. Smile, you just made someone feel like they matter.

6) There is a man who comes on my street looking for cans and bottles to turn in for change. Some days I see him with his 6 year old son and that breaks my heart. Now I keep my bottles and cans aside and give them to him when I see him so he doesn't have to rummage in a 4 ft. bin.

7) Do you have a winter coat you never wear? I think I have more than I need. You can donate your extra coat to a shelter, you can give it to someone in need (maybe keep it in your car, trust me, you'll find someone), also, there are winter coat drives - search for one online.

8) This is reader Noble Savage's awesome idea. "Last year I made up 15 Christmas packages for the homeless, each one with a pair of gloves, a scarf, a warm hat, a chocolate bar, a first aid kit and some toiletries. It was very rewarding and I got everything from thrift stores or dollar stores. The looks on their faces when I handed them a gift and walked away was priceless."

9) Sponsor a family for a Thanksgiving or Christmas meal. Call a shelter, Vet center or search online. You can send an email to five friends and ask them to pitch in $10 dollars each. That $60 dollars will feed a whole family (maybe more) and make them be able to stay home and have a real family Thanksgiving or Christmas.

Have I overwhelmed you? Given you too many ideas? Well, you're in luck!

I'm going to give you the name of the shelter where I am sponsoring a family. I just sent a mass email to all my friends, so the hope is I might be able to sponsor 3 or 4 families. Feel free to grab an envelope, put ten bucks in it and send it off right now.

Here's the info: Amanecer Community Services Administrative Offices, 1200 Wilshire Blvd, Suite 500, Los Angeles, CA 90017. Attention: Laura Gonzalez. Tell her the money is to sponsor a family for Christmas dinner.

You will feel so good making a difference, putting a smile on someone's face and most importantly, making someone feel like they are loved.


This blog is dedicated to little bits of love.


If you do something kind... even if it's in a week or a month from now, write back in and inspire us with your story.

The Best Calorie Free Treat

I Lost 15 Pounds :) Yay Me!

Yep, I did it. And I'm gonna do it again so I can get to 30 pounds lost.

I don't mean to brag but I rock, y'all.

The other day I was in a fancy meeting with all these big time people but since I'm a writer I like to dress super cas (as in casual) even though I'm usually so nervous I want to throw up or have diarrhea.

So anyway, I bust out THE JEANS. "The jeans" are the jeans in the next size down that didn't fit that I bought hoping they would one day fit, even though I swore I would stop buying jeans in next size down that would one day fit but do not fit right now.

But they were so cute!

Dark denim.

They were on sale for only twenty dollars!

C'mon. I can resist a donut but I cannot resist cute, dark denim on sale jeans for twenty dollars.

I try them on for my meeting. They will not zip. I lay on the bed, I lay on the floor. Nope, they ain't zipping.

Okay, I have a plan. I drive to the meeting with unzipped jeans on. During the twenty minute drive to the big fancy meeting, the jeans will probably stretch.

They will HAVE to stretch! Dear God, I hope they stretch.

I pull into the valet and he watches me curiously as I am jumping up and down and trying to zip my unzippable jeans.

I get them up on the third try! Yay! Now it's just the button that will not button. I can keep them unbuttoned but then it looks like I am smuggling something under my shirt. Not good. I bust a move for the ladies room.

It's there that I get the button of the jeans buttoned. Problem: I am now restricting blood flow from the top half of my body to the bottom half.

I decide it's totally worth it because I look good. Fifteen pounds lighter in a size smaller jean. AMEN!!!

I am sitting with the super important people and this is the part where you make small talk but all I can think about it how I am probably going to pass out and then they will have to call an ambulance and then a fireman will come and have to cut me out of these jeans.

I'm asked by one of the very important people, "So what's new with you?" I couldn't speak, I didn't know what to say... I couldn't think of anything funny, witty or charming when the only thing I could see is a swarm of executives watching me being cut out of my jeans and revealing the giant grannie panties I bought in a six pack at Target.

So I say: "Um... I went on a diet and lost fifteen pounds and thought I could wear the next size jeans down and basically I'm just sitting in these super tight jeans waiting to pass out and then have to be emergency air lifted out of here."

The whole room cracked up laughing.

I won them over. I did not die. I looked super cute for the whole hour. I was confident, composed, attentive.

And at the end of it, I smiled, I said my goodbyes and then I ran like hell to my car, unbuttoned my jeans in the parking garage and drove home.

If you like this post, send it to a bunch of friends by using the little envelope icon below. When you do, men will chase you down the street and invite you out for shrimp cocktails.


This blog is dedicated to just doing it.

I Lost 15 Pounds :)
Yay Me!

Adventure Bowl Flying Trapeze Girl

Is your life stale? Boring? Are you stressed? Job, boyfriend, back fat got you down?

Then you need to do something crazy, spontaneous and out of your comfort zone in order to remember what is so easy to forget...

YOU CAN DO ANYTHING YOU WANT TO DO.

As most of you know, when life was bringing me down and I found it easier to crawl under the covers with a bag of Cheetos than face all my problems, I made a promise to try one fun, "get out of my rut" (or at least my bed) activity a week that would shake my life up and remind me who I was.

Last week, out of the Adventure Bowl, I picked, "Today you will take trapeze lessons."

What really surprised me the most is how high 30 feet can feel up off the air. (Or maybe it was 1000 feet... okay, it was only 30.) My heart started to pound like it knew something I didn't.

"Um, what is your refund policy?"

The cashier raised his eye brow, "If you don't wanna do it, don't do it." Oh, I want to do it, I said. I would just like to see your past ten years of safety records. That seems like a normal request, right? It's not that I'm scared (I am so fucking scared), I just want to be safe. He rolled his eyes. There was a challenge in that eye roll.

Fine, I'll do it. Just to prove it to eye roll-y guy. But just to be safe, I tucked my insurance card in my side pocket. Along with directions to the nearest hospital.

The instructor at the top had me chalk my hands and then he wanted me to inch out on the platform. I use the word "platform" loosely because it was about half the size of a dental bib.

"Um, what is your refund policy again?"

The instructor was amazingly encouraging but there was no way I was jumping to my death and then paying for it.

No. No way. Forget it.

I felt chunky. I felt weak in my body. I knew I could swing but I'd never be able to dangle from my legs or pike up or grab the opposite swing. It wasn't going to happen. For me, if I'm going to do something, I want to do it big. I want to be perfect. I want to do what all these other girls are doing.

I said: "I'll never be able to do anything but swing."
My instructor said: "You have to start somewhere."

Right. Okay. Light bulb moment. Oprah Ah-Ha moment. The whole point in coming was to try something different. To be thrilled. To see a fear and kick it in the face.

To let go.

So I did.

I let go.

And IT WAS AWESOME. Amazing. There are no words. I was so damn proud of myself. Smiling as I free fell into the net.

Do it. Take a trapeze lesson. Or a dance lesson. Or something, anything you haven't done before. Lose yourself then gain yourself. Have that feeling of "Yes, I did it!"

And then imagine all the things you are afraid of, and then know you don't have to be afraid of them anymore because you did this... this impossible thing that you thought you'd never do because of the fear.

I feel so strong today. Strong, like I want to take that incredible trapeze feeling and go after some things I've been afraid to do. Stand up for myself with the boss, the ex-boyfriend... and that lady who keeps letting her dog crap on my lawn.

Look out world!


This post is dedicated to pink wigs and tutus.

Adventure Bowl
Flying Trapeze Girl

This Is Super Cool

I saw this quote and I thought it was cool. I wish I knew who said it.

"Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, martini in the other, your body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming, "Woo hoo!" What a ride!"

If you substituted pizza for chocolate, I have a night like this about once a month but after reading this, I know I need to bump up my fun quota.

It's a great reminder as we get closer to closing out the year, a time when a lot of people reexamine their lives.

Are you having enough fun? If you knew it was all going to end in a week could you giggle at all the mischievous good times you had? Or would you be filled with regrets of the things you haven't done?


This blog is dedicated to chocolate martini fun.

This Is Super Cool

I Just Got Asked Out By An 80 Year Old Man

Seriously.

I need to have a better moisturizing regimen if the only guys I'm going to be asked out by are the ones that take their teeth out at night.

So, I'm at the dog park and I start talking to this adorable old man. I think, "Look at me, I'm a good person. I talk to old people." (I also bought a homeless man a burrito at El Pollo Loco, not that I'm bragging, except that I'm bragging.)

And then he asks me out. For sushi. Now I'm feeling awkward and this is weird. He's 80.

And as I float off into a fantasy of becoming the Anna Nicole Smith in sweatpants to his J. Howard Marshall in a Members Only jacket, he snaps me back into reality by saying...

"Of course, if I take you out, we would have to go dutch."

WHAT???

All of a sudden, I've been shut down by someone I didn't even want to go out with. Someone who, quite frankly, can't even promise me they'll be alive for a date next week.

It hurt my feelings.

And then I gave him my email address.

I'm going to make him love me enough to buy me sushi.

I wonder what I should wear when I go to meet my new step-grandkids.


This blog is dedicated to wasabi nuts.

I Just Got Asked Out By An 80 Year Old Man

Naked Victory Laps

I will write more tomorrow but I did want to say...

I am very pleased with the Presidential outcome tonight.

First, we drank martinis out of nervousness.

Then we drank champagne out of victory.

And I thought of all the people who fret about keeping their houses/having health care/people they love going off to war...

So I drank more champagne in relief.

And then when we were done, I tried to get one of my BFFs to run a naked victory lap for Obama in one of the posh-est neighborhoods in LA. And he said:

"But it's cold."

"OMG! It's history! Are you kidding me?"

So I took off my pants. He said, "Okay, I will go pantless." I said, "Pantless is lame. It's all or nothing!" Then I motioned like "off with my top."

He would not budge.

I thought: THIS IS HISTORY.

I said, "I'm chunky. If I'm willing to do it, you should do it, this should be nothing to a skinny rail like you."

He wasn't buying it.

And then the other part of me just wanted french fries and to let my dog out so he would not urinate in my bed. So I gave up trying to convince him.

But I would have gone naked for Obama and I will make my friend pay for the rest of his life for being a lame-o. But in the meantime, I am, french fries in hand, over the moon.


This blog is dedicated to OBAMA! and victory being sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet!

Naked Victory Laps

Moms Are Funny

It's weird. The older I get, the more I feel like I am becoming a Mom to my Mom. I even had this urge to send her $25 in a Halloween card the other day.

On the phone last week, I was trying to encourage my Mom to um, actually tell the truth in therapy to her new therapist. I find it crazy that she would resist this as the whole point of going to therapy is to TELL THE TRUTH AND THEN GET BETTER.

I capitalize it because I am so dumb founded by my mother's desire to never be able to admit anything is wrong EVER.

So, there I am, talking to my Mom and saying how great it has been that I am now seeing a new therapist and how this is really helping inject some energy into figuring out certain things in my life.

(The manipulative subtext was, "And I hope you'll do the same." Which is out of love, people. My Mom has been carrying around 40 pounds of emotional baggage in a 10 pound bag.)

And this is what she says to me:

Mom: "I'm glad you're seeing a new therapist. I did not like your last one at all."
Me: "Well, why not?"
Mom: "Because she was teaching you about boundaries."

UH, YEAH!

She might as well have said, "I did not like her. She was doing the job she was paid to do and it was becoming really hard on me to push around my more emotionally stable daughter."

The noise I made when she said that was a 1/2 gasp and a 1/2 laugh that resulted in me kind of 1/2 choking and having to get off the phone.

I didn't know if I should have been pissed or find it amazingly hilarious.

I'm going with hilarious.


This blog is dedicated to half price Halloween candy. Bring it!

Moms Are Funny

If I Haven't Seen You In A While, I Will Run And Hide Behind A Car

This POST was voted "Most Likely To Be Totally Worth The Read." And I have the sash that says so. I'm wearing it now while drinking my 7-11 coffee.

First of all, I LOVED all of your comments on the post about the Diet Devil.

I hate to be all message-y and when you read my post below, you will run screaming from the computer before you will ever take advice from me again - but (before you lose all respect for me) let me say this one thing - we are all too hard on ourselves.

If you have a bad day, if your Diet Devil has wrestled you to the ground after convincing you that Ben & Jerry's and Nachos make a sensible snack, just ya know, start over tomorrow.

Forgive and forget.

If I had done that over these past three years instead of just digging myself deeper and deeper into a situation where fat girl jeans were required, I'd be so much happier.

They say the longer you do something, the more it becomes a habit. I'm on day... 36 or 37 of stellar eating and I'm seeing stellar results. The more days of good, healthful, "broccoli tastes just like candy!" I can string together, the more it feels like a way of life and the less it feels like unbridled torture.

Now here's my story... the one I'm mortified to tell you. The one in which, I, of a voluminous butt and jiggly old lady underarms, ran behind a car so people I haven't seen in three years would not see me.

Yeah, I did that.

Because I wasn't wearing a t-shirt that said, "Hey, awkward. We haven't seen each other in three years and I look like I gained a second grader around my middle and I'm totally embarrassed but just so you know - this is a totally temporary situation. If you are coming around the corner, in like six months, watch out, 'cuz I'm just gonna be that hot. And by hot, I mean, I will posses thighs that do not rub together."

I looked for that t-shirt at The Gap but they were out of XL.

It happened tonight. I was coming home from the dog park and there was this couple I haven't seen in years and they were walking on my street and I just felt... um, uncomfortable in this bigger body. I know I'm all ra-ra and "Don't let your big butt get in the way of your big life" and then I go duck behind a car but...

Yeah, I did that.

I've had this thing drilled in my head from my family and yes, I know it's a bad thing and I know it's a wrong thing, but it's still a thing. And it's that being heavy is a sign of weakness. That you must be weak to let that happen. That I must be weak.

It's really hard to admit that is in me, that to a degree I believe that.

But there's another thing I believe and that is, that it makes you super strong to turn what seems like an impossible situation (a big weight gain and a butt made from donuts and margaritas) - a situation that would be so much easier to stay in, to wallow in and to make worse (pound by pound) - it makes you super strong if you try and change that situation.

That's what I'm doing now. On the treadmill or putting spinach in my egg whites or not eating after 7pm or saying no to yummy dark beer and yes to apples instead of chips or ordering black coffee instead of lattes.

And even when it's felt like the results are agonizingly slow and even though I sometimes stop and beat myself up about why I would ever put myself in this situation, I think, "At least I'm doing it. At least, I finally took control and I'm doing it."

Then I breathe a sigh of frickin' relief. Two pounds lost has become six and then ten and then twelve (and a half... don't forget the halves, they add up.)

So, I'll try to not beat myself up, I will shut the brain door on thinking I'm weak and I will really, really try and stop ducking behind cars at night when I see people I'm not ready to see.

Because strong people know what they're doing and don't care what other people think.


This blog is dedicated to Jeeps with their wide ends for hiding behind.

If I Haven't Seen You In A While, I Will Run And Hide Behind A Car

My Inner Diet Devil Thinks Cookies And Ice Cream Would Make A Great Breakfast

Do you have an inner Diet Devil?

It's that voice inside your head as you're preparing a "good girl" meal of grilled chicken and steamed broccoli that starts off with a quiet whisper and then starts screaming:

"I WANT FRENCH FRIES NOW! And while you're at it, get a Big Mac to go with those fries. Ooooo, we need dessert, too! Bring pie!"

Yeah, that guy. I hate that guy. He's trying to sabotage me and won't be happy until I spend the rest of my life in pants that only close with draw strings and "Free Size" shirts.

And that's not a way to live, ladies!

Here's the deal. This whole blog has been about taking back my life from, um, well, the brink of "almost-disaster." Now work is good, finances are decent, friendships are repaired, new therapist is found, healing over the loss of my cousin/job/boyfriend has begun...

But I still have "big ol' fat depression butt."

So last month, I got serious. I started making a healthy breakfast. At breakfast, I planned lunch, at lunch I planned dinner. When things got so stressful and planning seemed to go out the window - I had a Backup-plan Plan. Defrost a frozen vegetable and dump a Lean Cuisine over it.

Lean Cuisine has, like, totally saved my life.

Every meal is paired with a huge serving of fruit or a veggie. The more full I am, the less I'm inclined to fantasize about shoplifting a bag of Ruffles potato chips from the 7-11 so the cashier won't judge me.

In 30 days, I lost 11 pounds.

Oh, did I mention exercise? Because that's a big part of it, though I have started off slow, just going to the gym 3 times a week for ONLY 45 minutes. I cap the "only" because I am stressing the point that I am trying to make this as easy on myself as possible so I won't find excuses not to do it.

But that's really when the Diet Devil is whispering in my ear. He knows that exercise is going to be the biggest piece of my weight loss pie (Mmmmmm, pie).

And he doesn't want me to go! He wants me to stay right here, chit-chatting on the internet or watching "Oprah."

Diet Devil: "Don't work out. Stay home, lie on the couch. Go ahead, put your feet up, you deserve it. Oprah is on. She's going to teach you how to be a better person. Isn't that going to benefit you more in the long run over riding some silly treadmill?"

Me: (small voice) "Um... I don't know."

So I started this post on Wednesday with the hopes that I would have a fantastic update about how I wrestled my Diet Devil and came out victorious with a trip to the gym. But it didn't happen. I talked myself out of going and then I let that be okay.

Not cool.

So today, Thursday, which isn't a gym day for me, I got my butt over to the gym and did what I needed to do. I don't want to fail myself. I have an uphill battle but the goal of 45 minutes 3 times a week is so small for what it gives back to me - it's physically, mentally and emotionally rewarding.

And if it'll make my jeans looser in the process - all the better!

The thing I have to remember is - it's just the getting there that's hard. Once I'm there, I really have to push myself to leave. I love the sweating and I love the feeling of getting stronger.

But mostly, I love setting out to do something and following through.

So what gets you to keep a promise to yourself? What do you do when you want to talk yourself out of going to the gym or eating right? I'd love to know. Then I can use it to beat that lil' Diet Devil off my shoulder the next time he's trying to keep me from going to the gym :)


This blog is dedicated to 8 pound weights.

My Inner Diet Devil Thinks Cookies And Ice Cream Would Make A Great Breakfast

I'm Very Busy Being In A Crazy Blind Rage...

Because someone went joyriding with my bank card and racked up over $800 bucks in three days. Luckily, I just ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for dinner and that's about to make it almost better.

I showed amazing restraint not taking one of my old anti-anxiety pills I have left over from my "bad times" and crushing it into the raspberry jam.

What's ironic is I found this out as my bank card was being denied as I was making a donation to Save The Children. If you're trying to Save The Children, you should not have some maniac emptying out your bank account.

No. You should open you're bank account and actually find MORE money in there. Because you're a good person. Who saves the children.

I know the bank will make this okay but I still want to punch someone in the face.

After I cried to my friend on the phone and she made me giggle and see that everything would be okay, I hung up the phone and then my dog threw up in my bed.

So if you are having a bad day or had a bad week, get it out, girl! You can rant right here! I'm here for ya!

xoxoxo


This blog is dedicated to idiots to steal bank cards and then fill up their gas tanks and drive to San Francisco. Tomorrow, I'm dedicating a police report to you.

I'm Very Busy Being In A Crazy Blind Rage...

Adventure Bowl Let's Go Flying!

When I was starting this blog, I wrote about getting a pep talk from my younger sister. I told her after experiencing job loss, a death in the family, my Mom's illness and a break-up, I was feeling super blue and I didn't know what to do.

She said she had the perfect solution: I should jump out of an airplane.

I thought she meant figuratively and this was going to be some great metaphor for life - like "letting go" or "stepping out of my comfort zone."

No, she meant, literally, I should jump out of an airplane.

When she went sky diving, it had made her feel unbelievably strong, spontaneous and fearless and she thought it would do the same for me.

I did need that feeling of empowerment but I didn't want to do anything that would make me say... die in the process. Sky diving looks dangerous! But the more my way of doing things - eating Cheetos and hiding under a "Hello Kitty" comforter was not doing the trick to ease my pain, the more I started to come around to her koo koo bananas way of thinking.

That's when I made the Adventure Bowl and started filling it up with all sorts of things I had never done before, things that would thrill me and make me feel happy again.

This past week I picked the only kind of sky diving I felt ready for out of the bowl. That's indoor sky diving. It was such a shocking blast! You suit up just like regular sky diving and take a safety class where no one makes fun of you that you are a control freak for needing a totally safe environment where there is no danger of plummeting to your death.

And then you step into this massive wind tunnel and get blasted up into the air in this huge, I don't know, 60 foot high container and you literally feel like you are really sky diving. There's even someone there to hold your hands and make sure you are A-okay.

And just as I was about to feel like I was the most awesome, fearless person on earth, I look out and realizing that this giant tube is totally clear - and realize that tourists are taking pictures of me and I probably look kind of ridiculous in my one piece nylon jumping suit and gigantic grin.

But I don't care!

It was just that spectacular and not very expensive and something I think everyone should do! It even made me feel bold enough to add REAL sky diving to the Adventure Bowl to be picked out somewhere in the future.

Except that time, I'll be holding my sister's hands and not a strangers.


This blog is dedicated to little sisters.

Adventure Bowl
Let's Go Flying!

Don't Let a BIG Butt Get In The Way Of A BIG Life

A lot of people put off living until they are in their perfect size six jeans. You know, "I'll travel when I'm thinner, I'll be more active when I'm thinner, I'll start dating when I'm thinner."

For me, I'm shaking an extra healthy butt right now and there's nothing I'd like to do more than crawl under the covers until it's gone. But actually, crawling under the covers and doing nothing is how I got this body that most now resembles the shape of an old time refrigerator.

I always said this wouldn't be a diet blog but it is about starting over and new beginnings. And I am determined to prove my theorem (Hello SAT word, it's been awhile) that I can go from being in a down in the dumps rut-tacular to a happier, new and improved me - by taking action.

I wish ACTION could have been following the "Eat, Pray, Love" guideline of chucking my life for a year and traveling the world. Italian food sounds so good right now. Pass the cheese! But... have you seen the economy lately? And even if it was great, can people really quit their jobs, throw their dogs in a suit case and drop out of life for a year? I know I can't.

That's why I started the Adventure Bowl - to live in the now and to really reboot a life that feels like it's gotten a little stale, old and rut-a-licious. And Adventures don't have to cost anything - they're just something that surprises you! Something that takes you out of your comfort zone and gives you that tingly, "I'm alive" feeling.

So part of me doing my Adventure Bowl has not only led, in this past year, to more work than I can handle - and the super fun, creative kind, but finally - a dent in my weight. Like six pounds, people!

I think in order to really commit to something, it always takes a "click" in your mindset and I'm a little afraid to claim the "click" but I think the "click" has finally clicked. You know the click, "I'm so sick of this giant butt not fitting in my jeans!" That click. "I'm so tired of having cute clothes and nothing fits right." Click!

"I'm tired of doing these super fun Adventures and feeling like my chunky butt/arms/thighs/jiggle in the middle is making me slower/tired/unable to enjoy what I'm really doing."

So about two weeks ago, I started keeping a food journal, then I added taking my dog for a bi-nightly walk and finally...

THE GYM.

Let's face it ladies, the gym can be your own best friend. You just have to treat her right. My mistake is I have treated her like that friend that you hang out with five times a week for hours at a time and all they do is talk about themselves and their stupid boyfriends and then YOU NEVER WANT TO SEE THEM AGAIN.

Yeah, I did that. Being too much a perfectionist at the gym, I overdid it and made myself sick of it. Hence, the bread dough butt. So now, new rules - three times a week forty five minutes in and out. This is hard for me, I want to dive back into old habits but I keep telling myself not to because I never want to NOT see the gym again and be back where I was.

For me, it's still a loooooooooong road. I, like, have only reached .00000000000001% of my goal. But I won't hide under the covers until I do and I won't stop living a big life until I do. Because what I learned is all this having fun and doing these adventures is why the weight is coming off...

Well, that, the gym and ungodly amounts of broccoli. But mostly "the happy."


This blog is dedicated to the female torture that is - the Ab Crunch.

Don't Let a BIG Butt Get In The Way Of A BIG Life

Adventure Bowl Face Your Damn Fears!

When we are kids we have no fears. I can still remember ripping down my hill in a Hulk Big Wheel going what seemed 55mph without a care in the world.

Now, I have the weirdest fears, like Halloween and the ocean. Halloween because it makes no sense to, in the dark, tempt perfect strangers wearing masks with chocolate covered candy so they can come into your house to bound, gag and rob you. (Yes, I have a very active imagination!)

And imagine all the energy they'll have after they've eaten the Almond Joy you gave them.

My fear of the ocean is completely unclear as I was once a lifeguard and ya know, was charged with rescuing drowning beach people.

But the whole idea of this Adventure Bowl is to overcome fears and reignite things on the "to-do" of life. Knowing that by doing so will lead to a happier me.

So when I picked "Today you will paddle board," I secretly cringed because I'd have to do it in the ocean. Where sharks live. Where your legs sometimes dangle into the ocean where sharks live while you're getting the board out there. (There, the ocean... where sharks live.)

I hear they like to snack on your legs. That's what I learned during "Shark Week" on the Discovery Channel.

But fear has really gotten the best of me. And this time, I was determined to overcome it...

So I went down to the ocean and rented all my gear. I'm slightly embarrassed to admit the whole idea of paddle boarding came to me while I was watching an episode of "Iconoclasts" with Eddie Vedder and Laird Hamilton. As I watched Eddie Vedder (who's music I love, but he is a known pouter) paddle board in Hawaii and smile a smile where you can almost measure JOY, I thought, "That's for me, I gotta do that."

The gear is awkward because you want a really long board, then you want some paddles and then in front of TOTALLY HOT SURFERS you have to get all this gear out, far in the ocean and past the breaks.

You kind of have to think that no one is looking at you. Like dancing in public. If I think that it looks all spastic and someone is likely to just call 911 as a precaution, then I don't dance.

And here, I didn't think about how, I could NOT look less like I knew what I was doing. But I did it anyway.

You would be AMAZED how much stamina it takes to drag yourself around on a board. It looks so easy but it's hard! You're supposed to have something called "abs" that I do not seem to possess. But there was this infinite quietness and sense of how small I seemed to be in the world.

And that's something I needed.

That and to just laugh at how NOT strong I am. Or coordinated. Do you know what it's like to just stand up, on a board, paddle really hard and then not get anywhere? I just felt ridiculous. And it felt like life, how I am often trying to push through something when I should just... I don't know, sit there and wait for it to blow over.

So I did a lot of sitting. And I'll admit, not a lot of leg dangling was going on. I did not "dangle the leg snacks." That's what's great about a 6ft board... you can sit and lay down.

Mostly, I thought, "I did it" when I could have stayed home, could have just been watching TV or hanging out and instead I got in a hideous bathing suit, carried a huge cumbersome board out to the ocean of death (yeah, I can be waaaay dramatic) and tried something new.

And faced a fear. Will I do it again? Absolutely. As soon as I have abs. Then definitely, again.


This blog is dedicated to land sharks.

Adventure Bowl
Face Your Damn Fears!

Adventure Bowl Will My Catholic Guilt Make Me Crack?

Sometimes in the life of the Adventure Bowl, it's not so much the adventure that's the story, but what happens after the adventure that's the story.

Yes, I may have test drove that Porsche as a way to put some sparkle and spontaneity into a life that was feeling a little routine and stale. But I was never planning on buying it. Come on! I was carrying an Old Navy bag as a purse for god's sake!

But apparently Scott from Porsche World is not taking "No" for an answer - repeatedly calling me and wanting to talk about my options about "little or no money down."

Which has my interest peeked because I totally have "little or no money down" to spend. And the streamlined body of that Boxster seemed to make my upper arms so much less jiggly...

And I wonder, say if a bought said Porsche and it was all a way to avoid the Catholic guilt of lying during the test drive, if there might be some tax write-off involved. Especially if I could find a bumper sticker that said, "Driving in Luxury for Jesus." That's charitable, right?

Scott keeps calling. Home, cell, email. I can't help thinking, I've certainly been pressured into more things only to come out with less (and yes, I mean exactly what you're thinking... unless your thinking something gross, then no, not what you're thinking. Wait, what are you thinking?)

I was going to post this tonight with more detail but my adventure for this evening involves scrubbing off my weekend spray tan and having my Catholic guilt assuaged by drinking imported beer. I'm determined to figure out how many Happy Hour beers can be drunk in a lady like way in under two hours.

I'm thinking three.


This blog is dedicated to the beauty that is, the Black and Tan.

Adventure Bowl
Will My Catholic Guilt Make Me Crack?

Facebook Makes Me Feel Weird

Two things I never thought I'd do: Blog or be on Facebook. Or have a threesome. So three things. All three make me feel weird.

Two I've done (Blog and be on Facebook) and the other that I haven't, that just makes me feel creepy and want to go to confession for even thinking about.

So the thing about Facebook - I always thought it was lame and when people would ask me, "Why aren't you on Facebook?" I'd say, "Because I'm not thirteen."

And I would say it like a bitch!

But then, my friend had her Facebook up on her computer and all of a sudden it was three hours later and I had peered into the lives of every person I ever loved, hated, worked with, wished was my boyfriend, had an unfortunate sexual experience with, dreamed about, lost my virginity to, drank under the table or threw up on.

It's crazy!

And it's all out there. Where they live, who they're living with, what they're doing, who they're doing it with and the photos - OH, THE PHOTOS!

Look who lost his hair, look who gained weight, look who should rethink culottes. Look who got a guy way hotter than she is and look who has an ugly kid.

The total lack of privacy is totally "nut-so" but kind of fantastic.

So I dipped my toe in, I threw up a page. The weird thing is, I'm at a cross roads. There seems to be this huge competition, like, who can have the most friends. I have friends that have 150 friends and friends that have 300 friends. I have friends that add all their work friends, bosses and company management too.

But that seems INSANE. Do I really want my boss, my boss' boss and their boss to know "I'm not eating a Lean Cuisine and watching 'Gossip Girl' no matter what anyone told you." (Go ahead, you can take that one). Or "I'm trying to put lipstick on a Chihuahua and it's more difficult than you think." (Not really funny but says I'm up on politics).

Or "That Ambien sure goes down nicely with two Cadaliac Margaritas!"

I MEAN, COME ON!

So I've held myself back, just adding the people I talk to all the time to which means... I probably don't need a Facebook page.

But hey, that's what works for me. And in the end, if I just have my profile up to check in on friends from high school and college, that's cool with me. It's so nostalgic and beautiful to see the people I care about with BFs, GFs, houses and great jobs, beaming back from a little JPEG. To see my relatives and cousins, all the way across the country, so far away but I can feel a little closer because I can see their circle of friends...

And for the spying, you totally have to have an account for the spying.

So what do you think about Facebook? Are you into putting it all out there or holding something back? Oh, and if you have a good Facebook story - stalking or embarrassing, I DEFINITELY want to know it.


This post is dedicated to being incognito.

Facebook Makes Me Feel Weird

It's Very Important to Me That The Cashier At 7-11 Thinks I'm Going Out Dancing Tonight

This week has been a whirlwind. I had two big projects due on Friday, one at 3:00pm and one at 4:30pm and once they were done all I could think was, "I'm gonna get crazy tonight!"

Only, I didn't get crazy because on my way to get crazy, I locked my steering wheel and my car wouldn't work and all I could think of was, "Now you can't go anywhere and you're really going to regret not going grocery shopping this week and at least picking up toilet paper!"

I came back in the house and I was sure that there had to be some kind of celebratory liquid (i.e. alcohol) that I could get my mitts on. I found a bottle of organic wine that literally, literally could have filled... I don't know, something frickin' small... so small, I didn't even bother wasting a glass on it.

I just uncorked the bottle and took the smallest, saddest chug out of it that I could.

I probably could have gotten a bigger buzz off gargling with some Listerine.

I'm classy.

So then, I'm all about, "Saturday night! Saturday night will be awesome! I'll dress up, I'll wear mascara. I'll drink a fifteen dollar glass of wine before switching to domestic beer to save money for cab fare! I'm gonna get ripped!"

So classy.

But then all last night I'm all super amped and can't sleep and it might have something to do with having, like, a sextriplet espresso at Starbucks so I could power through the day and make all my deadlines and I actually barely drift off at 3:00am but my dog needs to go out at 5:00am (and I think after my last post you know I'm not taking any chances with him...)

So my super deep REM doesn't even come until after 5:30am but I wanna get back on schedule so I get up at a decent hour this morning only to be in a semi-conscious state all day.

And that's when, tonight, after treating myself to four "30 Rocks" back to back on my computer, I see that it's 6pm and I start thinking, "Can I just please go to bed now? Please."

Who would know?

I WOULD KNOW! I need to go out, I need to socialize, celebrate, wear something with non-elastic pants! I need my hair to be down, my eyes to be swathed in sparkle, I need to hear good music and laugh 'til I semi-snort.

Oh, but I'm so tired. So you know what I do?

I'm wicked hungry and I'm madly craving going to McDonalds and getting a kid's meal. That's what I do. Four chicken McNuggets, small fry and a lemonade. That's my Saturday night.

I'm kidding. That would be pathetic if that were my Saturday night.

Okay, that was totally my Saturday night.

And as I'm digging into my meal and I realize that they forgot to put bar-b-que sauce in with my meal (which let's face it - it's all about the bar-b-que sauce. The nuggets are just a mechanism to get the bar-b-que sauce into my mouth.)

So then I'm like, "I'm totally writing a letter to McDonald's about how completely incompetent they are." But then it occurs to me that the only thing sadder than eating a Happy Meal on a Saturday night, is admitting that you ate a Happy Meal on a Saturday night.

"Let it go," I told myself. "You have so many YouTube videos to watch tonight."

Then THAT thought made me even sadder so I stopped at my 7-11 to pick up a bottle of wine and all of a sudden it became very important to me that the cashier think that this bottle of wine was a HUGE precursor to my night of dancing and debauchery.

"I'm just gonna have a few friends over tonight to have a little of this Shiraz and then we're gonna get CW-AZY!"

I didn't say that. Saying that is like admitting: "I'm really going home to drink this wine alone out of a coffee cup while I watch videos of cats play with rolls of toilet paper."

So instead, I did the thing where, as he's ringing up my wine, I'm scraping the price tag off the bottle, which we all know is code for: "I'm on my way to a party."

Do you think he bought it? I think he totally bought it.


This blog is dedicated to hamsters.

It's Very Important to Me That The Cashier At 7-11 Thinks I'm Going Out Dancing Tonight

The Super Disgusting Post That Will Come Down in 24 Hours

This post is for the ladies.

I'm doing my taxes.

If you’re like most people, you did your taxes in April. No, not me, not when you can get an extension 'til September.

So I got all the "tax stuff" spread across my bed. The receipts, the calculator, the Mary Kate & Ashley Olsen folders (one for personal and one for business... I think you can guess which sister goes with which.)

Got my ice coffee in a Big Gulp cup which got me chased out of my 7-11 this morning because apparently, you aren't supposed to put a hot beverage in a cold cup even if it is 90 million degrees out. There was no reasoning with Bhadraa, the cashier behind the counter, she just told me not to come back if I could not act right.

Anywhoo...

My dog is pawing at me in a way I think, annoyingly means, "Let's go to the dog park" but I now know means, "Lady, dial 9-1-1."

He starts to gag. But it's not bad gagging. He's bad gagged before like when I impulsively adopted him a BFF in a the form of a 8 pound devil dog who's favorite past times were taking a crap in my bed and never letting me sleep.

Devil dog gave my dog, Cooper, the "bad gagging" or as I found out, it's proper name from the vet after a $75 visit, "kennel cough."

Kennel cough was bad gagging. This, today, was not bad gagging.

Still, he seemed uncomfortable and before I could decide if I should scoop him up, hang him upside down and give him a wack on the back to get his air way clear....

He....

He...

He... threw up a tampon in my bed.

On my taxes! A tampon. One that had been... (I am so mortified) gently used.

He is a ten pound chihuahua mix with a throat that CANNOT be bigger than my Big Gulp straw. How did that go down there? And HELLO, how did that, get back up????

Luckily, the Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen folders were plastic, so whew, those were saved. I'm not even going to talk about the clean-up process because that would be too disgusting, though I will say that I have since looked up prices on Haz-mat suits for the home.

Because dogs can be gross.

And then...

And I am not kidding...

Though I wish I was...

But I swear on my family's life... that I'm not...

HE DID IT AGAIN. He gagged up, right there, on Ashley Olsen's 2007 Personal Tax Folder... a second tampon.

And now I have to burn my whole apartment down.


This blog is dedicated to fur kids.

Why keep all this glorious grossness to yourself?! If you have pet-lovin' friends who might enjoy this story, just use the little envelope icon below to email it to them. Of course, they'll thank you for it!

The Super Disgusting Post That Will Come Down in 24 Hours

Adventure Bowl We Want To Be Rock Stars!

Okay, this might not go down as one of the most hilarious posts ever. Why? I got a little tipsy at our weekly "Project Runway" party last night. How do you know when you've had too much wine? When you wake up the next morning and you want macaroni and cheese for breakfast. Here goes!

Most of the adventures I've done have required little to no money but all have had the same goal... to be spontaneous, to have fun and to shake up life a little bit.

The Adventure to spend an obscene amount on concert tickets was one I was psyched I picked because music is a huge part of my life and I love going to live shows. But it was one of the first things to go out the window when life started coming down all around me.

But to spend an obscene amount? That's just not me. I'm really conservative about money, a safe spender. What is obscene, anyway? I've trolled eBay and craigslist and have seen great seats at concerts go for $500, $800, $1,000 dollars. A month's rent for one night? I don't know if it's in my genetic make-up.

Then I wondered, if it was all over tomorrow - wouldn't I have wished I had the night of my life?

In a story that's fantastic in the way it turned out but would be boring in the telling - I won tickets to see Dave Matthews at the Staples Center, floor seats, VIP passes and meet and greet for $300 bucks.

It goes something like this: At a charity auction, plied with free wine, want to bid on tickets, hear they went for $1200 last year, drink more free wine to console myself that I will never ever bid that much so therefore, I will not win, woman in charge doesn't put the tickets up at the live auction (apparently she drank more free wine than me and forgot), I ran into the back room and begged to have the tickets at their base price and I was the winner.

Yay!

Then I sobered up the next day and pondered putting them on eBay. I spent $300?! On concert tickets?! That's 1/2 a computer. It's gas money for 2 months. It's a plane ticket home. It's groceries for the month... if I buy steak! (I really should start eating more steak.)

Then I gave myself this pep talk: "Stop being so practical. You're always so practical. Do you want your obituary to read, "She was always so practical." NO!

So I went. And I took my one of my closet friends and completely obsessed DMB fan, with me. How obsessed? She lamented not being professionally fitted for a bra on the way to the meet and greet.

She loves their music and wanted to make a very boob-a-licious impression.

When we got to the concert, we felt such an amazing rush just being outside, never mind when we got our laminated VIP passes. First stop, VIP bar where we took part in many free beverages. Then we found out there may be a VIP VIP bar with dinner service and we wanted in on that action.

My friend M, grabbed my arm and followed this woman who looked very VIP VIP. She traveled through some secret passageway from the first VIP area into the next. That's when we found ourselves smack in the middle of this huge buffet area.

Pork loin, anyone?

M went for desserts and I loaded up with shrimp alfredo. (Hey, after four (five) VIP beers, this seemed like a good idea). That's when a woman said to me, "You don't get much for what you pay for."

Pay for? You have to pay for this?

Seems we were only in a VIP VIP area in our dreams. We had entered a service entrance to the buffet, bypassing the hostess stand where people were lining up to get to the buffet and then sit down to eat. So here we were glad-handling what we thought was free food.

And it was not. Which, once we had confiscated my stolen goods onto an adjoining patio, just made it all the more enjoyable. Had I paid $50 for shrimp alfredo I would have been so mad!

The concert was amazing. We were in the 22nd Row and for the encore, I snuck up to the 5th Row. It was mesmerizing to be up that close. The concert had a deeper meaning because the band had found out just hours before that a founding member, their sax player, had died that day.

Maybe it was all the VIP beers, or maybe it was Dave dedicating songs to their band mate who has passed away but it was really emotional. It all seemed to come to a head when he sang "Sister" which has been sometimes theorized to be about his murdered sister and other times about his surviving sister who helped him through it...

"Think about another day
Wishing I was far away
Wherever I dreamed I was
You were there with me"

That's it. That's when the tears came. Because, I couldn't believe after such a tragedy, that they could play that night. And bigger than that, that the lead singer could have ever gone on, after the death of his sister.

It made me think so much of my cousin and how much I felt and wondered if I could ever do the same after we lost him. But seeing the band, I don't know, it just made me think, that's what you do... you just do it.

You go on.

And you do it for them.

Because they would want you to. Because it's more of a way of honoring them then getting under the covers and hiding ever would be. Because a life lived any other way, than the best way it could, would be such a waste.

And as I got more teary at "Bartender" and as I danced crazily to "Everyday," I thought, that's a lesson that's worth way more than $300 dollars.



This blog is dedicated to someone special.

Adventure Bowl
We Want To Be Rock Stars!

Life is Cw-azy!

Hey Rock Stars,

Thanks for all the great comments! Every time you leave one, the self-esteem that my parents have systematically tried to dismantle my whole life, grows back, just a little.

Things are a little crazy today, tomorrow and into next week so I wanted to let you know I'll resume posting on Thursday, August 28. I have a great story for you about fulfilling a huge dream and an Adventure of getting VIP TICKETS and passes to a see my favorite band at the Staples Center.

We'll also talk about proper VIP etiquette. Because, as I learned, just because they're serving free shrimp alfredo in the VIP section, doesn't mean you should eat it. Especially, if your going to be dancing after five free VIP beers. (Though some would beg to differ if this was really dancing on my part, as it most resembled epileptic seizures).

So yeah! We'll cover all that and more.


This blog is dedicated to sweet comments that are the wind beneath my wings.

Life is Cw-azy!

Adventure Bowl Let's Pretend We're Brides!

Is your life stale? Boring? Are you stressed? Job, boyfriend, back fat got you down?

Then you need to pose as a bride because everyday in a bride's life is filled with sunshine, light and people falling all over you because you're special!

Let me back up... about a year ago, I went out for a girls night in which I thought we'd laugh, cocktail and flirt with boys.

But it only ever takes one girlfriend to ruin everything.

This girl wanted to talk about her wedding. (Eye roll) She swore she was "never one of those girls who really cared what kind of wedding she was going to have," yet the gigantic white binder that she lugged to the bar that contained all things wedding, begged to differ.

I waffled between faking an illness or drowning my boredom in another overpriced cocktail but I quickly perked up when I discovered this little fun fact:

Cake shops give wedding cake samples for FREE out to future brides.

Are you kidding? Not only do these women get toasters and salad bowls, regular married sex but they also get free cake? No way. I mean, what do these marrieds give back to society that I don't?

I WANT FREE CAKE SAMPLES!

So I was totally psyched when I pulled the Adventure of posing as a bride for a day out of the Bowl. First, I whipped out my phone and my list of cake shop numbers and I worked the lines like I was trying to resolve a hostage crisis. This, after all, was very important work.

I had my whole cover story down. When was I getting married? October 25. Where would the happy event take place? Saddle Rock Ranch in Malibu. (They have horses there!) Who was the lucky man? George Kennedy. Not sure who that is, but I always wanted to marry a Kennedy.

And now I was.

Now here's the shocking revelation. No one cared. No one questioned. I was allowed, even encouraged, to just, "Swing by and pick up your complimentary box."

The added, "No appointment necessary," was like a lemon cake with raspberry filing practically begging me to, "Leave the car running and come and get me."

So I did. To one place and then two. I didn't even have to dress up. My cute matching track suit, wrap around sunglasses and knock-off designer bag gave me the quintessential, "Overwhelmed Bride On The Run" look I was going for.

I met up with my good friend and partner in crime so we could plot our next move. She asked that I please stop calling her my Maid of Honor. I told her if she wanted free cake, she would do as she was told.

Cake has a very powerful hold on people.

The next natural move, seemed to be to go to Beverly Hills and try on wedding dresses. But unless they're tea length, hot pink and bedazzled, bridal gowns aren't really for me. I'm more of a non-traditional girl. So instead, we decided to get our nails done "bridal style."

Not sure what that means, but I expect it to be free.

Then we would like to partake in some hors d'over-ing and complimentary champagne from hotels we were considering for catering. No wonder some people get married like five times!

We cruised over to a very chi-chi nail salon and let them know, I was getting married and would like a "complimentary" manicure pedicure. And I would like it away from the "common" people. Perhaps they have a VIP area?

NAIL SALON LADY: "That will be fifty five dollars."

"There must be a language barrier," I assured my Maid of Honor who wanted to get the hell out of there, fast. I turned to the Nail Salon lady and mustered all the courage I could.

ME: "I'm the bride, so... I get things for free... and on the wedding day, if I like the way you've done my nails, I'll bring you a lot of business."

NAIL SALON LADY: (EYE ROLL) "Fifty five dollars."

Seems my plan was foiled by a lady in floral polyester. Whatever. Time for free champagne and appetizers. But mostly, champagne! We had it narrowed down potential caterers to the Beverly Hills Hotel and the Bel Air Hotel. I called both first.

Apparently, they were in cahoots with the Nail Salon lady because they wanted a DEPOSIT before they do a tasting. "No, thank you. I'd just like to pick up my appetizers. Nothing with duck, please." I was politely declined.

I hasten to say... our bridal luck had run out. BUT WE STILL HAD FREE CAKE! Nothing wrong with that. So we headed over to Starbucks to partake in all our yummy samples, have a laugh and talk about the future.

That's when HE walked in.

HE of many, many years ago. The kind of guy that I had loved but if you asked him would say we were just "hanging out." And when I said, "I heard you moved to New York" he disdainfully said, "Yeah, I can't stand L.A." And when he said, "What are you up, too?" and I said, "Just trying out some wedding cake," and he wrinkled his nose is disbelief replied, "You're getting married?" like it was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard.

And rather than shove cream cheese frosting in his face, I said:

"Yes, I am. That's my Maid of Honor."

And thank God, my friend didn't say anything, her mouth either glued shut by loyalty or chocolate ganache frosting.

When he left, my Maid of Honor questioned what I would do if I ever saw him again, I thought about what my best friend since I was 14 told my arch high school enemy when she bumped into her a few years ago.

ARCH ENEMY: "How's AG doing?"
BEST FRIEND: "Great. She's a model now."

Even though I gagged on my Cosmo when my BFF told me that, I was secretly elated. But what would I do if I ever ran into arch enemy?

BEST FRIEND: "You hold your head high and tell her how fabulous Milan is this time of year."

That's what good friends are for. Not just to eat stolen wedding cake with. But to support you when you need to get back at someone that hurt you in a way only telling a little (big) white lie will.

This blog is dedicated to being silly.

If you like this entry, please send it around to some friends by using the little envelope icon below. If you do, men will fall at your feet and buy you steak dinners.

Adventure Bowl
Let's Pretend We're Brides!