Saturday, December 20, 2008

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.


Tuesday, December 16, 2008

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!

Sunday, December 14, 2008

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.


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!

Tuesday, December 9, 2008

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:


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.

Tuesday, December 2, 2008

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.

Monday, December 1, 2008

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.