Thursday, July 29, 2010

Adventure Bowl
Holy Shit! Jet Skiing!

Can doing an adventure a week make you a happier, stronger, spontaneous, more decisive version of yourself?

The answer, for me, is yes. It's not even 24 hours after this adventure and feeling like the most powerful, kick-ass, optimistic version of myself, I emailed my ex and told him to stop calling me. It's something I have been meaning to do but I have been enjoying the "crutch-y-ness" of it. He's reassuring, he makes me feel good, he tells me it's going to be okay. He keeps me stuck in this place where I don't have to move forward.

But I want to move forward. I have to.

The idea of the Adventure Bowl is just for things like this - it's not just the activity but hopefully it's going to make you feel SOME WAY - usually a way that's lying dormant in you. "I've been meaning to stand up to my boss/boyfriend/co-worker/mother-in-law." Or you have a fear... Or you think you can't POSSIBLY do something.

Then the Adventure makes you feel like the strongest most awesome version of yourself and you know you can. In my case, it was get rid of a piece of baggage. Really hot baggage. But nonetheless.

Okay! Jet Skiing!

So I pulled this out of the bowl and I was so psyched. I put in there purposefully because every time I see someone doing it, I wish I was that someone. That's how you know something belongs in the Bowl - if you have a desire to do or try something, if you have an EXCITING feeling about it, that you squash because of fear or I don't have the money or "it's not really for me," or whatever "Button" you're pushing in yourself that makes the desire for "fun-ness" go away - THAT'S the thing you should be doing.

For me... there were some things to confront. I was raised by the ocean. I was a fish, in the ocean constantly, fearlessly, like all kids should be. That's the time you don't have a button, you don't push things away or if you do, the sweet reassurances of a parent or loved one can help you overcome everything.

When I was 14, my cousin M, who was like a brother to me, died in a skiing accident. I found myself literally becoming this eccentric character you might see in a movie. Everything scared me Now, let's remember, he died just months after my Dad has a series of heart surgeries and right after his heart transplant and my parents were living 3,000 miles away at the time - so there were no reassurances that everything would be okay.

I didn't want to ski. Or skate board. Or ride a bike. Everything felt unsafe. Too out of control. A year later, my five year old cousin had cancer. A year after that I was a sixteen or seventeen year old going to the funeral of a little kid I used to babysit every week. He had died in a skiing accident.

The world is unsafe. The world will swallow you up like a monster and take you down whole. I'm sure all this fear was playing out in a million different ways in relationships and bad behavior - an when they are little ways, you can ignore how you've changed... you can ignore the things that you have given up for fear.

Then I was in Greece. I was 19. My best friend was living in Paris. This sounds all very glamourous, but let me tell you, it was one of those quintessential poor college kids with backpacks and a map and with my BFFs rough knowledge of French that got us through France, Italy and then Greece.

In Greece, where literally, everything was $3 - a hotel room, a meal for 6, buying drinks for the whole god damn bar - we decided to go out on this boat trip and swim the Mediterranean. I jumped in and it wasn't long before I had my first panic attack. Something came over me. (I am a trained beach life guard at this point). Maybe it was that no land was in sight. Maybe it was the first time that the "bigness" of the ocean dawned on me. But I was immobile and I was panicking and I was going to drown.

And if I ever doubted how much my best friend loved me, it was never in that moment, even as 19 year old idiots jumping off boats in mismatched bathing suits off the coast of Greece. She saw sheer panic in my eyes - swam over to be, got behind me in a life guard stance (she was one too) and towed me in.

But that was it for me and the ocean. Until spring break, me and seven of my guy friends. I had a lot of Coors Light in the sun as you should do when you are in Daytona Beach and jumped in the ocean only to have to be horribly and embarrassingly rescued again.

So here I am in present day, just looking at this Jet Ski adventure. Fingering it on it's little piece of paper. Knowing it means so much more than... just the fun that it should be.

It's confronting a huge fear. (Yes, a normal person might just see how they can stay ON TOP of the Jet Ski and possibly not ever even have to touch water - this is not the person I am - get to know me!)

The adventure got put off when a friend could only join on a certain day. Then yesterday came. In my mind the scenarios of possible escape tactics are organizing themselves in my mind. "Maybe, they'll be out of jet skis, maybe the ocean will be too rough, maybe we won't pass the written exam, maybe they're not open on Wednesdays. Maybe a couple died yesterday on their Jet Skis and this will be a day of mourning for the couple... just out of respect, they won't be renting jet skis today."

As we got to the rental place and the door was closed and locked and I could feel the part of me - the part of my person is that is SO FUCKING AFRIAD OF EVERY THING, breathe a sigh of relief, I hated myself.

But then there was Charlie. The owner. And before I knew it, we had jet skis, and have passed the exam and were donning life jackets and being lowered into the holy shit ocean.

I got on the back of 2nd best friend's and my sister rode her own. 2nd best friend could give two shits about my fears - she's known me since I was 15 and her own words she's watched me collapse like some kind of flower that hasn't been watered over the past four years.

And she's no having it.

So she ramped that jet ski to as fast as it could go and I started howling and laughing and screaming but not in fear but pure joy! Thinking, "This, this, this, is what I want my life to be!"

Have you ridden a jet ski? It's like riding a motorcycle across the ocean. Really, really fast. You take a wave and you are airborne - not just the ski - but you, holding on your friend's back for dear life.

And it is AWESOME!

2nd Best Friend then gets me to drive. You would think I would be all tentative, afraid to do anything too extreme in case we tipped and ended up in the ocean. But no, I did not care. I revved that baby as hard as I could. Soon we were flying across the ocean - sea spray smashing us in the face because I was determined to take every wave. I put danger ABSOLUTELY out of my head.

I've never, never had that much fun. If I have, then the sad part is, it's been so frickin' long I don't remember.

My sister switched up with 2nd Best Friend. I wanted my sister who is a rebel rouser - unafraid of anything to be on the back of my ski and FEEL MY WRATH. She had been taunting me about how I would probably cry or freak out or come up with some excuse not to go. And you know, what, I don't blame her.

But once she was on the back, I hit that gas so hard that she lost her mind. "YouaregoingtofastYouaregoingtohaveuskilledNotthatfastOhmygodyouarenotjumpingthatwavvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvve!"

What a baby!

I jumped that wave - we got smashed in the face with ocean and we laughed our asses off. And mostly, I felt like a bad ass. For me, for her. But mostly for me.

As much as we were donuting around the ocean in our final moments before Charlie was going to take the jet skis back, I took the time to just think... you don't have to be afraid so more. You just fell down a hill and a year and a half of physical therapy and a traumatic brain injury and breaking your shoulder and surgery - you're here. If anything happened to you... wouldn't you rather die happy?

Happy seems better than afraid. Yesterday, it felt so fucking good. So fucking good, it's how I feel today. The best part, it reminded me of who I was. Being with someone who knew you when you were sixteen will do that. Because when you look at them, all you see is everything you were: sneaking into the rich boys school and stealing there stuff, egging cars down by "Makeout Lake," having roof top parties - literally... parties that were on roofs, swimming out to boats with a six pack of beer and staying up all night talking about our dreams, being bad girls and doing donuts on people's lawns in the rich people neighborhoods.

Yesterday, I heard from my sister and 2nd best friend and even from myself, a version of our laughs I hadn't heard in years - it's young and silly and unselfconscious and joyful and AWESOME. And I know for each one of us, we needed that Jet Ski outing for different reasons.

So... what is the adventure you want to do? What do you fear? What could you do that would make you feel awesomely stronger? For me it was Jet Skiing. I guess that's what I needed to cut the cord with an old boyfriend. And you know... pushing someone out of your life that doesn't belong there, that doesn't serve anything, just makes room for someone better, more loving, nurturing, fun.

Someone to Jet Ski with.

If you love this post, I would love for you to post it on your Facebook or Twitter. Someone, who's felt like me, might just need to hear it.


Monday, July 26, 2010

Let's Talk About Sex!

Okay, we're not talking about sex, I just thought that would be an awesome title. I'm also feeling an incredible amount of horniness staying at my parents where there is no prospects of making out with anyone.

But don't run away just yet. I NEEEEEEEED YOU. I have some things to fill you in on and a few important questions for you.

So you're wondering why the Adventure Bowl "Let's Go Jet Skiing" post is down from this morning. And you're wondering, what happened with the nose ring I was debating getting before this trip and also, what the hell happened with my cousin's boyfriend after I so drunkenly tried to put the kabosh on their relationship two months ago, only to guiltily find out he broke up with her two weeks later because of what I said, BUT then was reuniting with her at my Aunt & Uncle's house for the weekend. This weekend.

The same weekend I was staying at their house. With my cousin who's only wish in life is to get married before 30 to someone who "looks good on paper." And she had no idea what I had (drunkenly) done. What would he do when he saw me? Would he tell her? Would her parents, WAY TOO invested in this relationship, kill me in my sleep?

First up, nose ring. The nose ring is something that on the right girl and done in a teeny tiny way, I think is sexy. It's something that's also kind of rebellious and I like rebellion. Mostly because I am so freakin' good. I mean, I used to be bad. I was bad until I was 17, then I turned good. Good can be boring. I'm bored of being boring.

But when I picked "Get a Nose Ring" from the Adventure Bowl, I was leery because I was on my way home to where my parents live and I knew they would stroke out if they saw me with a hole in my face. But on the other hand, it would be a symbolic gesture of... this is my life. They seem to be having some trouble grasping that. And that I want other things than them/dreams than them/life goals than them. And that my ideas of success are so separate from theirs.

So, the nose ring, was a go. I had to do it. I will say, reading your comments, I was blown away because you were all so compassionate in your answers to the question: "Should I or shouldn't I?" I thought it would be 100% "DO IT!" But it was really more like, and I am paraphrasing here: "The spirit of the adventure bowl is to make your life better, it's too move your forward and open you up. If getting the nose ring is going to be a big negative in your life because you are fighting with your Mom or so nervous about her reaction - what's the point?"



I still felt the need, like, to hold up the adventure bowl as I set it up - no excuses, no backing out. But then I got the call,, "Bring home your funeral pants." My great uncle is very, very sick. One of my best friends is his hospice worker, so I knew from her, it was pretty bad. He's 84 and has lived an incredible, amazing, good person life.

But I will not and would not go to his funeral with a nose ring. No discussion. So that adventure went back in the bowl.

Now, as for the whole outcome of my cousin's boyfriend's visit, here is the comment I left in the "I'm Predicting One of The Most Uncomfortable Nights of My Life Will Be Happening Tonight," along with some added flair:

"I was able to avoid my cousin's boyfriend for 36 hours - like a stealth ninja. But I did run into him this morning.

I was coming up the stairs and there he is with my cousin, looking at him all adoring, with my aunt and uncle, also looking at him adoringly, like the son-in-law they soon hope he'll be. My stomach was spazming, our eyes locked. "Get it together," I thought just as my aunt said, "K, you remember J?"

Oh, I remember him. I remember telling him if he had no intention of getting serious with my cousin to get the hell away from her. (5 Martinis) I pulled my shit together, slapped on an innocent smile and said... "Well, hardly... I was SO DRUNK THAT NIGHT I BARELY REMEMBER A THING. So... so drunk... almost needed to be hospitalized. Like ten martinis and someone might have slipped me a roofie. Yes, the date rape drug. I think I ingested the date rape drug. So, no, don't remember you, this is, like, the first time we met. What was your name again?"

Annnnnnnnnnnnnd, then we shook hands like we never met.

I know, I'm patting myself on the back right now.

Third piece of business: Why am I not going Jet Skiing today? It was picked from the Adventure Bowl this morning, bathing suits were donned and sun screen was slathered on. So what the hell?

Because I realized the only thing better than doing an adventure to shake up your life, get you out of a rut, the damn monotiny of every day - IS TO TAKE SOME ONE WHO IS ALSO FEELING THAT WAY - WITH YOU.

Yes, that's right, I'm dragging "2nd best friend" with me. (I call her that to make her work harder to win the "first best friend" title). Life has been cruel to her of late. Let me run down the roster of the shit storm that has been her life -- wait, technically it's only one thing - lack of money. But you know how that branches off? She and her hot man were sure they would lose their house. They missed 2 mortgage payments after their ARM bank loan readjusted. Her work hours were cut back. The stress made her so sick she had to go to the hospital (she was fainting & feeling nauseous) AND to make things worse, since she has a $3,000 deductible, she had to pay for the whole visit out of pocket.

Just adding more stress sauce into the stress pot that was her life.

So I invited her. But she works CONSTANTLY. But she's getting Wednesday morning off to go Jet Skiing. And when I told her, her voice sounded so excited, I pictured her as the sixteen year old, when I first met her and we did very bad, mischeivious, spontaneous things together. We once laughed so hard after being particularly bad girls that B laughed so hard, she collapsed on the kitchen floor...

And then she peed on it. Peed from laughter! When is the last time you peed from laughter? Right? Life needs to be that fun again. I need it and she needs it and that's why we are waiting until Wednesday to Jet Ski.

So I will post all fun that will be had on Wednesday. But I'm curious... What adventure do you want to do? What adventure would be symbolic of getting back to that fun, carefree sixteen year old? But more importantly, what I am really curious about is: What holds you back? You can answer anonymously if you want. Is it kids? Being overworked? Too settled? Have you forgotten the things you like or the person you were (I've been through all of this except, the kids part, I don't have those - so there's no judging.) I'm just curious.

If you fee this post might inspire someone, feel free to Twitter it or post it on your Facebook. Now go into the comments and answer my nosey questions!


Friday, July 23, 2010

I'm Predicting One of the Most Uncomfortable Moments of My Life Will Be Happening Tonight

Posts of late have been kind of heavy, as I navel gaze so deep, I think the C-5 and C-6 of my spine are fused together. Let's just tell funny stories! Oh, I know one! It's about me getting so drunk the last time I was home, that I am literally LITERALLY going to have one of the most awkward nights of my life.

Like my stomach is flipping and legs getting weak just glimpsing the horrificness of the this metaphorical car crash I have set in motion.

So 2 months ago, I'm in Brooklyn visiting my sister and we're going out to see this band with all her friends. And I can't say what made me do this, except for the fact that, knowing I didn't have to drive home and worry about killing anyone, I ordered a martini.

Then people were buying me martinis. I often become popular in a bar, what can I say? So now, I am completely f'ing high on vodka and my cousin introduces me to her new boyfriend (she lives in NYC, too.)

Now, before I start talking about him and this horrific sitch I got myself into (and no, we did not end up making out in the back room, get your smut mind out of the gutter), let me tell you a little about my cousin, just to set the scene and possibly, when you learn more of my horrificness, lay the groundwork for you not hating me so much.

My cousin is a baby in a 20 something body. Example: Her parents who live 200 miles away, drive her groceries to her in NYC. Do you really need to hear more? I can give you more examples but really, does that not cover it? She calls her Dad with a list. "Don't forget toilet paper." I'm not kidding.

Now, if you want your child to thrive in NYC, your child who already lives 3 doors down from her job and is probably already not meeting a lot of new people - perhaps you should NOT treat her like a four year old with a learning disability. Let her wag her ass to the grocery store and meet people.

I digress. So I'm wasted on four martinis and I feel like we know each other well enough to tell you it was really five martinis and I meet my cousin's boyfriend. My cousin has been know to be a stage 5 Cling-On when it comes to guys she likes and will dump all aspects of her life to be with a guy and then gets profoundly hurt when said guy dumps her and then has to enter into some kind of witness protection program.

Infinity story short. Boyfriend guy and I start talking at the bar. I am between him and my cousin and while she is on one side of me, planning their wedding and wondering whether to have a traditional butter cream wedding cake or a seven-tiered chocolate ganache, he is telling me how his family would stroke out if they found out he was dating a Non-Jewish girl.

Now, this is the point where, I should have walked away, ya know?

But, mmm, no, I ordered another martini. And then, I sort of conveyed my kind of one true thing I hold dear when it comes to relationships that involve people I care about. If you are aware that someone is in love with you or has major feelings about you -- and you know you can, in no way, return those feelings, for whatever reason -- she makes more money than you, he has a lady butt, you sense premature balding and a thick head of hair is important to you, he makes that clicking noise when he chews, she has a cat named "Commander Paws", SHE IS NOT JEWISH and you only date JEWISH GIRLS...

Then you have to vag up and let that person go. Even if you are having great sex. Although, if it's REALLY great sex, I will give you a week grace period, especially if you are a girl because good ORGASMS are hard to find.

You feel me? You can't let someone be in love with you when you know you can't reciprocate. It's called being responsible for other people's feelings. So, yeah, waiting for someone better to come along while she's debating chicken or fish - bad idea.

Get out. Just get out now. Which is what I told my cousin's boyfriend whose name I can't remember. Because I was so drunk on five martinis. Normally, I let people live their lives and just silently judge their mistakes. If you look at me and I have a wry smile and a raised eyebrow, I'm thinking about something stupid that you're doing right now that you will probably not even figure out for three months.

Anyway. Apparently, this guy broke up with my cousin 2 weeks later. And quoted me, without quoting me. Meaning, she has no idea I have anything to do with this, even though he used every reason I gave him to give her the hammer. She is devastated. Worse, her parents are devastated. They loved him. They thought he was "the one."

Worse... I AM STAYING AT MY COUSIN'S HOUSE, the cousin that I wrecked her life by getting her boyfriend to break up with her after five martinis and... wait, for it, wait for...


And he, God damn, what was his name? - is going to see me the second he walks in the door.

And that my friends, is why I am predicting that tonight, this night, will be one of the most uncomfortable moments of my life. (Especially if he has some Vietnam type flashback when he sees me and vomits up the whole story about how this is all my fault.)

I am open to any and all suggestions. I could care less if they get back together. I am selfish and only care about not getting caught. How do I do that? Wait for him at the end of the driveway and say something to him? Ignore the whole thing? Casually bring up how drunk I was the last time I saw him and how I DON'T REMEMBER ANYTHING from the last time I saw him.

Somebody please help me. Help me.


Sunday, July 18, 2010

Untitled Part 1
(Being fully aware that "Untitled" is the most pretentious title in the history of man)

Before we get to this, let's put out what we've all been thinking... there are some God damn Adventure Bowl posts missing. Let's review. Two weeks ago, I pulled "Go to Beer Making Class" which was f'ing awesome. Beer! You can make your own! In a bucket! Your neighbors will love you! And this week... drum roll: "Get A Nose Ring." (A cute, sexy one, not one you can be pulled around by, please.) Yeah, who snuck that in? Who snuck that in three days before I go home? I have never NEVER welched on an adventure. But guys... my mother will stroke out. There's a big family party. She will lose her shit.

Which is probably why I should do it.

Shizzzz. I don't know. I WOULD LIKE A VOTE IN THE COMMENTS SECTION: Do I do it or not? Weighing - do I honor the promise to myself and you guys or consider that my Mom will lose her innards at a family party? You decide.

Alright, stay tuned for that. But in the meantime, I wrote this. It's a two parter, but I know you can handle it. You're strong like that.

I was going for a run the other day and it was hot as balls outside so I grab for a visor and go to put it on and then, there I see: it's splattered in blood.

And I kind of gasp and have this sickening memory all at the same time. That was the visor I was wearing the day I fell down a 70 foot hill in my neighborhood. A retaining wall broke my fall when I smashed my head against it and knocked me unconscious and I was lucky enough that a woman walking her baby found me. She called 911. She gave them the wrong address. She told them she thought I was dead. She told me when she saw me, a week later, still in a hospital gown, my head partly shaved (not that you could tell, I have so much god damn hair), staples in skull, arm in a giant brace, that she thought I was dead.

I started shaking. I realized that she was just as traumatized by what she saw, as I was about what happened. She didn't know that she should probably NOT tell me that. I think when you're in that kind of shock, words don't go through the brain, they just come out.

So there was the visor. The visor was in a clear plastic bag that the firemen had turned into the hospital, along with the fire chief's business card. The hospital gave it to me when I left. Technically, not when I left. I snuck out of the hospital in my gown and took my own clear plastic bag, but that is another story.

I had put the plastic bag beside my bed. I don't know why. I don't know why I didn't throw it out or treat the visor with some "Spray & Wash" and put it in the damn washer and dryer instead of keeping it like some kind of police evidence bag right beside my bed.

Then I piled it high with magazines. So I wouldn't have to look at it. I had taken the fire chief's business card out and called and asked what kind of cup cakes they wanted, the firemen. You know, for saving my life and everything. Turns out, they like every kind. I thought bringing them over would bring some kind of closure or goodness or something but instead I just started getting that feeling where I am definitely, definitely going to cry and I can't have anyone see that so I just ran in and dropped them off.

By the door.

My theory is the pug pulled that visor out of that clear plastic bag. Her name is Ruby, I adopted her just before I fell. Because of all the time I spent in bed after the accident and then after the surgery, we are stupidly bonded. If I'm in the shower, she is on the shower mat. If I am making breakfast, she is on half on my feet, half on the kitchen floor. I notice, if I am gone, when I come back, a shirt of mine will be pulled out for her to lay on, a pile of socks are in her bed.

A visor.

And weirdly, because I bought three like it, it didn't strike me as odd to find it on the floor of the bedroom and put it by the door so I could easily grab it.

Until I did and until I saw all that blood and then I can see them cutting me out of my shirt and a team of eight ER docs and nurses around me and I AM SCREAMING this completely, not only unconscious scream, but this noise I didn't even know that I could make. Have you ever dislocated your shoulder? Don't. Don't ever do that. It hurts, especially if, when they are putting it back in, they are manipulating a bone that you have also broken.

I can't remember any of the doctors there. I know one said to me, "I can give you a shot for the pain before we pop your shoulder in but it's going to take a couple of minutes for it to kick in--" "No! Just, do it, just do it now!" I couldn't last, not another three seconds. There were so many people around me. Just like on TV. And then it was back in.

I can remember that I felt instant relief even as I was in an excruciating about of pain. I still had broken bones no one knew I had, was bleeding from the elbow and head (they could not tell because of said, massive amounts of wavy hair).

But I'm getting off track. Yes, I do want to tell you what a bad ass I am for getting staples in my head without anesthesia, but really, getting off track. Or how I had to ask for my own head CT because the doctors didn't know I had hit my head. The firemen found me unconscious... Is that not in some kind of report or something?

But I'm getting off track.

The point is, I'm only at a level of honesty of about 9. I don't talk about that accident. Or here when I am talking about it, I can talk about the facts. I can lay them out all neat and orderly. I would make an excellent witness. But emotionally, I can not really go there. Honesty, 9.

I don't know. It might be a 6.

If you are a private (secretive) person, time is on your side. People will forget to ask you about things that are painful. Better yet, you will learn how to tell the funniest, most succinct story of said accident. You will boil it down to the highlights where everything you say will get a laugh and you can walk away with no one being the wiser. (And you will feel a little superior, just a little smug, as you get away with it, yet again.)

The accident has lead to the deepest of deep soul searching. Currently, I am in a chess game with myself - two opposite sides of me vying to make the winning move of my life. This is all relevant to the fact that, I'm going back home this week.

I will post the rest of the story on Tuesday... it's getting not only long... but so off track.

Yes, I go home on Tuesday night, back East, with a lot churning around in this brain here. My last trip, just months ago, the new information of my cousin's cancer, had me running to Brooklyn to put money down on an apartment, so determined with new revelations about life, and how I was so dissatisfied with how I was living it, that I was ready to ship all my things from Los Angeles to New York if I could.

Some deeper breathing, and a soul slap from my sister about what a "God damn idiot" I was being to try and make all these decisions in a really emotional moment, pushed me to reboot this blog in hopes that if I force myself to write, and I force myself out of my comfort zone (adventures) then I will put myself in the strongest, most clear headed place for decision making.

I guess I'm just turning a lot over. Going back East puts me square back to face all the feelings I had when I found out that my cousin has cancer two months ago. But also, finding that visor just kind of shook me up... another reminder about how fragile life is. Something... that to make the decisions, I need to make, I need in the forefront of my mind, yet the memories are all twisted up and painful.

Oh God Lord, I can barely even stand to be thinking this heavy. Okay, let's all remember on the upside, going back home - nephews will be hugged and tickled and kissed; clam bakes will be had, Wing Night - where inexplicably every cousin of mine down by the beach all show up to the same bar - will be happening. Drinks on the deck, determination to pool crash the snobby beach club's pool down the street - that is all happening. Super soakers will be filled with water, water balloons will be launched, telling politically incorrect bedtime stories to my nephews as my sister laughs but shoots me a look that says, "Please, don't do that" - that will be happening. Brooklyn, bands, high school friends, all of it, jam crammed into a very short amount of time.

But also, this turning over of my future... I'll be thinking of that too.


Friday, July 16, 2010

You, Too, Can Learn From A Selfish Horny Loser

This is a re-post. Sorry, I really am. I have something I really want to blog about but I am under a huge deadline. Yesterday, I threw up something totally slapdash and it didn't sit well with me. But this, this is one of my favorite entries. I hope you enjoy it. xoxoxo

This post is totally long and worth it.

First of all, WOW, so many new readers. What I love even more is that so many of you are commenting. As, you know, it's very important because comments, to me, are better than getting on the scale and losing 10 pounds.

Today, we're talking about a topic you guys had a lot to say about: How To Get Out of A Rut.

I was reading this article in "Elle" magazine called "Danger Man" by Phillip Nobel about a man who walks out on his marriage, kids, his life. He committed to this life - the family life and then he realized, he didn't want it anymore.

"I was bored, Just bored... I had one thought and couldn't shake it: This isn't the life I was meant for."

It's kind of amazing how socially acceptable it is for men to create a certain life for themselves, marriage, kids, the house and cars and then walk out of it when it all becomes too much, to routine, too boring.

But then I got to thinking, maybe there's something we can learn about that.

It's incredibly selfish and self-centered to just leave and barring that a woman is going to be devastated, cry a lot and start drinking martinis at 3:00pm because her life has gone down the tubes... it's kind of admirable what men do.

Okay, now you hate me. Let me rephrase. Today, we're gonna learn a lesson from Selfish Horny Bastards, but in order to do that, we have to look at the action of walking away from a life that doesn't work for you.

So take the whole "walking out on his wife and kids" thing out of the equation, that's depressing. Just focus on the walking out on "High-functioning misery" as the author of the article calls it - that takes courage.

You wanted to know how to get out of your rut and I'm going to tell you:

YOU NEED TO BE BOLD. Bold like a Selfish Horny Loser.

Men are bold all the time. Why can't we be?

If I look at myself, I once was just too polite to walk out on a life I was not enjoying. I had worked so hard at a job I hated that I thought it was admirable to stay. The right thing. I had already invested so much time.

I don't want to start over.

I don't want to take a pay cut.

What if I can't hack it in a new job and then I get fired and END UP WITH NOTHING?

I imagined myself living in an over-turned dumpster in a back alley rooting around for leftover pizza in a trash can. (Everyone knows, of all trash food to eat, pizza is the most safe.)


Okay, semi-bold. Semi-Bold is when life gives you a sign that this job ABSOLUTELY, POSITIVELY just isn't for you anymore. For me, that came in a scared-out-of-my-mind emergency room visit, my heart rate was at 230 BPM when it should be like 80 or 90.

The doctors thought I was on cocaine. I thought, "OMG, I wish my life was that glamorous! I want to be that girl!"

Then reality set in. "This job is killing me. I have to leave."

I had to face all those really scary questions that we all avoid by watching tv, surfing the internet or keeping so busy we can't possibly register a THOUGHT INTO OUR OWN HEAD.

My friend who is a writer, like a totally famous writer with shiny awards and stuff, said to me he gets the best ideas by just being silent right in the morning right when he wakes up. He said something smart like he always does that I should have written down but kind of forget.

But the idea was that your conscious, which we ignore all damn day, is kind of speaking to you in the wee hours, in a way we can't block out, so the most truest thoughts will come to you. (Just like they often do in your dreams).

So I did it. I did it a few times. It said:

"What happened to you? You wanted to be a writer but you're so damn afraid to really pursue it that you hide in a job you hate that is eventually going to kill you so you never have to risk having a career you could love. Yeah, good plan."

My conscious is such a sarcastic bitch.

So I was like that Selfish Horny Loser who, for my first time, didn't think about anyone else but me. And I did what I wanted to do. I walked out on my old life.


I enrolled in a class at UCLA in sitcom writing. That teacher liked my work and tried to get me an agent. That didn't really work out but high praise from this former sitcom writer turned teacher got me to end the career that I hated and take a job as a writer's assistant.

It was a 70% pay cut. And no, I'm not kidding.

I was terrible at my job. I could only type with two fingers. The writers probably didn't love that I couldn't type their notes fast enough but when I was accepted into a prestigious writing program, people were really sweet to me. They listened to some of my ideas, I got an agent.

Two years later, I had my dream job. Because I was BOLD. Because like the author of that article, I was tired of living the life I wasn't meant for.

It's amazing the things we make sure we have in life. We whip out our credit cards and make sure we have rockin' clothes, big screen TVs, trips, cars, iPods. But we don't use that money to ensure our own happiness - like quitting a job we hate, taking another and supplementing the difference in pay with a zero percent credit card, a loan, etc.

This is just one part of getting out of a rut and we'll talk about more. I just thought a natural place to start is with a job because not only do we spend so much time there (70% of our waking day) but for a lot of us, okay for me, it defines a lot of our self-worth.

I'm not saying it's something to do today, I'm saying, it's time to lay in bed in the morning and let those thoughts come to you. If you can't, if it's too hard, it's journal time.

What do you want to do with the rest of your life?

What makes you happy?

How can you get there?

Are you ready to be bold?

This blog is dedicated to being mini-bold, semi-bold and gia-normously BOLD.

I would love if you would Twitter this post or put it on your Facebook if you think it might help someone else!


Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Blog Dangerously

I was surprised when I read through all the comments from the post "What Do You Want From Me?" and there were so many comments from people weighing whether or not it would be better to blog anonymously.

Most were finding that, when you put your name on your blog, depending on who knows about it, you might not have the same freedom to scream, cry, rant, be petty, freak out or confess to eating a whole box of Ding Dongs after laying into a coworker, friend, mother or boyfriend.

It seemed a lot of you were "editing" yourselves as you wrote. It becomes convenient to be the happy, best, most upbeat version of yourself if you know someone is reading. How can they judge you when your life is so happy/perfect/awesome/neat/tidy/not full of Ding Dongs?

But with that, certainly, comes the price of falling farther and farther away from the person you truly are, and more importantly, farther away from your purpose to blog.

Someone got all up in my Twitter last week about being "authentic" and that she thought I would find a deeper honesty if I didn't blog anonymously. And I was like, "What the fuck, are you kidding me"? She's kidding me, right? Because I could not be more honest. (Okay, I could be. But right now, I could not be more honest.) (I'm at Level 9 honesty, BTW, that's pretty frickin' good.)

There seems to be a judgement over what is or isn't authentic or brave or real. Here's the thing and I mean it. If this girl wants to put her name to her blog and she can write with 100% honesty, do it. That's great. But she might also be being honest about her favorite recipes or her new weight loss program (not that those aren't great topics to blog about). But those subjects don't have collateral damage.

I blog about super private things. It is not feasible for me to be a comedy writer and go to a meeting at a Network and then be completely thrown when an executive asks about this blog which his assistant found when they Googled my name and as my ears start to tighten, and the sweat profusely comes and all I can think about is mother-sickness-grief-kidney transplant-breakups-murder-holy shit how am I going to take this blazer back to Bloomingdales now that I'm sweating like a mother fucker-court cases-funerals.

Meeting bombed. Agent angry. Career doomed. Bills not paid. Dogs not fed. Me, eaten by dogs in the middle of the night.

That's not going to be good for anybody.

More importantly, I have a family. Let's say, I put my name to this blog, how freely could I blog about my Mom's nervous breakdown? Because that makes guys wanna date you and people want to hire you. (And for new readers, let's be kind about my Mom, her breakdown was just after the trial for the person who killed my cousin.)

So forget how it would affect me - me, now being clearly BALLS out AUTHENTIC & REAL & BRAVE for putting my name on my blog, while my mother, a therapist, loses her job because she had a nervous breakdown.

Unemployed, boyfriend-less with family not speaking to me. Good times.

I started writing this blog for so many million reasons. It was really to have a stare down contest with the second year anniversary of my cousin's death and try to do that with not only some dignity and grace but with some god damn life in me. I was daring myself to... just DO MORE with my life than just feeling bad about it.

I feel sad that these are not conversations I felt like I could have with friends. I haven't really been raised to be very open or emotional with the people I love. And yes, I'd like to change all that, yadda yadda - but the fact is, when I was 12 and my Dad had months to live if he didn't get a heart transplant (he did), it was journaling that saved me. That I could write down every fear, worry, guilt, regret, sick to my stomach thought about what the outcome might be. Even as I was split up to live with another family for a year while this surgery happened, that journal, ANONYMOUS, kept me tethered, focused, free to purge and then walk away and have some remnants of a normal little girl life.

So that's why I blog anonymously. And it can still be dangerously, as one blogger put. It's not easy, either, just because it's anonymous. It's still a force not to move back, not to rewrite, not to reread. Just lay it down. Make it bare.

It's a personal choice. It's different for everyone. This just happens to be mine. Putting your emotions into words, to me, is the brave part... not putting your name to it.

I'd love to hear of you agree, disagree or if it's making you rethink changing your blog to one that's written anonymously.

Saturday, July 10, 2010


To change one's life; Start immediately. Do it flamboyantly. No exceptions. - William James

I'm overwhelmed and feel so loved by all your comments. All I can say is... yes, I will continue to be honest about the harder things to talk about as you have encouraged me to do... thank you for that.

Just like you, I am finding my own way and I am glad we are reaching out and rooting each other on to do so. So much love... xoxoxo

By the way... even better quotes than Mr. Walter Blake... pulled right from our very own comments section.

We (the reader) will be there, though. We are always there for what is true, even when the true thing is heartbreaking. Be whoever you want to be each day. Write whatever you NEED to write. We will read. I will read. - Angella L

It's easier to be the clown than it is to bare your soul. - Aunt Becky

Fake cheerfulness isn't very interesting to most of us. - Babbalou

You are allowed to feel shit about things. And to then blog your soul out about it. - Michelle/Mouse Demon

So from me, I want you to stop hiding behind that mask and write about anything on your mind - happy, sad, doesn't matter, it's all life. - Loryn

Life is such a gift... so, how does the story end? This is your story and it all depends... so, don't let it become, get out and do what you were meant to do... we live, we love, we forgive and never give up, because the days we were given are gifts from above... - Anji

... the truth is behind the boring... - Quinn H

I've found that people feel more drawn when you lay your soul bare and rattle your skeleton. - Hey Jen

As a member of "the club," I've noticed people deal with this dark knowledge in two ways: they cling, control, and suffocate their lives to unsuccessfully prevent the great unknown from happening, or they accept, embrace, and cherish what they've been given because they intimately know the transcience of it all. I hope the latter is true for you - that's what I want from you. - Sherene

That's the most beautiful show of support I have ever felt. I figure if I'm ever doubting myself about being honest or feeling the cloak of fear coming over me, all I have to do is pull up this blog post and read all your comments below. I LOVE YOU GUYS!


Thursday, July 8, 2010

What Do You Want From Me?

As the blog has newly been relaunched, I feel like... brand new. I never go back and look at old posts, mostly because I will feel extremely self-conscious about the things that I write. Good and Catholic, you don't rehash the grief you feel over your cousin's death. You're supposed to just let it be. Overrun you like a kind of ferocious weed until you're consumed and immobilized it.

That's the polite thing to do.

I'm tired of being polite.

But I have to ask... what do you want from me?

I'm a nice, good girl. But that hasn't served me so far. Now I want to write posts that help me take apart my grief, not just of my cousin's death and Mom's illness but all that's been lost from that. While I was busy being a puddle on the floor... so much was lost. But now, I want to lay it out, like when a mechanic is fixing a Vintage car, and examine and inspect and then fix all the things that are broken...

And then put it back together.

I think that's the only way you become free from things.

I just wonder - because I'm a self-diagnosed people pleaser - is that what you want from me? I like this being a give and take, I love your comments, I love that this blog is something you relate to and I don't want you to be disappointed when you read a post.

I notice when I write something honest, truthful, raw, people will read... one person read for 171 minutes last week... but hardly anyone will comment. No comments as others read for 5, 10, 20 minutes.

"What are they thinking? Am I too much?" I am too much for them? I am. I am made of scary little scars that are all on the inside. I should only write happy posts. Put a smile on it. Keep the uncertainty on the inside. That would be for the best.

Who am I doing this for? I thought I was doing it for me. But maybe I'm really doing it for you.

So what do you want from me?

No, really, I'll do it. But you have to tell me. Do you want to talk about figuring your life out after it's thrown you a maddeningly huge gut punch? Can I talk about my cousin's death? Does it make you feel uncomfortable? Sometimes I think you guys think I have it more together than I do. It might be my fault. Sometimes, I'm very rah-rah. I need to tone that down a bit.

All of this started to gently cross my mind as I opened a Facebook and Twitter page for the blog. A lot of people started following me and I think I became shy... a little freaked out. To combat the uncomfortableness of that, I have to be witty, asurbic, sarcastic.

You wouldn't know the girl who writes on that Twitter account writes here. That girl is the me with the mask. She hides behind a wall, she dangles a sparkly ball to distract you from cousin's who are murdered and lives that are turned upside town and cousin's that have brain cancer and life choices that will break your heart and mother's that are sick and court cases and do we go for the death penalty?

Maybe going for the death penalty would be impolite.

I'm wrestling with this... I know people like me on Twitter but that girl... she's having a ball but she's not going to grow and change. She's not going to make the big decisions that I am determined to make this year - I think I want to leave Los Angeles. I think I want a new job. I know I want to live without so much fear and responsibility.

My cousin has brain cancer now.

I want to do the things he's wishing he did. And that is either the most brutally honest thing I have ever said or the most damn selfish or maybe it can be both.

Everything, all these thoughts, doubts, feelings came swirling around yesterday when I read the most beautiful essay on grief by someone who had lost his daughter.

The author spoke of how, after you lose someone unexpectedly, you become consumed with fear.

"Maybe what I’ve learned more about, for better or worse, is fear. I think I can pretty comfortably say I understand fear. I’ve learned to understand fear in and out... I live in fear. I’ve learned how randomly things can go wrong, horribly wrong, and I fear that moment, I fear that moment coming into existence. Logic be damned, it terrifies me."

I found myself nodding, yes, yes. That's how I feel. In a matter of a few paragraphs, the author had boiled down exactly how I feel... a feeling that seems to elude me as I try to turn it into words.

When I am in that uncomfortable place, I gloss it over with a lot of humor. I'm straddling both worlds.

I haven't faced the deep dark fear like the author expresses. You have to be in club to get it. You don't want to be in the club. But it's when... if terrible things happen with no warning and they are so terrible and so terrifying and so unspeakable that just NO ONE will speak of them -- how to you ever feel safe again?

How do you not just completely collapse and fold in on yourself? So nothing can touch you. Or hurt you. Yes. This is deep. Does it scare you? Will you not love me if I speak of scary things?

I can tell you this: I have lived like that and I don't WANT to anymore. But it's like, after something truly bad happens, your blood gets stamped with the "fear" DNA and it just corses through you becoming part of your whole being.

I guess what I'm saying, (Get to it, girl), is I need to talk about those fears more. I know that is everything that is holding me back in life. It's like I have the knowledge that life is short, that you better live it now because Good God, how fast it can be gone in a day.

And that is in one hand. And in the other is what I am going to do with that knowledge. Every week, through an adventure, I am trying to move the needle as they say... push it closer to the life I want to live and away from the life of fear.

Do yo want to hear about that?

What do you want from me?


Monday, July 5, 2010

I Like You

You guys are awesome. First of all there are so many new readers and that just blows my mind. I'm spending tonight & tomorrow getting back to everyone who commented on posts because it means the world to me that you do.

My whole life, I have been taught to never say when I'm sad, afraid, nervous... are nervous and afraid the same thing? Through my Dad's heart transplant, my cousins deaths, when I donated my kidney to my Dad - I was told, "never let anyone see you cry," "don't let people be burdened with your emotion, it will make them feel bad."

So this blog is like major rebellion for a good girl like me. And the fact that people read it and say they're inspired by it-- Amaze-mas. Yeah, new word I made up. Like when something is as amazing as Christmas is to a five year old. Amaze-mas.

I have to make jokes when I am talking about emotional things.

I'm working on it.

Anyway, yes, this is a short post so I can get back to all of you. In the meantime, I wanted to show some mad love for people who took the time to comment, and who either made me have to reach for a box of Kleenex, or made me laugh so hard Folgers coffee came out of my nose.

I heart you all. Okay, love. I do, I love you guys.

Aubrey said... I love you. Can I say I love you or is that a little creepy? Like, weird internet stalker creepy or weird random person in the street that comes up and hugs you creepy? Oh well. I guess I'm creepy then.

Lia said... That is the most beautiful post I've ever read. I found you on Twitter and I just get everything you are saying. I'm so glad I found this blog. I feel like you are speaking to me.

Lynda with a Y said... Seriously? I think I have a girl crush on you. Anyone who has been sucked in by the beast that is depression--well let me just say--your blog is a tiny little miracle. Thanks.

simone said... oooo brave brave brave! and bravo to you. I am standing at the foot of a bridge wondering if I should walk around and cross it, thanks for this timely post on being happy. xxoo

hope n laughter said... 1. Keep writing, I've missed your post and I'm glad that your still kickin' and screamin'. 2. You write what I'm thinking, but in a much more intresting way. 3. Feel that you and the Eat, Pray, Love are the same, except with you I get to experince your journey with you.

Kristen said... You.Are.Awesome.

Jennifer H said... Brillant. Beautiful. I would love to post this link on my blog! I have just hit a wall I have never hit before...and you sum it up all very well. And have given me hope. I can feel something inside, the childlike wonder of life of me, stir in excitement, instead of just seeing the the overbearing responsibilities I feel. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Krista said... I'm in awe right now. It's taken me 24 hrs to respond and it's still not going to make sense. I can't believe i'm not alone. There are others at the bottom of this miserable, painful, dark, pit. And there is hope to see light again. Thank you God for allowing me to find your blog last while driving home during a 17 hr trip. Somewhere near Buffalo,I found a friend in the darkness.

Okay... where is that Kleenex box???? You guys are the best. You have no idea... your comments are changing my life because they inspire me to keep me moving forward. So thank you. Really, thank you. xoxoxoxo

PS... If you're a New New reader there are a few posts will be helpful if you want to know the inspiration for writing this blog go back and read You Can Get To The Other Side - June 20, 2010; Some Stuff About Me - June 27, 2010 and Adventure Bowl: Let's Kick Ass & Takes Names Later - June 23, 2010.

Also, feel free to follow me as I am a naughty naughty infrequent bad girl poster. xoxoxo And if you join my Facebook page we can have ACTUAL CONVERSATIONS. Oh, those are the best!

Thursday, July 1, 2010

You are not ALONE

This is a reprint of an older Post. I was recently asked what was my favorite post and it was this one. I think because I started getting honest (with you and with me) about body & weight issues. But also because the comments were incredible - it reassured me, I was not alone.

Because my self-esteem is completely tied to the number of hits a day I get, I, sometimes, (many times) go to Sitemeter and check on who's looking and for how long. Sometimes, the thing that will crack me up is someone googling "Dirty, Naughty Girls" and then they find my blog.


Today, I noticed a girl had googled a topic that lead her to this blog and I looked closer to see what the topic was and...


Because she googled, "I AM TOO FAT, NO ONE WILL EVER LOVE ME." (Which led her to my entry, "Oh, My God, You're So Fat! Congratulations") I wanted to jump through the computer and fly through the internet and land in her bedroom, living room, library, coffee shop, dorm room, where ever and GIVE HER A BIG FAT HUG.

Then we would sit down and have a CUP CAKE (Red Velvet) and I would say, "You are not alone."

I have felt that way at this weight. I have felt that way, 20 pounds lighter than this AND I HAVE FELT THAT WAY, five years ago, AT MY HIGH SCHOOL WEIGHT, on a work retreat, wearing the cutest TANK-INI with cherry blossoms and abs and Renne Zellweger arms and still FELT THAT WAY.

I even felt that way, AT MY HIGH SCHOOL DANCE, at a perfect weight, though still wearing a girdle EVEN THOUGH I attended the dance with my sort-of-cousin AND OBVIOUSLY WAS NOT looking to get any. (Though I did feel a little heat as we uncomfortably slow danced to some Whitney Houston song.)

It makes me sad that I so COULDN'T SEE MYSELF, even at the most perfect weight, that I had to continue the FEMALE TORTURE of dieting, gaining, hating myself, RINSE, REPEAT.

So of course, I want to save someone who is going through that. DON'T BE ME. I could DIE admitting this. But remember, when my shrink told me, "YOU ARE NOT YOUR BODY?" And I was like, "Yes, I am! I am my Body. I am my Fat! Every problem I have is because of this! (Dramatically grab BACK FAT in defiance) I'm outta here!" Maybe she was right.

Maybe I HAD TO THINK, "I AM MY BODY... I AM MY WEIGHT, I DON'T DESERVE HAPPINESS UNTIL I'M THIN," MAYBE I had to think that, I had to believe it, because if I didn't and I wasn't obsessed WITH ALL THINGS DIET & WEIGHT LOSS... I would really have to LIVE.


So I would say to this girl, "You Are Not Your Body" and "Don't Stop Living and Doing The Things You Love Because You Got A Little Junk In Your Trunk." Have fun, people with ample bosoms and stomachs and thighs deserve FUN. Write in your journal, stay ON TOP OF THOSE EMOTIONS. Get a Girl Gang like I have that you can talk to. GO TO THERAPY, it's AWESOME. But don't isolate, don't get under the covers, DON'T PUT off LIVING because of your WEIGHT. Because you are not your body.

You'll get there, just like me, just like all of us. Because YOU are not alone.

If you would like to repost this to your blog, please do! Just add a link to 100 Days In Bed. Feel free to Twitter or Facebook a link, I would love as many women to read this as possible. And of course, your comments, THEY ARE BETTER THAN A HOT FUDGE SUNDAE! So leave one!