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!

You, Too, Can Learn From a Selfish Horny Loser

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 2 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.)

THEN I GOT BOLD.

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.

AND THEN I WAS SHOCKED BY WHAT HAPPENED.

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.

You, Too, Can Learn From a Selfish Horny Loser

Blogging: I'm Still Waiting For It To Shrink the Size of My Ass

Blogging has had so many positives in my life. But I'm still waiting for a time when I can say, I'm so much better, that I've lost the extra ass I gained two years ago.

People often want to know about this crazy thing called the Adventure Bowl and what it's done for me. To me, it's not just about pool hopping or riding roller coasters - it's about harnessing the strength you get when you do things you fear and apply them to other things.

For instance, feeling really strong has made me stop all contact with a very bad boyfriend. Staying in touch with jerks is for weak girls and I'm not a weak girl anymore.

There's other ways I see myself stand up for myself, too. There was this guy who came careening down my street, obviously using it as a cut through, and boxed me like a skunk in so I could not drive by. When I wouldn't back up so he could get by, he did everything from throw a newspaper at my car to a cup of coffee.

I would not back down. It might have been an over reaction, taking all the times I was just too nice and rolled over, but now risking that he was going to drag me out of my car and teach me some manners.

Instead I held my ground, totally feeling the adrenaline rush. He sized up a way to get passed me but over calculated the space and hit my car. I could hear the side of his car smooshing in... and it made me laugh.

He whizzed past me and I jumped out of my car to see... no damage to my Jeep. He had hit the big rubber side, just over the wheel.

AND I FELT AWESOME.

Is that wrong?

In my family, I have been raised to be the quintessential good girl. But where has being sweet and polite gotten me?

I feel sorry for me, for that good girl, but that girl doesn't really exist anymore and it's partly due to this blog, to the adventures that I do. Maybe other people want to buy 100 self-help books that they never put into action.

I don't. I don't need them. I have my own way.

Millions of people bought "Eat, Pray, Love" hoping they could be inspired to turn their lives around. I did, too. The problem is, how many of us can take a year off and travel the world? Will your job be waiting for you? Do you have the money that it takes?

But one thing I loved about "EPL" was, at the core of the book, it was about TAKING ACTION.

Looking at what you have and realizing it's not working for you anymore and then doing something about it. Seeing your life (which seemingly looks perfect) has gotten off track and then... building a new track, a new where to go.

So I have to ask, how many of you feel like your life has gotten off track? How did you know and what do you do about it?


This blog is dedicated to dancing in your underwear.

Blogging: I'm Still Waiting For It To Shrink the Size of My Ass

I Dreamed I Was Making Out With The Italian Delivery Guy

You should have seen the Food Delivery Guy that came a knockin' on my door! He was so gorgeous that I could barely wait 24 hours before I ordered again. Here I am house sitting at this awesome house and now my life is like something out of a porno.

So I order a salad... that's what skinny girls eat. Sure enough, 30 minutes later, he rings the bell. Actually, as my friend can attest, he didn't even ring the bell, it's like I could sense his car was winding up the street and I flew out the front door and down the stair case with all the single dollar bills I could find.

$31.00 is a good tip on an $8.00 salad, right?

I open the door, cute outfit, cute hair, lip gloss. He smiles.

"That'll be $8.45, M'am."

M'AM?

He recklessly "M'am'd" me. Which means, to him, I most closely resemble his mother, grandmother or wacky aunt with a boxy ass. I knew I should have taken that Retin-A when my doctor offered it.

Dream over.

I paid him. And then I stole his pen. (I did think of hitting him over the head with my salad... but I had to maintain my dignity somehow.)

I took the bag up to the house, looked inside and he didn't even bring me any bread. Why did he keep hurting me like this????

Ugh, when you want bread this much, I think it means, it's time to start dating again.


This blog is dedicated to starting over.

I Dreamed I Was Making Out With The Italian Delivery Guy

Adventure Bowl Holy S*%t! Roller Coasters!

So you've thrown out all your copies of useless self-help books and committed to the Adventure Bowl way of life to squash the blues and reinvigorate your life.

Now whaddaya do?

OMG, go ride a roller coaster!

That's what I did as this week's Adventure Bowl and it was a blast. You know me, a little rigid, a splash Type A, an obsessive compulsive planner. I know I'm not living my "best life" (as my girl Oprah would say) that I can and that's why I need to jump out of air planes and ride roller coasters.

Because when control freaks like me let go - we have a ridiculously fun time and then we learn to let go some more.

So, for this assignment, I made my sister go with me because riding roller coasters by yourself makes you look like a lunatic. Besides, she's a teacher so she knows all about stress and having absolutely no free time. "I have no free time," she said. I thought, "How sad! Let's ride roller coasters."

I'm sure she would have rather gone to a spa but the point was to have REAL fun. Massages are a necessity. Laughing, screaming and hurtling into the air is real fun... and come to think of it a necessity, too.

Because she needed more than a little convincing and cajoling, I offered to pay. What does a theme park cost anyway, like $25 -$30 bucks?

Yeah, in 1985.

It was $65 bucks to get in Universal Studios. Holy crap. But I didn't care.

INSERT RANT: Dear Universal Studios, After you financially rape people to get in your theme park - do you really have to have every ride literally end IN A GIFT SHOP???? Haven't we spent enough money? And why is it that their are more places to spend money than there are rides??? For every one ride there must be ten shops, kiosks, lame games and places to buy food. Though the beer carts were a nice touch. So thanks for those.

Anyway, I'll quit my bitchin' to get to the ooey gooey good stuff. First stop, Jurassic Park ride. I deemed this a "baby ride" until the end where we the roller coaster unexpectedly took an AWESOME drop and then we were doused with water.

I literally, could feel myself "let go" after that. i had to. I was literally soaking wet in my clothes and laughing my ass off.

Of course, we rode it again. Mostly, so I could make fun of people that bought rain ponchos so they wouldn't get wet.

Next up, the Mummy Ride. The Mummy Roller coaster was fantastic but incredibly short. But I love a ride that warns you not to ride it if you have 1 of the 75 conditions they had posted. That just leads to the build-up of how scary it must be if you can't ride it if you have, you know a case of... "excessive sneezing" or something.

The Mummy Ride also has a weight limit, which I made the cut. Side note: If you want to feel thin, walk around Universal Studios. I was feeling like a frickin' model there. My sister kept telling me to stop sticking my boobs out but even soaking wet from the Jurassic Park ride, I had not felt this thin and attractive forever in forever!

Saving the best for last, we then went on The Simpsons Roller Coaster. All I can say about that is - IT'S UN-FRICKIN' BELIEVABLE. It's the future! Like nothing I have been on before. Which is why I had to ride it three times.

The day was incredible and amazing. It reminded me why I do this Adventure Bowl even though it's challenging, time consuming and expensive. I do it 'cause I need to, because I have to - because I saved a lot of money laying in bed.

Because sometimes we need to schedule time for big belly laughs, do things that are crazy and make us scared and then thrill us.

I think it would be really hard for me to get depressed again, because I'll be carrying the memory of this day with me and know, all I need to do to get out of it is a big upside down ride and a splash of water in the face.


This blog is dedicated to snow cones with four flavors.

Adventure Bowl
Holy S*%t! Roller Coasters!