Every Thing I Know About Love, I Learned From Reality TV

This blog is UPDATED for your viewing pleasure.

I once went out on a date with an aspiring TV writer. He asked me what TV shows I like and I guiltily admitted my secret love for reality TV. That's right. "Survivor," "The Bachelor" (not all cycles), "Real World," "Top Chef," etc. He scrunched up his face like I had just told him I like to eat baby Panda bears and then he said, "You're the reason I can't get a writing job." Ouch!

What he meant was, I represented all the people all over America who like reality TV and the more we like and watch reality TV, the more scripted TV goes away and it makes it harder for aspiring writers like him to get jobs. Then he got up in a huff and said he needed to have a smoke (aspiring writers are very stressed out).

He seriously kept me waiting for like twenty minutes, I guess so I could "THINK ABOUT WHAT I HAD DONE," so I had no other choice but to pay the bill and leave. That's when I found him, the stressed out aspiring writer who smokes, out in the parking lot. We said good-bye but not before he asked me to read his spec script.

The reason I love reality TV is it gives such awesome glimpses into the human (boy) mind that I really, really need.

Take "Flipping Out" on Bravo. Do you watch it? Because if you do, then you ended up LOSING your mind just like I did over this last episode. In the episode, Jeff the Boss, uses a nanny cam on his workers. It's then that he finds out that his house manager Chris has been goofing off all day on his computer and shuffling around in his personal stuff.

That would be no big deal to BUT...

After Jeff fires him, he has to explain to Chris' wife, Jenni, who is Jeff's assistant, what he caught her husband doing. When Jenni confronts her husband (who she has been DEFENDING all this time) Chris says he's not happy and NO LONGER WANTS TO BE MARRIED TO HER!!!

WHAT???

Here the lesson is clear: We as women cannot take hot guys (Chris) and knowing they have other dreams (he wants to act) try to domesticate them by putting them in a mind numbing office job where their main responsibility is to pick up dog poop and NOT think they aren't going to punish us by breaking up with us on national TV.

Then we have "The Real World." And oh, it's real! On this last season, in Hollywood, Will falls for Janelle until hottie Britney enters the house. Britney, knowing he has a GF, comes on to him anyway (I call her Bitch-ney 'cause I'm clever like that). This is what we call girl on girl crime, people. Don't do it ladies, it just makes you look desperate and ugly.

But that's not where the learnin' comes in.'

Will goes to Mexico with his room mates and hooks up with Britney. He calls Janelle to confess and she hangs up on him. Good girl! But then she calls him a few days later so they can "talk." Honey, you don't need to talk, he already told you everything you need to know!

But noooooo, Janelle needed to find out about his talent to fake cry to get out of trouble and his love of four-somes (yeah, I spelled it right) on national TV before she could kick him to the curb.

That's the next lesson, we all know it - actions speak louder than words. And when your man has his "actions" all over another woman, he's not serious about you. So move on before you are humiliated further.

Oh, if you are not watching "The Two Coreys," then you are literally giving up a half hour of free therapy every week! Those two have the best therapist and you can just take everything she says to them and apply it to your life. I know I do!

I especially love her "one on one" sessions to the extra fucked up Corey. "I'm not asking you why you want to be in love, I'm asking you why you DON'T want to be in love."

Precisely! You don't have to be a meth, crack or heroin addict with self-destructive issues and no chance in hell to ever work again to glean answers from questions like that. Just pull out your journal and get to it!


This blog is dedicated to getting to the real, that is you.

Every Thing I Know About Love, I Learned From Reality TV

Adventure Bowl I Like Guns!

First of all, I loved all the comments in the post "The Weekly Ranting of A Delightful Lunatic." I'm so glad I am not the only one who has to get something off my chest about babies, ice coffee, cell phones, tip jars, dog doo and Vespas!

Next time, if you find banging madly on a key board to an anonymous blog doesn't get your inner rage out and throwing the tip jar at Starbucks across a room seems just this side of crazy, I've got the perfect way to blow off steam.

Let's shoot guns!

I used to be a wuss and the closest thing I wanted to a gun experience was wearing a t-shirt from this place called "Gun Heaven." I thought it would make me look tough until someone asked me if I ever "shot" there and I had to confess, "No, I... i just have the t-shirt."

NOT ANYMORE PEOPLE!

I pulled this lil' adventure from the Adventure Bowl and I was so excited. Maybe I was just ready to embrace my inner Angelina Jolie after seeing "Wanted," I don't know, but I wanted to shoot something, something bad!

I can't believe they just let any ol' person walk into these gun clubs and start shooting but luckily they do. And if you go on a day that's not busy, they'll spend a good amount of time with you, give you some instruction and let you pick out a gun that suits you best, ("Do you have any that are pink? I'm kidding. Okay, I'm not, do you?").

Then you throw on your "eyes and ears" - that's gun club talk for protection, line up and blast away. It's totally fun and completely empowering in a way that shooting squirt guns is not. Though I did wonder if I needed a hepatitis C shot after being in my little semi-grimy area. But it wouldn't be cool if it weren't a lil' grimy.

So go shoot guns people. Because you never know when you might want to switch jobs from an lifeless office worker to a highly skilled assasin.

And if you're not going to do that, do something else that makes you feel a little fearless this weekend.


This blog is dedicated to being a stone cold fox.

Adventure Bowl
I Like Guns!

The Weekly Rantings of a Delightful Lunatic

I feel like writing something fun. My friend does the best rants. THE BEST! He hates everything but the great part is he can totally justify it. He's not so much complaining (I HATE COMPLAINERS) as unburdening himself. The thing about him too, he is literally, the most stress-free person I know.

So, I think he's on to something. Maybe if we all ranted and just completely got off our chests the things that are taxing our minds, then we could be stress free, too.

So, here are my rants for the week:

THE TIP JAR - Can we talk about the tip jar? It's at every Starbucks, every sandwich shop, my friend even says there is one at his dry cleaner. It never really bothered me. BUT NOW IT'S MAKING ME CRAZY. Where it really makes me insane is at Starbucks which gives it's employees stock options and benefits. And on top of that, they want a dollar tip on my $2.00 coffee.

Um... no. And to drive home my point, I am now walking around with my own tip jar. YEAH, that's right, I am. Here's my thought process. The economy is in the crapper. Right now, when I come in for a cup of coffee, I am keeping you working. So technically, you should be tipping me for your job.

Too harsh?

ICE COFFEE - And while we're on the topic of coffee shops, why is it that the price of ice coffee is 30-50% more than regular coffee? They fill the whole cup with ice so technically you are getting HALF the amount of coffee for MORE money.

You know what I do? I ask for a hot coffee and then a cup of ice on the side and then I defiantly mix my coffee and ice together. Sometimes, I bring my own big cup. Who has time to think of these things? I do.

PEOPLE WITH STROLLERS - This might be an unpopular one because you thought I was so nice and then I revealed my somewhat strong dislike of children. I just don't understand when a couple is walking towards me with their stroller and I have the right of way, why I have to get out of the way. Also, babies are messy and they cry.

PEOPLE WHO TALK ON THEIR CELL PHONES IN COFFEE SHOPS - I'm trying to drink my three dollar coffee! (Yes, I tipped a dollar even though I didn't want to.)

PEOPLE WHO RIDE VESPAS - That's cute that you're saving on gas and stuff but 1) You don't look like you remotely know how to drive that thing and 2) If I hit you, I might laugh a little.

PEOPLE THAT NOTICE ME NOT PICKING UP MY DOGS'S POOP - If I wanted to pick it up, I wouldn't be pretending to look the other way.

Wheeeeeewwwww! Do I feel better. So now I want to let your fingering rip over that key board and gimme your rants.


This blog is dedicated to meat ball pizza.

The Weekly Rantings of a Delightful Lunatic

Skinny Bitches

Can we talk about skinny bitches?

You know, I used to be one, prancing around in my size 6 jeans and feeling like there would never be a day when I would have a voluminous extra ass and jiggly hips and thighs... and arms. Then I got hella down in the dumps and foods I would never even eat before, like bagels and croissants, started to be my staples for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

I'm not sure where the turning point came (if it has come) but I thought, do I really want to gain more? I mean, this has REALLY gotten out of hand. (When you have labored breathing getting into your car, it's time to examine your life and diet).

So I decide to sign up for a boot camp in my neighborhood. Right. A normal person might start taking long walks or say, ride the bike at one of her three gyms she pays memberships a month to.

Not me. I may have my "Before" body, but I want my "After" life.

I go to the Pilates bootcamp (yeah, I'm rolling my eyes at my extreme pretentiousness, too). What I remember about pilates is that it's exercise you can do laying down. I'm in! Can we watch TV, too?

Oh, but then the Skinny Bitches who are taking the class with me walk in, each in a more fabulous and more Juicy outfit than the other. Are you kidding me? I'm wearing bright blue Target (half price sweats), a red Gap t-shirt and mismatched socks.

The Skinny Bitches scoff at me. And I scoff at myself. This is not my Burbank pilates - this is a Kick Your Ass and Hand It Back To You workout. I rustle through my purse making sure I have my insurance card with me.

The only comfort I have is that a Very Famous TV Star is in class and he cannot keep up either. I won't say who he is, because ya know, I want to be respectful of his privacy. Okay, it's totally TR Knight from "Grey's Anatomy" and I'm kicking his ass but that's not saying much. He keeps reducing the weights whenever the instructor turns around.

I leave, every inch of me drenched in sweat. I now feel immense compassion for any self-defined big girl who returns to a work out class after not going in like, forever. It's hard. I wonder if people made assumptions about me. I wish I had a t-shirt that said, "I Used To Be Thin Like You."

Hmmmm... it couldn't be much to print one of those up?

I always said, this wouldn't be a diet blog. It's my journey back to the person I used to be. And that person was fit and kick ass. She might have been a Skinny Bitch, too. Someone who wore her perfect outfits to exercise class and took her sensible weight for granted.

I will never do that again.

I will say, when I gain weight, I am in total denial. Even as I'm going from my jeans, to bigger jeans, to sweat pants - I kind of have no idea that I am changing. I think, I'm just me and somehow when I'm ready, I'll (snap my fingers) just go back to a size 6.

Yesterday's insanely, brutal wake-up call in the form of a woman screaming at me to "Get that butt, up! Up! Do you want those saddle bags??? DO YOU WANT THAT JIGGLE BEHIND YOUR ARMS????", told me, this is going to be a frickin' lot of work.

(P.S. I did wonder what would happen if I told her that Yes, indeed, I did want to to keep my saddle bags, but I was too scared. So was TR.)

I went back again, today. I could almost feel tears coming to my eyes, it was so INCREDIBLY hard. Why did I do this to myself? UGH!

But I also felt immensely proud. I didn't let the Skinny Bitches deter me. And I got my butt up, a little higher and my instructor even screamed at me a little less today.

Awesome.


This blog is dedicated to Big Girls who take big chances.

Skinny Bitches

Adventure Bowl Let Me In Your Pool!

This week I pulled from the Adventure Bowl, "Do something that makes you afraid." I really wish I had been more specific when I wrote that one. Because right now, there was a long list - talking to the cute guy on my street, standing in front of the mirrior naked, looking at my 401K, taking my car to my mechanic because every time I do, he, in his thick Russian accent, says, "Very bad news. VERY BAD NEWS for you."

But, I want to have fun! This Bowl is about having fun, challenging myself, getting back to me.

Hmmm, what can I do that makes me afraid? Well, one thing that I want to work on is my extreme case of Good Girl-i-tis. I am so freakin' good.

I obey all laws, I'm nice, I never step out of line. If a friend wants to jay walk it's like I can compute in five seconds or less all the castastrophes that could possibly happen, "We'll get tickets! We'll be mowed down by Hummers! We'll get tickets, be mowed down by Hummers and be on the news with mug shots that will not be flattering to my jaw line!"

I know. My friend once said to me, "It must be exhausting being you." And it is.

So I thought this could be a great time to do something that made me afraid and was bad...

My friend R sent me this web site that had all these listings of houses for sale in LA, each more ostentatious than the next. One even bragged that it had the best pool in LA and had even been feautured on "Entourage." (Eye roll with secret jealousy).

I started to think that it totally sucked that the only people that could luxuriate in pools were multi-millionaires. Poor people get hot, too!

There seemed only one way to remedy this. I needed to crawl over the fence of the "Entourage" house and get in that pool.

I told E my plan and she was in.

We decided we should do this at night, 'cuz of the whole fence scaling thing. The adreniline was pumping and soon I as I was up on a trash can (we didn't have a ladder) and over on the other side.

E went next, though, she started screaming when she came face to face with a racoon scurrying along the neighbor's fence. You would think I would care about someone calling the police but I was feeling so bad ass at this point, I practically DARED them to haul my soaking wet, voluminous ass out of that pool.

The pool was freezing and of course, we forgot the towels in the car. (MORONS!) But that only made us laugh harder until we were practically convulsing in fits. "We did it!" I knew it made E feel good to see me this way. As soon as just last December, I had been a shell of my former self.

Her words. But, true words.

The getting out part, OH, WE WERE DYING, we were so cold! And then there was the part where we had to crawl back over the fence with NO GARBAGE CANS on our side. We were dying of laughter over that. "Let's call the police to let us out!"

But man, was that worth it. Indescribable fun.

I highly recommend you do something that makes you afraid. That makes you feel like a bad ass. Because it pays off in the most unexpected ways after. You have no idea.


This blog is dedicated to fearless friends raccoons the size of dogs.

Adventure Bowl
Let Me In Your Pool!

When You're Hiding Margaritas in Your Purse... It's Time To Look At Your Life

Life has been hectic. My new way of coping is to stay super busy so I don't have to think about being super stressed. I knew I was neglecting my blog because I didn't want to deal.

But knowing "not wanting to deal" has lead me to be confined to my bed, isolating from friends and eating a lot of string cheese, I thought I'd just journal like crazy and get it off my chest.

I went to one of my favorite Mexican places, Sunday, journal in hand. I ordered a margarita. Margaritas always make me tell the truth. Not always a good thing, like the time by BF and I had them and I ended up telling him I fake my orgasms. That was not a fun night.

Anyway, all the stuff I had to write about this Sunday was about family and the ability of my family to drive me bat shit crazy. I'll publish that entry one day. It's gut wrenchingly honest about how upset I am with my parents.

My Mom is either off her meds or no one is regulating them. She's the one who went to several different doctors to get all sorts of anti-depressents prescribed to her after my cousin died. She then concocted her own tiny meth-like lab in her house where she combined them in all sorts of varying degrees until it backfired an landed her in the emergency room.

That was a fun two months.

After one margarita the steam was pouring out of my ears. Why won't my Dad step up and do anything about this? Why am I the bad guy in all this? Why when I talk to my Dad about her erratic behavior am I called... wait, for it - "too sensitive?"

The things my mother says... they are not the things a mentally well person says to her daughters. Nevermind, that if she is acting this way with me, she is acting this way with everyone. My sister told me four months ago she was cutting off her relationship with my mother. I begged her not to. Why? I guess... I hate conflict. I would much rather ignore conflict. Can't we just all get along? Haven't we all gone through enough?

But the price of silence, of just going along with it, is really heavy. It's not making my Mom better and it's really affecting me and my sisters. There were a lot of reasons I broke up with my therapist. One was I just wanted to deal with my cousin's death more.

But when my friend C, a patient of my therapist, told me my therapist cried in a session with C because something they were talking about made her (my therapist) think of her son's suicide, I felt kinda reluctant to bring up David's death.

So I just paid out of pocket and went there and didn't say anything at all. I have taken politeness to a whole new level.

The other reason - she told me I would be more healthy if I didn't have a relationship with my mother.

I was not ready for that. I'm not ready for that now. Which is why, when I came to that conclusion at the Mexican restaurant, I ordered another margarita. Only, it was too strong. And I had to drive. But I'm thrifty and I had already paid for it. So... I went out to my car and grabbed a cup that I was carrying around for water. And I marched back into the restaurant, dumped my margarita in the cup and then tipped my waiter well for looking the other way and left.

I didn't come to any other conclusions about my family that day. Except that margaritas on a hot, frustrating day are delicious.


This blog is dedicated to waiters that look the other way.

When You're Hiding Margaritas in Your Purse... It's Time To Look At Your Life

Adventure Bowl I'm Famous Here & At Taco Bell

I've always wanted an 8x10 glossy photo, like the kind famous people have, but of me, hanging in a restaurant. It doesn't even have to be a fancy restaurant. I could actually get quite excited to see myself featured at the Taco Bell right by Warner Bros.

There's only one problem: They hang their pictures quite high and while I'm not opposed to standing on a table top ("Excuse me, yeah, could you move your Chicken Gordita over just a smidge so I can crawl on top of your table and drill my photo up here?... No! Well, then I can't be responsible for falling ceiling."

This week, I saw my dream coming true when I picked out of the Adventure Bowl: "Hang Your Pic Up at a Restaurant." Now the hard thing is, I don't exactly have an 8x10 of me. Then I realized, that's what Kinko's is for! One hour later and about twenty bucks in printing fees (I got kind of picky, afterall, this picture of me is going to be immortalized FOREVER), I was off to this cool Mexican place in Hollywood.

I got to the restaurant and sat down in a booth. First problem - why are there so many damn people in a darken restaurant on a Sunday? Don't you people have anything better to do?!?! Second problem - a lot of the photos up there are nailed in. That doesn't make my job impossible, I'm strong and I come with tools. But I need less people here and someone to shield me.

I'm surprised I had that good of sense to know when an Adventure should be put on hold because by now I had two margaritas and after two margaritas, I start to think that I am invisible. I really don't want to be in the crime blotter because I was seen yanking down a picture of Burt Renolyds and replacing it with mine.

Now, even, though this Adventure has to be postponed until I can bring a few friends with me, it's not a total loss. I did some recon work that told me not to come on the weekend and help me scout the best booth to sit in that will get me the most optimal placement of my photo.

Now the big question is - do I want to be by Jake Gyllenhal or Farrah Fawcett???

This blog is dedciated to patience.

Adventure Bowl
I'm Famous Here & At Taco Bell

Everything I Know About Depression, I Learned From Carrie Bradshaw

Apparently, "Sex & The City" is not just for learning about sex and fantastic shoes! Now in one viewing or less, you too can learn to have the most fabulous depression ever. Just buy a ticket and grab your popcorn, note pad and pen!

Don't have time? Okay, even more fun, let's compare and contrast Carrie Bradshaw's depression in the "SATC" movie to my own.

CARRIE: Gets depressed in a luxurious five star beach front hotel
ME: Gets depressed in a broke down, rent controlled apartment in L.A.

CARRIE: Gets under satiny, 700 thread count sheets to shut out the world
ME: Lays on a threadbare mattress with a sweaty, ten pound Chihuahua. Gave up making the bed six months ago

CARRIE: Takes to her bed in a gorgeous couture caftan
ME: Takes to bed in a hole-y t-shirt that wouldn't be suitable for washing floors

CARRIE: Her golden locks of glossy hair cascade around her, highlighting her despair
ME: My bed-head is 24 hours away from being dread locks

CARRIE: Takes off her thousand dollar sunglasses and stares at herself longingly in the mirror
ME: Please... a really depressed person knows, rule #1 of depression - NEVER LOOK AT YOURSELF IN THE MIRROR

CARRIE: Refuses to eat for days
ME: Alernates between a bag of Doritos or Cheetos as breakfast, lunch and dinner. Only shops at the depression girls' grocery store of choice - 7-11.


People, if depression were that fabulous, there would be no reason to get out of it. So, thank God mine wasn't :)



This blog is dedicated to healing margaritas.

Everything I Know About Depression, I Learned From Carrie Bradshaw

Naughty, Naughty, Awful Blog Neglector!

I'm sorry I have been so infrequent with my updates this week. You know those movies where someone is being chased by a tornado? That's me, except instead of my tornado being formed by bad weather patterns, mine is filled with 8,000 type writers, their little keys taunting with their click-ity clacks.

Believe me, I feel terribly guilty. I'm Catholic, so my blood type is guilt. Another thing I have been completely neglecting is returning the two extra Spelndas I took from my local coffee shop. How could I do that?! Doesn't the poor owner have enough problems with corporate moliith Starbucks right around the corner - never mind, ME, who could carelessly bring down his whole coffee house dream with my Spelnda stealing ways?

This keeps me up at night.

But, when I write here, I don't just slap dash it off. That's why rather than writing something awful now, I'd rather toss and turn for three to five more guilt filled nights.

I will say this, 7 months ago when I started this blog, I wasn't even getting out of bed, so depressed was I about everything from a death in the family to the excessive jiggle of my thighs. I can't believe how much that has changed... I don't think I would be so busy with work if I hadn't written here and dusted off the Adventure Bowl.

To that end, I'd say, if you need to be inspired, maybe read some of the old posts about the Adventure Bowl or check out some of the ones with the most comments, knowing they resonated with the readers here and maybe will with you, too.


This blog is dedicated to free chocolate samples.

Naughty, Naughty, Awful Blog Neglector!

Little Miss Baldy Brows

Today I have had endured a devastating loss... of my eye brows. Yes, I had them waxed but I specifically said, "Go easy!" When a girl has a big butt she needs to balance them out with big brows.

I know what you're thinking, "You big diva, you pay someone to do your brows?! Well, then, you deserve it." Let me tell you something, I only learned that there was even an occupation where someone deforested the hair above your eyes five years ago. Before that, I was living in the thicket of brows that most resembled knitted mohair sweaters (Thanks, Dad!)

Besides, is $8 so much to pay for looking well... less hairy? Well, apparently, it's too little to pay to get the job done right. My brows look like they were tended to by a person who was blind in one eye and had glaucoma in the other. I have taken to hiding so forgive me that I owe you a Porsche riding post and another called "The Importance of Naked Jumping Jacks." I'll be back with one of those on Wednesday.

In the meantime, everyone REALLY loved Melanie's contribution in "The Weight of Weight." Any other topics we can throw at her? I'm thinking overbearing mothers, missing your inoppropriate boyfriend, life ruts, boundary issues, weird sex dreams, clutter chaos or daring to date again... anybody, care to help me narrow it down?

I'd love to hear your suggestions!

P.S., I totally stole a "Vogue" magazine from the salon to make up for the hatchett job on my brows. Not really worth it as every women on every page is staring back on me with her non over waxed circus brows.


This blog is dedicated to acceptable stealing.

Little Miss Baldy Brows