Juice Cleanse Day 1: This Is Entirely Too Much Juice

In case you missed my post Monday explaining why I’m doing this to myself, click here.

When the Pressed Juicery delivery person showed up and placed the first box of juices at my door at 3:30am, I was awake to hear it.  My dog had woken me up moments prior to vomit on the floor.  Archer is sympathy barfing the start of this experience.

For the last four days, I’ve been polluting my body with alcohol and nutritionally bankrupt foods.  From my birthday celebration on Friday to the Bey/Jay concert I went to on Sunday, watching what I eat/drink has been sliced off of my priority list and set on fire.  So I’m already doing this all wrong.  According to all the juice cleanse “how to do this without dying” material I read on the internet, you’re supposed to slowly ease yourself into a cleanse by eating healthy, light foods and drinking a lot of water for at least three days prior.  That just didn’t happen at all. (more…)


Ice Cream and I Have Agreed to See Other People.

Reasons why I eat:

-I’m happy about something.
-I’m sad about something.
-The sky is blue again today.
-My dog has cool whiskers.
-Beyonce exists.

Ugh, I need some chicken wings.

Ugh, I need some chicken wings.

In other words, most of the time I don’t eat purely because I’m hungry.  I’m actually not hungry that often.  If I were to eat just to satiate a bodily need, I think I could get by on a big sandwich per day and be fine.  But food is a form of comfort to me, and sometimes the relationship gets ugly, particularly when I’m stressed out about something.  I’ve written myself a prescription for pizza and ice cream and I can refill it until the end of time.  I can write you one too, if you want!

This is why I have decided to do a juice cleanse, starting tomorrow.  Why should you care?  You don’t have to, but this is my goddamn blog and you’re here, aren’t you?

One of my friends has done one through a local place called Pressed Juicery, and they deliver you a shipment for the day every morning.  I have appointed them my dealer.  I can hear you now: “Jesus Christ, how LA of you!  What’s next, you going to become an organic homeopathic vegan Scientologist?”  First of all, I’m not nearly wealthy enough to be a Scientologist.  Secondly, no!  I’m not trying to really “cleanse” myself of anything – I think the whole cleansing theory is bullshit to begin with (although my body will undoubtedly benefit from a break from cheese and wine).  I’m doing this because I want to challenge myself to stop consuming things just to consume them, and see if I can do it.  I’ve already tried simply eating healthy, but my willpower isn’t usually strong enough to stick to it for long.  I feel like I need a reset button of sorts.  So I’m trying this.  Maybe it’ll be good for me in the long run.

Or maybe I will just be a miserable sack of misery for the next few days (chances: solid), in which case maybe don’t talk to me much?  Either way, I’ll be blogging about how this goes.  If I’m going to torture myself by drinking straight up liquified kale spinach gross for several days, you’re gonna read about it!  I mean, if you choose to.

Ew!  Juice!


Once, I Had A Sisqo Website

You know the guy.


Take it in.  Now we both feel dirty.

Now we both feel dirty.

For those of you who know me as the lazy piece of crap I am now, you might be surprised to know that I was a very motivated and creative youth.  I voraciously consumed every Berenstain Bear, Clifford the Big Red Dog, and eventually, as a pre-teen, Nancy Drew, Babysitter’s Club and Sweet Valley High Book I could read – along with random terrifying and graphic sci-fi books my dad left around.  Then I started writing my own stories.  It got to the point that I eventually wrote my own “book series” called The Modern Young Women Series (trying to sound cool and sadly, not quite getting it yet), which was shamelessly modeled off of The Babysitter’s Club books. I wrote so much that eventually my electric typewriter was not enough for me, and I lusted for a shiny new computer of my very own.

At the tender age of 11-12 years old my wish came true, and along with my Macintosh Performa,  I was somehow granted completely unrestricted and unsupervised internet access.  Not knowing what the fuck the internet was at the time or what I was supposed to do on it, I ended up on websites dedicated to the only thing I really thought a lot about at the time: Michael Jackson.  After a few years of familiarizing myself with the interweb and a dizzying amount of fan-run websites, in the heyday of build-your-own-site platforms like Angelfire and Geocities, I figured I’d try my hand at making my own.  After teaching myself some very basic HTML, my Michael Jackson website was born.  I can’t remember much about it, but it looked like a typical homegrown 90’s website, and it had MIDI music of one of his songs playing on it.

Ugh, do you remember MIDI music?  If you don’t, this will jog your memory. Woof.

Not completely satisfied with my creation for pressing teenage reasons, I abandoned it and moved onto making a site for his little sister, Janet.  Man, did I love the Jacksons!

Still feeling artistically unfulfilled, and saddled with way too much fan-site competition, my next project became clear to me with the release of a song I think you’ll recognize as one of the most stunning and provocative musical creations in recent history:

My new website would be dedicated to the thong worshiping blonde haired song siren himself, Sisqo.  And this became my most successful internet project to date.  What did I call this site? (more…)


Life: Hard Sometimes.

This is about to be so honest that I struggled with the idea of posting it, because I don’t want to be judged on one rough patch that I’m going through, and I generally frown upon oversharing. But fuck it.  Our problems are a part of who we are, and I think we all just want to be understood.  I know I do.

I’ve been in and out of therapy several times in my life.  As a kid because of the horrifying things going on in my house, again after my dad died, and I attempted again shortly after I moved to LA and found myself lonely and depressed.  Recently I decided to try again because I realized I have an eating problem.  I stuff myself to the point of wanting to explode, and it happens often enough that I’m getting concerned with myself.

So I’m only a few weeks in, and naturally I’m confronting all sorts of issues.  I’m revisiting all the scary things I witnessed my dad do,  I’m revisiting his mental illness and suicide, I’m revisiting all the teasing and manipulation I endured in school, I’m trying to talk my way through why my first instinct is to be a nasty bitch to men if they dare to try to talk to me, I’m exploring resentment towards different people in my family, I’m realizing the effects of not having a male figure in crucial periods of my life, I’m confronting my social anxiety and crippling self-awareness and insecurity, and I’ve been feeling extremely overwhelmed.  I thought I had dealt with and worked through a lot of major issues I’ve faced, because most of the time I really do feel fine, but if there were no loose ends to contend with I likely wouldn’t be trying to fill some gaping hole with cheeseburgers and ice cream.  In counseling, the pot is being stirred, and I’m having trouble figuring out if talking about all this heinous shit that undoubtedly led me to choose food as a consolation method is helping the problem or just adding to it.

Can we ever really resolve the crappy things that have happened in our lives and make peace with them?  Yes, I absolutely think that’s possible.  But how?  Is it something that happens because you crack it all open and expose the throbbing bloody mass of shit and horror and take a long swim in it in hopes of making it to clean water on the other side?  Or does that just pull you down and suffocate you?

My therapist recommended that I start trying to write things to get them out.  Obviously she meant for me to do this for myself, and not for my friends on the internet to read it.  I know that others out there, probably even a lot of you, have dealt with worse and aren’t whining about it in a public forum.  But here I am, not only writing this but posting it, because I spend most of my time internalizing and hiding all of my problems from people who care about me.  Any serious shit I share with anyone I make jokes about, in hopes of giving a glimpse of the truth without making anyone too uncomfortable and also making it seem like it doesn’t matter/there’s nothing to worry about.  Covering real feelings up with humor and self-deprecation is clearly my other coping method.  (Don’t think for a minute I’ll stop doing that, either.  Sometimes I really AM just acting like a drama queen to make you laugh – so it’s okay to laugh, if you want to.)

I don’t talk to people about things because I want to come off as strong, as someone who can take care of herself, as someone who doesn’t really get bogged down by all the loneliness she so frequently jokes about and doubts of her own self-worth. Dwelling on negativity doesn’t lead to anything good, and I do not want to be pitied.  But ask the 18 pounds of junk food I am putting down in a week (slight exaggeration) how well whatever I’m doing now is working.

I don’t know whether to talk about things or not talk about things, but I know the desire to figure out some sort of path to go down is there.  And I know I’ll be okay.

I know being honest enough with yourself to call a therapist and say you need help with some shit is a big deal in and of itself.

I know that anyone who is determined enough to put in the work can be a better version of themselves and that things really can improve.  I also realize how monumental of a task it is to make honest, difficult changes in your life.  Especially on aspects of yourself that seem so hard-wired into your personality you don’t know where the fuck to start.

We are all, for better or worse, the product of our own experiences, and it’s up to us to figure out how to accept who we are, flaws and all, and function as the most sane and healthy versions of ourselves that we can be.

Some times are more difficult than others.  And if any of this resonates with any of you, please accept a virtual hug from me.



Boob jobs! Titty is a fun word to say.

When I was around 13 years old I remember looking in the mirror at my chestal region and thinking, ‘these are gonna be awesome in a few years when they’re bigger!’  A few years later with nothing, and then a few years after that with more nothing, I finally came to the conclusion that my boobs finished baking long ago.

Right around this age.

Right around this age.

The tiny two was all I was ever going to have.  I tried to fight nature.  I massaged them to death, I asked my doctor to give me the highest hormone birth control possible hoping that would trick them into growing, I took some sort of voodoo magic horse pills claiming to increase cup size but in actuality just made you burp up herbs for hours.  These little suckers remained staunchly themselves.  They were not budging.  I hated it.  I wore padded bras (still do.  sorry bros) and it took me until my early 20s to even dream of taking my shirt off if I was letting a guy do some things to my things.  (sexiest sex euphemism ever!)

Eventually I seemingly made peace with their size and resigned myself to a lifetime of not being able to fill out a bathing suit.  The idea of a boob job entered my mind occasionally, but I didn’t think of it as a serious option for a couple reasons: 1. If my body didn’t react well to the surgery and I got sick or something, I’d have put myself through suffering for fucking tits.  2. If implants made it harder to detect breast cancer, I’d have also just done that to myself.   Plus, hi, expensive.

But recently, the thought of actually doing it kept popping up in my head and I figured I had nothing to lose by at least going for a couple consultations.  In most offices, they’re free, so why not?  Several months ago, I went through with it.  Because when in LA you do as the LA bitches do and you consider slicing up your shit with a scalpel.

Here is what happened. (more…)


9 Valentine’s Day Ideas For Single People (One Involves Monkeys)

vdayJust because you are a single unicorn running wild this Valentine’s Day, you don’t have to be sad that you have no one to feed you chocolate strawberries and shove flowers in your face.  Those things die anyways, just like the love between a couple that has grown to hate each other.   No, there are other things you can do to get through this day without murdering anything, and I’m here, as your resident single & luvin’ it buddy, to share them with you.

1. Get a monkey.  With a monkey destroying your apartment and flinging shit at your walls, you won’t have any time to experience sadness or regret or desperation or any of the other pesky emotions this day can bring up.

2. Buy every flavor of Ben & Jerry’s and rate each one on this scientific scale I have created for you. As the cliche goes, the single and lonely person drowns their feelings in a pint of B’s & J’s.  It’s tired.  Let’s make this a science experiment rather than an exercise in despair.  Clean out the freezer case at Ralph’s/Price Chopper with one of each flavor.  Ignore the sad eyes the grocer is giving you at the checkout.  You are fine!   You might not be spooning a person today, but you are going to be spooning the fuck outta (more…)


10 More Things Women Wish Men Knew About Sex


The first time I wrote one of these, I spent a lot of time cringing before hitting the publish button.  So I thought to myself, let’s do it all over again!

1.  It’s a nice thought, but the act of sex itself does not need to go on for an hour.  Trust me, this is not the type of making her “not be able to walk straight” sore that you want to aim for.  A better idea: breaking up activity into smaller chunks with breaks in between.  Then you can call it a marathon and wow, don’t you sound like the man now?

2.  Stop trying to recreate the insanity you are seeing in porn.  Porn is shot to (more…)


10 Things That Made Me Realize I’m Becoming A Crotchety Old Hag

Are you aging too?  Wow, how weird!  The whole life process, man.  They said it would happen, and would you look at that.  It totally is.

1.  I get viscerally angry over slang.

The phrase “turn(t) up” makes me so mad you might as well have just slapped my mother. Oh my sweet god do I hate it.  I mean, I get it.  You’re saying let’s turn it up a notch, basically.  Like, let’s party.  Let’s crumple up our cares and shoot them out of a rocket launcher and dance naked in the moonlight.  I got it.  I’m okay with the sentiment, but say those words again and I’ll punch you in the tit.

I feel the same way about “about that life.”  Do you even know what you’re saying?  “Pizza.  Yeah, I’m about that life.”  What life?  You’re about pizza life?  If anyone is about pizza life it’s me, and I would never say I’m about pizza life.

2.  I am slowly getting too out of touch for certain technologies.

I’m talking about Snapchat here.  Apparently youngsters these days are dumping Facebook in favor of things like Snapchat  I knew Facebook’s days were numbered when (more…)


15 Things Women Wish Men Knew – Sex Edition


1.  Hey, maybe don’t bite my nipple off.

2.  Lol dirty talk lol.  Some of you can do it well, many of you can only do it hilariously.  Know what your talents are…and aren’t.

3.  You do realize vaginas are sensitive, right?  Maybe you like your dick smacked around, but most of us do not appreciate that treatment on our lady parts.  You should never approach a vagina like you’re about to (more…)


I Noticed You Stopped Asking Why I’m Single, So Now I’ll Tell You


You know what’s worse than people constantly asking you whether you’re dating and why you’re still single?  When they stop asking.  When they’re so tired of being inundated with “no” “nope” “not even a little bit” and “are you fucking kidding me?”‘s that they just throw you into the forever alone box and leave it at that.  Who wants to constantly (more…)