Monday, May 3, 2010


I have moved over to Tumblr. It's easier to use. Sorry. xo

Friday, April 30, 2010


Six months ago, when I returned from New Zealand, I was totally smitten by an Englishman that I met while I was traveling. I can’t even tell you what we had in common, other than the fact that he worked on the British counterpart to a television show that I had worked on in the states. I dunno, I guess I just liked that he paid attention to me. And he promised to visit me sometime soon.

“Soon,” btw, is one of my least favorite words in the English dictionary. If “soon” had meant that he would be over here before the holidays, you would have found me running up and down the hallways singing songs of joy.

But soon never means anything other than “not now,” so I couldn’t get excited about it. “Soon” is the opposite of a promise, just like its vicious cousin “maybe.” If I’ve learned anything, it’s best not to work yourself up for something that might not (probably won’t) ever come.

It took me about a week to let any hopes of a visit being a reality die down, and then I was on to bigger and better things. I’d say I almost completely forgot about this Englishman if it weren’t for the occasional “how are things?” Facebook wall post that I would get every couple of months or so. Otherwise, he was a non-thought.

So wouldn’t luck have it that when I’m waiting on a “soon” from someone else that this Englishman would pop back up into my life? He will be in Los Angeles in a week. That. Is soon. It will be good to see an old familiar face, but he’s not the one I want to see.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Let me be emo for one second

This. Is my anthem.

Story of my life.

Failure #347

Man, it sucks when that shitty book He's Just Not That Into You is right. I don't want to be part of the same demographic that views Sex And The City as the single girls' guide to being fabulous. I'd always fancied myself in a different echelon than the girls that put designer shoes at the top of their list of interests. I never thought I was that obvious.

But in this case, I'm gonna have to call a spade a spade. He is just not that into me, and it's about fucking time I recognized that.

He's not that into me if he'll only talk to me via internet. He's not that into me if he uses the Master Cleanse as an excuse to postpone seeing me for 10 days. He's not that into me if he's sneaking out of my bedroom at 4am without saying goodbye or why he was leaving. And he's sure as hell not that into me if he's letting me walk away.

Jesus. What was I thinking? And when did I become so pedestrian? Ugh, I'm sad.

Monday, April 26, 2010

Batter Up

I went to the Angels vs. Yankees yesterday with a bunch of ladies and the Infamous Mark Roden. Baseball is one of the only sports I actually understand most of the rules to, so it's actually a good time for me. Really, though, going to baseball games is all about cramming your face full of grotesque amounts of sodium and washing it down with good ol' American beer. Oh, and it's about the boys. Those dreamy baseball players! Yowza!

I fell in love with a little Puerto Rican slice of heaven called Jorge Posada. Unfortunately, he was playing for the wrong team, but every time he came up to bat, I suddenly became an avid Yankees fan.  I'm serious, he's ridiculously handsome:

 Holy smokes!

The ladies and I discussed this, and my opinion was not the favorite, but I personally believe that baseball players are the sexiest of all athletes.

Any athlete is going to be gross if you take more than a 2-second look at what they're all about, but it seems like the only big issue with baseball players is that 90% of them are pumped full of steroids. Apparently steroids make your weenie majorly tiny, but I'm never going to get anywhere close to a professional athletes' weenie, so that doesn't concern me.  And sure, the steroids make some of them beat their wives, but if I'm not even gonna get the chance to see their weenie, I'm sure as hell not gonna get one to marry there's nothing to worry about.

But let's consider the alternatives:

Football players are enormous, meat-scented (they have to be, right?) date rape machines, hockey players are equally enormous but lack the mental ability to even come up with a scheme as complicated as date rape, golfers are either 85 years old or serial adulterers, and let's not even get started on basketball players.

Tennis is for nancy boys, swimmers have enormous bat wings, and anyone that participates in extreme sports as a profession is an equally extreme asshole. As my friend Bowman once perfectly articulated: "Bam Margera seems like his life is made up of three components: Blowjobs, Cool Ranch Doritos and dutch ovens."

Thus, baseball players seem to be taking the lead with their slight steroid issues as the sexiest professional athletes.

 Think about it. I'm right, aren't I?


Monday, April 19, 2010

Drastic Measures

Ugh. I told the guy that I'm "talking to" that it was his turn to make the next move, and now I'm trying everything I can do to distract me from the purgatory that is waiting for this "next move."

I reached the end of the internet by about noon today. Needed a break from constantly refreshing my inbox --- did you know that actually makes time go by more slowly? --- so I took a long walk in the sun. After I got back I realized that I needed something super involved to keep me distracted or I would definitely break my own rule and email this guy.

So I did the one thing I said I would never do in this life. I did exactly what I have been mocking some of my dearest friends for since this option first came about. I started a Farmville farm on Facebook.

I know, I know. The shame, the humanity.  Seriously, though. What a distraction!

Now I'm too busy trying to figure out if I need to feed the cow that my cousin gave me as a gift, or what I'm supposed to do once I harvest my strawberries to even notice if I've got a new email in my inbox from this silly boy. I don't, btw. But I also haven't embarrassed myself by reaching out when I said --- very clearly --- that the ball was in his court.

Of course, I will have embarrassed myself if it turns out that he reads this blog...


Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Pearl of Wisdom #8

If you are going to do any "breast pumping" at the office, just know that everyone will always (ALWAYS) think of you doing this every time they see you  for forever and ever. This image will never go away. No matter what you achieve in your life, your co-workers will always think of you as the lady that pumps your breasts at work. Also, we will have visualized it, which is basically like seeing you naked. Just sayin'.