VIBES

Yesterday, I posted the facebook status: "My heart says 'Cut your hair to your shoulders and you'll look JUST like Taylor Swift'. My head screams 'Cut your hair to your shoulders and you'll look JUST like your father wearing a wig of your newly-chopped hair!'"

That status got something like 30 likes. For my random thought. Every day I ask myself why I'm not taking a crack at writing professionally and every day my answer is "Oh look! A re-run of Real Housewives of Atlanta is on!". (I'm easily distracted)

Today I woke up feeling positively giddy and excited like all my dreams were about to come true. I have no idea if they will or not, but I walked into my office and someone had put an iced coffee on my desk, then someone paid for my Wendy's in the drive through in front of me, THEN I caught a mouse in a live trap successfully and let him go and he looked back at me as if we had an understanding of mutual respect and joy for life, THEN I got in to the 6pm Pure Barre class with Arika when I was last 5th on the wait list.

WHAT'S NEXT?! A million dollar check gonna fall out of the sky in my name?!

I Wish I Was A Little Bit Taller, I Wish I Was A Baller, I Wish I Was A Bitch With A Badass Side Eye

I truly wish I had a super strong resting bitchface/side eye combo, but normally I just resemble a puppy that you left alone all day and is really happy to see you.

*sigh*

I Forgot Two

6.  I couldn't decide what I wanted to eat on Sunday night while watching Scandal. When I finally decided on sushi, I called and ordered for both of us to be picked up by him because I'll be damned if I'M paying for sushi when I'd settle for a Hot n Ready. Anyhoo, I ordered crunchy shrimp roll and shrimp ebi and was told "That is such a white girl sushi order" by him after opening it and taking a piece for himself. Real nice. Also, complete nonsense. I didn't even order California Roll!

7. Speaking of Scandal, I took a quiz titled "Which Character on Scandal Should You Get Drunk With" and stumbled across a spoiler that made me so enraged I punched a pillow and screamed. I take this shit seriously.

Isn't It Weird To Think That "Timber" by Pitbull And Ke$ha Was Just Coming Out This Time Last Year???

A few of the most random things that have occurred lately.

1. I got chosen as the Ambassador to Pure Barre for the last month of this year. That wasn't exactly random as I got an email notifying me that I was chosen and to prepare articles and social media posts for each week, but the overwhelmingly positive response I have received after my first article was posted was VERY unexpected and lovely. Every time someone stops me in class to tell me they loved my story I almost burst into tears. Such a me thing to do.

2. Speaking of Pure Barre, I had a dream last night that someone, I'm not sure who but I know the subject was male, told me "your ass really isn't what it used to be" so you know I woke up this morning still angry and ready to WORK tonight in class. Watch out everyone, I'mma need my space during seat work.

3. Speaking of dreams, I also had a dream a few nights ago that Taylor Swift became friends with me, invited me to her Detroit show, then afterward, Tony Chin-Quee and I took her to the dirtiest, scariest diner/bar I have ever seen that actually had some sort of dirt-floored attachment on it's side (this may very well be Nancy Whiskey I'm thinking of because that's a scary ass bar that everyone seems to love) where we were hanging out and practicing stripper moves. You guys, I don't even know on this one. My subconscious is a strange place.

4. Speaking of Detroit events, I had totally forgotten the DAC Holiday party was this Saturday. All I knew was that I had selected dresses all through the year to have ready for party season in order to not worry at all. I was ready!! Oh, until I was informed it is "Great Gatsby" themed. Cool. Whatever. One of my outfits is a gorgeous little black jumpsuit with lace that can be styled and accessorized to be Gastby-ish. I figured I'd cruise into my local vintage shop just in case to see if there was anything slightly better. Oh yeah. Ohhhh yeah there was. I told the girls what I was looking for and out comes this incredible dove grey flapper dress with beautiful beading and fringe. I gasped. It's big on me so it drapes in the back, but whatever. It's a once-in-a-lifetime find and I'm going with it. Boom. That's probably the luckiest last minute dress find I've ever experienced.  

And PS, my closet is becoming a place that my daughter is going to looooooooove with all these dresses.

And PSS, there's apparently a champagne fountain at the party because the committee had an extra 3K they didn't know how to spend. I say great choice! Why donate it around the holidays?! *insert eye roll*

5. I can't stop eating pomegranates. Can't stop. Peeling them open slowly is like therapy and they taste like candy, but are full of antioxidants. Is there a more random fruit to love???

I'm Pretty Positive That The More Eyeliner Quinn Wears, The More Blood Lust She Gains

I watched so much fucking Scandal (Season 2 and beginning Season 3) this weekend that when I just opened CNN.com, my first thoughts were "Why are there no headlines regarding the President's affair? How is America not discussing the discovery of the mole? What about an article about David Rosen regaining his position as distinguished attorney?!"  Seriously.

I looked at a picture of President Obama and was like "Who is the handsome black guy?"

Oh, It's Going To Be Handled. And By "It" I Mean Sweatpants And Popcorn. And Ice Cream.

Tonight I have a huge plan to stay in a cloud of blankets and pillows and watch however many episodes of Scandal it takes for my brain to totally go off the rails and believe I could be the next Olivia Pope. Considering I'm only in the middle of season 2, I have many potential hours of self-transformation ahead of me.  Last week I bought the most incredible grey wool coat that looks like it belongs at the White House, so I'm like... 40% of the way there already. One bottle of red wine, a giant bowl of popcorn and some silky PJ bottoms and I think that pretty much does it!

I know this is one of the most typical white girl Friday nights in existence, but A) I had my very first EVER battle with stomach bug/food poisoning that overtook my soul on Tuesday night. B) All JD could talk about during said bout of illness was how badly his back hurt, needed rubbed, and I should "just drink Vernor's!" and C) I watched 12 Years A Slave last night and I still haven't fully recovered from any of these things, so give me a fucking break, ok, man? I'm not a gladiator just yet.

Please Do Not Take Your Emotional Impotence Out On Me, Asshole.

I was all sorts of happy when I left for lunch today and I remembered I had downloaded 2 of my favorite love songs of all time last night. It's cold ass actual fuck outside and the sky continues to spit snow on and off, but it was sunny at this time and I was singing and I was actually doing something worthwhile at the time (getting an oil change) so, sort of a perfect storm of productivity.

On my wait back to the office I decided I would walk in here all triumphantly with my new clean fucking oil and wiper fluid and post the best damn blog ever about one of the songs I was listening to, but THEN I asked someone a simple question and they gave me a shitty answer, like they're a teenage girl (not though, grown man) asserting her false bad bitch status in the 10th grade, and my hormones took over and now I'm writing this blog to tell you that instead.

Oh, the delicate balance of estrogen vs. testosterone. May it swirl and whirl until we all just murder each other.

I Almost Forgot.....Kim Kardashian Still Exists

So...... From what I understand, Kim Kardashian is crazy thirsty for attention. It's kinda sad because when I met her she was actually really sweet and normal and seemed a bit shy. I almost can't even juxtapose that girl with this one.

I don't want to belittle her right as a woman to be sexy and put her body out there and be proud of it, but I just think the hashtag #BreakTheInternet sounds so desperate. It's like someone walking into a party and doing their best to let everyone there know they are rich. Or people who went to Harvard mentioning the fact they went to Harvard in the first 2 sentences of every conversation. It's a bizarre, uncool use of a once cool phrase. She should have just used #MoreAttentionPlease or #MyAssAGAIN or #PleaseLookAtMe.

I don't mean to be a total bitch, but Kim, I have already seen actual video of you getting eaten out, fucked and giving a blowie. Why would I, or the rest of the interwebs, care more about a digitally manipulated photo of your oiled up body that is a copy of a previous photo by that photographer? That just makes no sense.

Furthermore, if this is your cry for help that you need even more attention than you are currently getting....where do you go from here? We've already seen your labia, bro. What else are you going to show us? How do you plan to keep that spotlight on you? Your addiction isn't an easy one to feed, but I wish you the best in your attempts.

Anyway, please tell Kanye to do College Dropout Part Deuce. Love to North. She cute.

I Basically Just Won Iron Chef. In My Mind.

I did it! I really did it!

I imagined myself acting like a primate and just pounding the pomegranate on my counter until it was just a pile of juicy mush and then scooping it up with 4 fingers and spooning it into my mouth, but instead...I watched a Martha Stewart tutorial on how to properly open it because fucking elegance.

I daintily cut off the top stem, then I scored the sides, then I carefully wedged that mofo open and slowly shook or picked out all the pods. (no worries, I Instagramed it as well for proof)

I ate a few during the process, just to remember the taste and consistency, because I wanted an idea of what to mix them into after topping cheesecake bites with a small portion. Salads? Pork Chops? Pasta? WHAT?! And you know what I want to mix them with? My mouth only because those little juice pockets are the REALNESS.

Pomegranate. My new favorite snack. I feel sophisticated as balls typing that and meaning it.

RED EVERYWHERE

I will be cutting open a pomegranate by myself for the first time tonight to prepare a dessert.

Prayers would be appreciated.

So Stoked I Didn't Quit Twitter!

Yesterday Chrissy Teigen and I had a full on Twitter conversation where we bonded over our love of Taco Bell and how hard we fail at baking when we try so hard to succeed. Rest in peace, me. Died. Then came back to live in Chrissy's sunlight.

I fangirled out, Instagramed some of our exchanges, it was beautiful, we are now best friends and life as I know it just got sooooo much cooler. I gained an incredible amount of cred with every dude in my life. Which is nice.

Things I Kind Of Want To Name My Daughter

1.   Lavender
2.   Hyacinth
3.   Daphne
4.   Irena
5.   May
6.   Ansilta
7.   Arrabella
8.   Peach
9.   Bunny
10. Ellis

I think I'm losin' it.

Brittany Maynard

I am so touched by her story. When she talks about it, she is so calm and up front and it's just crazy moving.  She reminds me to take stock and re-think my approach and get moving, be creative, be present and pursue what I care about instead of making it a part-time hobby.

I am not looking forward to spending all day in a hospital tomorrow, but it's a little empowering to be the one waiting for someone else to come out of an operating room for a change. Even so, just thinking about being inside a hospital gives me anxiety. Once I'm sick and I'm there, it's a comforting place. But when I feel very well, just setting foot in one makes me feel like I'm jinxing myself. BUT, being needed and caring for people is a huge part of what makes me feel alive and at my best, so I'm more than happy to be there for my mom. Lord knows she's spent a good amount of time in a rigid plastic chair worrying about me, so it's high time I return that favor.

Never take your health for granted. Never take your body for granted. This is the vessel you get. Be good to it. Love it. Move like you love yourself. The things you adorn yourself with are so secondary to the strength and confidence you build in what is underneath. Because, trust me, when you are unwell, the last damn thing you care about is that purse you really want or when you'll get to wear those great shoes or what someone at the party thinks about your dress. You'll start to worry about things like "Did I pet enough dogs? Did I hug enough babies? Do my friends and family really know how loved they are and how much joy and amusement they have brought to my life? Did I see the sunrise enough? Did I kiss enough? (we know I'll never have an 'enough' there) Did I swim enough? Did I play enough? Did I make even one person's life better because I was here?"

Be kind. Be kind to others and yourself. Walk away from painful things. Embrace joyful things. Pet more dogs. Trust me on that one too. I pet every damn dog I see. People on the street really enjoy it when I stop them. The dogs like it too....I think.

Get Me A Tissue, Please.

When people get together and join up on issues they love and create things and fangirl over one another, it literally makes me so happy that my eyes water and I get a runny nose.

There's nothing I love more than an unlikely pairing really working out to produce something wonderful. I get high on people encouraging the creativity and happiness of others. It makes my little heart swell and beat so loudly.

Guilt Smoke?? I'm A Fucking Comedy Genius!

I just text yelled at Charlie Dobrowski in a group text for a whole afternoon because he's trying to skip out on the UM/State tailgates tomorrow. I had a bunch of candy so my jokes were on point. At one point, he responded "Wow, MJ, you're really on fire today" to which I replied "It's the flame of disappointment and I hope the guilt smoke it produces clouds your soul". 

I firmly believe this may be the most creative thing I have ever texted. I usually hate candy, but now CANDY FOREVER!!

All Aboard The Space Out Train!

I spent roughly an hour yesterday, off and on, thinking about how good Jay-Z is at commanding the stage by himself and how seeing On The Run changed my life. 

I thought about how there are numerous other B-level rappers and minions on the stage at normal rap shows to help with delivery and crowd hype, but not with HOV. That dude completely owned everyone all by his lonesome. Sure, he had Beyoncé at certain points, but is that helpful or a stick in the spokes of his own performance? And think about having to follow OR precede Beyoncé songs? Was he scared? Was he pumped? Either way, he killed it. He fucking killed it, man. HOV forever.

I also mixed these thoughts with how long it would take me to make greek steak wraps with fresh yogurt sauce (not long at all, very quick), then how pumped I was eating said meal. Did I want a bowl of cereal? No time. Gotta keep it moving. Banana it is.

On today's thought agenda, in between one million work assignments, obvs, was.... napping, how much I love ginger & honey body oil mixed with my baby oil gel so my skin smells expensive as fuck while getting softened. Also... do I need another perfume to mix it up? Who am I? What will I eat for dinner? Why are all the stores all out of Tazo pumpkin chai mix?! It's too early!! Am I really going to be ready to bring the energy for all the tailgating for UM/State this weekend? I'm definitely making goat cheese stuffed peppers. Those sonsabitches were delicious. Delicious!

It All Comes Down To Delivery (Makes Shocker Sign With Hand)

I'm super stoked that TCQ asked me to write and perform YouTube skits with him to become bigger stars than we already are, but when I look back through my notes regarding possible skits....I just look like an absolute crazy bitch. And not the good kind that Buckcherry sings about. Here are some ....snippets exactly as I see them in my phone:

White girls-black baby names. Black dude-white baby names  Ending with Chickenhead. Include Anferny.

Support group for white girls that want to fully understand rap lyrics and not get punched out in the club.

REBUILD DETROIT - One ratchet hoe at a time. Twerkin for growth! (urban gardening)

Things that are racist: Skinny Christmas trees, pumpkins with big teeth, Columbus Day (for real, but make it funny?)

Call it "Now Use It In A Sentence, Bitch!" (but sing-songy. Educational? Add to support group?)

Cleaning out closet of Cross Colour jeans and Charles Barkley Suns jerseys with black boyfriend. Add pagers, guns?? He cleans out Emory and Harvard closet full of plaid. (Tupac Changes plays)

The Bump It: A Timeline (Hair Hill)

White Girl Trickle Down Effect: It's Not Our Fault

Barre When You're Black: A How-To Guide


So......as you can see, My friend TCQ (who is black and also an ear, nose & throat surgeon educated at Harvard and Emory) really enjoy the juxtaposition of white girl/black guy in our humor.  I told him that I already feel pretty internet famous because of my Instagram and Twitter and he whole-heartedly disagreed while stating "Nobody cares how much Fireball you drink at Michigan tailgates or how many fig pizzas you eat or what fall trees in Grosse Pointe look like, they DO care that you are slightly racist and borderline unacceptable in public with your humor. You are basic as hell, yet very self-aware in your basicness." As he has incredible science raps on YouTube already, I'm just going to go ahead and agree with him.

I once read advice that one comedian gave to another: "You're going to come up with a thousand ideas. About ten of those will be funny. You'll be able to actually use one."  or something like that.

PIZZA! HATS! BANKS! CRAAAAAAFTS!

I have a happiness problem.

Where most people go through life acting pretty cool and normal and digging down deep to let themselves express emotion, I actually have to do the opposite. I'm an over-sharer of joy. My enthusiasm for things knows no boundaries. Even when it should.

If I'm in a good mood, I can't stop complimenting people. I could see a normal person on the street wearing the most hideous hat I've ever seen, but I will definitely compliment them on it. I have no idea why. I think it's because I'm so stoked out that they had the bravery to look in the mirror and be like "I look fucking fly as hell in this hat and I'm going with it".  I feel the need to validate their choice because I'm so happy for them just out there...living their fucking truth, man. You go, Glen Coco.

If I actually DO like the hat, I will not only tell them, but jump all over their face like a puppy until they tell me where they got it, when and if it has special meaning to them. I'm insane. Sometimes I pant when I'm done talking because I get so exhausted from happiness. Sometimes I'll just twirl or do PB moves in place to expend some of the energy out of my body.

Last Saturday I had tickets to Banks that I was pissing myself excited over for months, but I walked into Paper Source in Birmingham during the afternoon and learned how to do a raised watermark embossed metallic stamp on stationary and I lost my DAMN MIND. Didn't want to do anything but stamp for the rest of the day and my life. (My honeybee monogram is my life so I'm making people monogrammed stationary for Christmas, if you definitely don't want this, you should tell me now because there is NO STOPPING ME). Luckily, I was forced to get ready and put on pink lips and get to dinner where I had enough wine and steak to make me excited for anything and I made it to the show. Once AT said show, I became aware of just how cool this girl is and once again, became overly enthusiastic about her wardrobe, the venue, her music, the crowd and the Coors Light tall boy I was consuming.  I geeked out and fangirled the entire time and then again upon discovering a new brewery in Greektown after.

I don't even know where this came from. My mother is, like, the inventor of resting bitch face and my father is very happy, but he's not downright spastic like me. I mean, I have no chill, you guys. NO CHILL

Update: As I was hitting Publish on this post, someone walked into the office with Jets Pizza and I screamed. I literally just screamed because I was so excited and wanted some. I should be on meds.

"Get Your Hand Out Of My Pants, There Are Children Behind Us"

After all this time, here is a brief list of the things JD still doesn't understand about me:

1.   Why I would ever set foot in a TJ Maxx, mid-range chain restaurant (aside for the California Pizza Kitchen in Somerset) or a campground.

2.   That I CAN ski, I just prefer not to as I hate being cold and sliding downhill.

3.   How Busch Light doesn't actually kill me upon entering my mouth.

4.   Why I get furious when he constantly begs me to go see a movie....at 10:30 on a week night. Also, how I could possibly deny him fingering me in the theater when he's bored during a movie I choose.

5.   How I own so few 100% cashmere sweaters and blazers.

6.   Why I use an alarm to wake up. Why I choose to show up on time for work. Or at all.

7.   Why I get irritated if he takes his 2 hour lunches at the strip club.

8.   How I don't want to stay up until 2am watching Dexter with him regularly.

9.   Why I would ever turn on the ringer of my phone. Also, how I don't lose my phone once a week.

10. The names of my parents.

11. Why I hang up when he leaves me on hold for longer than 5 minutes.

12. Why I don't take a vacation to Florida with him for the entire month of February.

13. Why I ask him to wear his seatbelt and to not drive 20 mph over the speed limit.

14. How "I JUST had a heart attack" doesn't still work on me when he does something wrong.

15. Why the waist of my yoga pants comes up so high.

16. That it takes me longer than 15 minutes to be showered and ready for a party.

17. How I still tolerate him.

If PLSs Are Basic, I Don't Even Want To Be Bad.

I have had a splendid time in my day judging girls, but this whole Basic Bitch/Bad Bitch fight has to get sorted out. You know why? Because it's fall and I want to do a bunch of really basic ass shit and I consider myself a straight up Bad Bitch for life.

You know what makes someone Basic? Doing something because everyone else does it. If you're kicking it in the Midwest with chunky highlights or an inverted bob and some chandelier earrings, you basic, girl. You need to get your shit sorted and look at some magazines and exit 2004. Those things can't even be considered classic, they're just no bueno. Do not be afraid of what the other moms at daycare would say, they're Basic as Fuck too. It's totally ok to try out that look you saw on Kate Hudson that one time.  Now, if you know the basic things you're wearing are tragically uncool, have given it some extra thought and decided "You know what? This is how I look best and I'm gonna run with this! Tunics and puffy vests forever!" then, strut those mom jeans, girl. STRUT. With pride. We can't all look cutting edge all the time! I wear loafers every second someone doesn't forcefully take them off my feet and though the people around me collectively sigh every time they see them coming, I think I look like Michael fucking Jackson, but cooler and a better dancer. So fuck everyone. I woke up like dis.

It's now fall. The most Basic time of year. What honestly tends to cause all of us to look slightly basic in this season is the changing weather. It's not always easy to look fierce as hell when it's 40 degrees and raining. Sometimes one must wear some chore boots and a parka and carry around a latte because it's necessary. Now, can those be American flag or rose print chore boots and a lace bomber jacket instead? Sure they can, if you're me and you want to piss off your very tasteful and conservative  loved ones. Go for it! I live to see the cringing.

And you know what else?? If I want to wear a chunky turtleneck sweater and vintage riding boots and stand in a pumpkin patch taking a selfie while drinking apple cider, I'm going to fucking do it. I'm going to do it ALL DAY LONG. In fact, I'll post whatever GD Instagram I choose. Fall foliage in Grosse Pointe? You bet. The back of my dude's head as he reads the newspaper with #adorbs? Fuck yes. My first PSL (and if you don't know what that stands for, just quit life now) held up against a cloudy sky? You bet! Cornfield-lined dirt roads? Fuck yes again. It's not like I'm getting fake nails with French manicures, for fucks sake, it's just some simple seasonal clichés! They're tradition! Still Bad Bitch Status.

And while I'm at Pure Barre, in my chore boots and Patagonia, while sipping a latte and taking a selfie and tagging myself there I will still be #flawless.

Now I Want A Slice Of Pizza And A Latte

Holy balls, been a month since I blogged. Back to my old ways again. Too busy with the 3 dimensional people.

Every year on 9/11 I write about that day. Maybe I did it because it was one of the scariest days of my life. Maybe I did it because I was grateful I was alive and everyone I cared about made it out safely. I'm not sure. I don't want to write about it anymore. So many of the posts read "never forget", well how could you? If you experienced that day the way a lot of us did, forgetting is not an issue. That fear and sorrow and uncertainty is burned on you forever. But I don't want to relive that day anymore just to remember.

The last time I was in New York, it was a really beautiful, mild, sunny weekend. We were strolling around and laughing and I was taking one billion pictures, natch. I remember staring up at the new tower SO bright in the sunshine and walking by the site of the others. So many years later, that day is still very evident in that area. They don't need reminding and they will certainly never forget. It's very heavy.

What I think about most with New York is just happily walking around, slight buzz from day drinking, laughing, arm in arm with him while wearing the new grey jacket I just bought, really enjoying the city. Drunk out of my mind on champagne grinding in the club. Leaning my head on him in a cab. I remember watching kids blowing bubbles in Central Park. I think I still have pictures of them on my phone. It's a happy place. A bustling, loud, Starbucks covered, booming laughter, neighborhood bar joking, candlelit cocktails, be whoever you want, blending into the bricks happy place for me. I feel very relaxed and at home in that city.

Those are the kinds of things I never forget.

I Gotta Go See About A Girl

What a deep and terrible loss to the world. Robin Williams. I mean, you just had to stare at the guy. It seemed that life shot out of him in a million different ways.

I don't understand mental illness. I really don't. I try, because I know I have friends that suffer from it, but I really fail. I don't understand how you can't make yourself stronger, better. I'm naïve, stubborn and full of myself, so I guess I thank God for that. I truly believe I can fix anything that is wrong with me. Little help from doctors and surgeons and friends at times, of course, but beyond that, I can make myself stronger and better. That's just the way my brain works.

But, I also know how deeply loved I am. Even in moments when I'm pissy and down or feeling lonely even in a big room of people. Even when I'm being bratty.  I know that I am loved and cherished beyond what I can even understand and that I am someone's daughter, someone's sister, someone's friend, someone's example, and the love of someone's life and if I hurt, they hurt. I know that's how I feel about my loved ones.

I always felt that I was put on this earth to make people laugh, make them feel cared about, make them smile, take care of them, make sure they know that someone thinks about them even if they don't hear it every day. I avoid what feels bad to me and I soak in love and laughter like a human sponge. I can't get or give enough love. I really can't. I'm not always graceful about it as I have a lot of my mother in me, but I feel it at all times.

And I'm not one to put my sadness out there all the time for the masses on social media or anything, but when I'm sad I just say it out loud. "I'm so sad right now". Something about saying it, to someone, in the room with you, really releases it from you. And that friend will either be like "Get your shit together" or they'll say "I know you are, I am too, it will get better.".  And it does a little in that moment. And I instantly feel that.

If you're sad, tell someone. Because there are a lot of people like me in the world that will want to help you feel better. Or at the very least, (if I'm having a day that I'm more like my mother than my father) we'll tell you to get your shit together. It is a true miracle that we are all even here, walking around, so be kind to each other and support each other and put as much happiness into each other as you can because it's truly all that matters. At the end of it all, nobody is going to give a single fuck about what you had or how cool you thought you were, they're going to remember how you made them feel. Give yourself away, freely, openly. Fall in love with as many people, places and things as possible because we are here for a blink. Make it a good blink.

Things I'm Super Fucking Over

- Hormones.
- Pepperoni
- Cuticle care
- Prenatal vitamins
- My phone vibrating
- Cintas invoices
- The smell of my laundry room
- Shitty SYTYCD routines
- Eyebrow maintenance
- Pellegrino
- Texas
- Ebola
- Spring mix
- Cramping
- Appointments of any kind

High On Pills At Work

Dear Mr. Spina,

The Office of Melissa Johnson sincerely thanks you for your recent inquiry into the health and well being of her mouth. Her dental procedure went very well and, after several "pill parties", she is feeling much better! The working order of said mouth for certain "activities" is on a TBD basis for now, but should be up and running quite soon, and we appreciate your patience in this matter.

An EXTRA thanks is extended to you for choosing, for once, not to take the Lord's name in vain during your already profanity-laced jokefest regarding the manner in which Ms. Johnson injured her mouth. She has been listening to Take Me To Church by Hozier at your request on repeat, and yes, the lyrics are lovely and very fitting, a nice comfort in this trying time.

Again, Ms. Johnson is very grateful for your continued support and concern.

All The Very Best,



Melissa's Future New Assistant - Whose First Day Is August 4 (and I imagine this is how she'll write my emails)

PS: Ms. Johnson has declined your request to "take some of the pills off her hands".

A Good Old Fashioned Yank & Tweet

Definitely considering live tweeting my tooth being pulled today while I'm all gassed up. I don't know my dentist's policy on this, but he seems to really like me and I wore a low-cut tank top today so I have a feeling he'll say yes. For what he's charging me, he should really allow this. In fact, I should be able to dictate tweets to a dental assistant who should simultaneously be taking pictures and Instagraming them with filters of her choosing.

Last time I was on gas I remember having a fucking great time. In fact, every time I'm quite heavily sedated or medicated, I have a ball. After my last surgery, I was hitting on a male nurse WHILE HE WAS HOLDING A BEDPAN UNDERNEATH ME. Sexy as hell.  Adam Newman found it rather hilarious. I assume the nurse was turned on and had a raging boner as most men do when a woman is urinating in front of them.

Fuck inhibitions when you've got pharmaceutical grade drug brain, y'all. Ride that wave!

Maybe This Is Finally The Year I Move To Florida....

I think it's really weird that every year in the Midwest, no matter how butt-fuckingly brutal this last winter became, I am somehow still excited for fall.

Don't get me wrong, I'm soaking up every last minute of sunshine and warmth and if it's above 55 degrees, I'm in a sundress and loving life, but I smelled an apple a few days ago and longed for the fun things about autumn.

I am having a fantastic summer and I know there's still at least a month and a half left that is absolutely jam packed with events and concerts and fun, but I also saw Target stocked with all the trappings that incoming college freshmen will need for their dorms and I got a case of the warm fuzzies!!

It's hilarious to me that last Saturday, I was making out on beach up north at night with a sky full of stars and a warm breeze and fireworks going off in the distance and giggling about how it was literally the perfect rom-com night and wishing summer would never ever end. Now I'm getting excited for spooky clouds and color leaves and tailgating.

I don't think it helped that this last Friday we went to the Detroit City FC game and it absolutely felt like the drunk, rowdy adult version of going to a high school football game...if every single game was Homecoming. WHAT a fun time. But definitely reminded me of fall other than the fact that I was wearing jorts and sweating my tits off.

Whatever. I hear that it's going to be Polar Vortext v2.0 and I plan to spend the entire winter either snuggling or at formal charity events only so I better enjoy a snowless ground while that shit lasts!

Please, Please, Please, Come Back And Sing To Me....Dream Chris Martin

So, I'm just sleeping along like nobody's biz and I have the bestest dream.

I'm in a small crowd in a little venue that is pretty bright, looks maybe like a nice cocktail party in a beach house. Coldplay is playing on a stage. Yeah. Stay with me.

I'm grooving right along, trying not to make obvious orgasm faces because Chris Martin keeps making eye contact with me while playing. I tell myself "this is normal, performers do this when they can see the crowd". (John Legend made eye contact with me several times during a filming in real life and it was so fucking hard not to faint because DIMPLES) I'm just singing right along quietly, swaying and such and I feel a little person pair of hands on my legs. I look down and a small blond boy is snuggling right up to the back of my thigh. I see a person lean down to grab him off of me and I look up at the face and it's none other than fucking Gwyneth Paltrow.

She apologizes for her small son attaching himself to my glorious quad and I say that's totally ok and we strike up a conversation because she compliments my blouse. While Coldplay is still just rocking along, she and I discuss a few recipes we like and a restaurant I've been wanting to try and the sunscreens we prefer and my inner dialogue is all "Fuck yes! I'm now totally friends with GP and I'm about to be all up in the GOOP life, Spain, here we come!!" and then I decide to take the less-is-more approach to our new BFF status and get back to watching her consciously uncoupled babydaddy sing my feelings right back to me in hit song form.

While he's playing, he continues to make eye contact and as he's done with one song and the band decided to take a break, he comes down through the crowd and he's greeting people and he shakes my hand and walks away to talk to others. My pants are on fire, I'm trying SO hard to play it cool, but I assume my face looks like a high powered fan is blowing at it and every single one of my teeth is showing via my smile.

I go take a seat on a group of couches and ol GP's spidey senses must  have been tingling, because she comes to chill with me. Her kids are playing with me and we're shooting the shit about mutual friends like Taylor Swift (what??) and blahing and blahing and I'm marveling at how great she looks when she's not trying, but I also want a drink because always.

I get up to talk to a waiter because walking to the bar is for peasants, and over comes Chris Martin. He orders a cocktail as well and starts talking to me about English vodka (again, what??) and I'm just hanging on every word he says (exactly like my favorite Lifehouse song, weird) and we're chatting and he's making faces at me like he's totally relieved to have finally met me and then we discuss our love of deli sandwiches and delis in general. Not Jewish delis, so probably should call them sandwich shops. Then, just as I realize I should walk away, he's all "There's a great deli down the street and they have cupcakes, you want to go sometime?" and I almost explode into one giant glittery pile of yes, but I calmly just say "yeah! great." and he smiles and walks away. I don't even have time in this dream to realize he didn't grab my number because I then have to decide if it's cooler to be friends with Gwynie than to date her ex husband.

I think about it for about 4.1 seconds and realize "screw that vegan bitch, this man is all English smiles and stage hopping and writes love songs that literally cause me to burst into tears, plus she cheated on him according to Vanity Fair, so she's out, he's in". I don't throw my drink in her face or anything, I calmly go back and sit down and pretend she doesn't have eyes and didn't witness that entire encounter. I think Ill just pretend nothing happened as experience has told me to just keep shit to yourself until you are full-on confronted and absolutely have to say something.  She can suck it. And bloody seventh hell, I'll leave that talk to him, he's the one who stayed with that blond ball and chain for so long. I smile to myself in my dream as I have reached peace with the situation and I think Melissa J. Martin will look AMAZEBALLS on my stationery because we are now in love.

And then I wake up.

Fuck you alarm. Fuck you right in your stupid ass.

The Monday After July 4th Weekend

Is just.... the fucking.....worst.

I'M MY OWN BIGGEST HERO!

You know. Like any other lunch hour. Until....

I decided to head to the Lake Lansing bank branch today for my afternoon money drop. Lovely day, I can also drop off my rent, get some ice cream, you know, some me time. I always dread this area during lunch hour. I have no idea where all the people come from, but everyone in the greater Lansing area heads to this part of town around 11:30am on week days. I figure, it's no big deal, I'll get a cone and take my time weaving through a pattern of intersections I like to refer to as "The Devil's Nest". Anyway... I get my cone, I'm lickin' away and singing along to Mariah Carey on flashback lunch when I think I see a wayward squirrel slowly attempting to fumble his way across a busy street. As I get closer, and other cars coming the other direction do as well, I realize this is actually a baby woodchuck.

Yep.

My brain shifts into automatic hero mode as if I am seeing a member of my family inside a burning house. Zero fucks given for my own safety, I stop my car (and all the cars behind me) and put on my flashers. I leap out, simultaneously chucking my delicious ice cream cone over my car to the side of the road like I wasn't waiting all day for that frozen sugar, and throw up my hands to the cars coming my direction. Not gonna lie, I cut this close and I'm pretty lucky I didn't get just fucking mowed down, but I'm NOT going to watch a baby animal get squished. I'm just not. ESPECIALLY not a woodchuck.

Poor guy is just paralyzed with fear. He is not moving. I walk toward him with my hands down and my thoughts are 1. "Please hurry out of the road before people start yelling." and 2. "If I get my hands on you, you are my pet now, hold still, please." I get right up to him and I bend down and he tries to juke left, juke right, and then he turns his back on me. I clap and tell him to shoo and he scoots his ridiculously cute little fat ass out of the road and up into the deep weeds.

I take a bow, attempt my cutest smile/wave combo to the angry lunch commuters probably just fucking salivating to get to the Burger King behind me, and return to my care feeling like THAT WAS THE BEST THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED TO ME.

Could have been better if I'd actually gotten to pick up the baby woodchuck and get it into my car, but I'm not looking to get rabies right before 4th of July, you know? I've got booze to drink and burns to give myself with sparklers.

Stop Cheating! It's Sequence, Not The Olympics!

Last weekend was pretty damn fun. Discovering at 2:15am that Sonic now has fucking pickle chips alone was pretty epic, but then throw in the biking pub craw of Detroit and that's just a solid time, man. Drinking a hummer and eating fried green tomatoes on a patio with the crew? Really great vibes. And there are so many more to come before the season is over.

I am fixing to have one of those long weekends I loooooooove.

So much booze I slur and stumble and laugh at my own jokes. Glowing with sweat. Hair in a constant bun. Getting too much sun and not caring. Eating every five minutes because I have no idea if I'm full or not. More booze. Attempting to "get ready" to go out at night and realizing that just means taking off my swim suit. Fuck make up. Getting serious side-eye from the local girls. Giving zero fucks. Counting the lake as showering. Shoving each other while hiking. Trying to find Petoskey stones on the shore. Putting more lime in the guac than people prefer. Constant sandy feet. More booze. Playing Sequence until I scream at everyone. My hair blowing across my mouth, getting stuck in my chapstick. Sneaky sex. Wearing a bandana as a headband so everyone remembers I'm from a farm. Swearing I'll get a pedicure as soon as the 4th is over. Sparklers. Fireworks. More American Flag apparel than is necessary or tasteful. The rocks on my feet. Cannonballing off the pier. So much laughing my tummy starts to hurt. Never sleeping. The sound of the waves. The feel of the breeze. The pink of the sunset. Never wanting to go back home. Winery stops on the trip easing that pain.

Oh, summer, how I love you. I love you so hard.

If I Leave Now I Might Get Away

I am sitting there and being pleasant and polite and giggly and he starts arguing about talentless fucks and that art as a whole has gone downhill and it's all cheese and hacks have taken over everything, but all I'm doing is enjoying the booze in my hand. I state my case that "art truly is in the eye of the lover or buyer, and that's ok", but oh, no... that's not ok. That's wrong. I argue a little more, a little louder, a little sharper, but I realize I just want to enjoy this evening and the sun and so I relent a little, thinking about things I forgot to do today, mentally listing, and one of those is buy Banks tickets. Then I mention how it's so weird we're not at Dave right now and how, that we should be. Then it really begins. It actually began before that, but that's when my brain explodes.

"I'm so sick of Dave, you, me, us, we've seen him a hundred times and he never gets worse or better, it's just the same fucking thing..." and ....as his mouth keeps moving, his voice is trailing off, it starts. I'm staring at his perfect face and the violins of The Stone start. They start their faux classical intro. His voice is no longer there. He's smiling at me and talking and everyone at the table is joining in and I'm making corresponding facial expressions, but the classical vibe has faded and all I hear is the furious, precise, desperate, notes of guitar with violin behind it..like a bee hive. My head is becoming a bee hive. So appropriate as my name, and my monogram, are a honey bee, but still so inappropriate as now ALL I am hearing in my head is I've this creeping suspicion that things are not as they seem. And he keeps talking and joking, and his face is as handsome as ever and people are eating it all up, but all I'm thinking of is every shitty thing he's ever said to me or done to me, but then as it goes on yes I have done wrong, but what I did I thought needed be done, I swear, and I soften. And he looks at me, and he makes that face. As if he just now noticed I was actually pretty. And I know exactly what I look like right then. 

I know that setting sun directly on my face, with my eyes wide open, is my very best light. My eyes look almost all white, As heavy as stone and as blue as I go, and the red in my hair is fire and the blond in my hair is gold and my happy face with stern, angry eyes is probably my very best face, according to him. And the song just gets louder and louder and I was just wondering if you'd come along to hold up my head when my head won't hold on and I'll do the same if the same's what you want, If not I'll go, I will go alone he just holds my gaze and looks at me as if that moment will last our whole lives and in the next moment he's gone, a pile of snickers at some terrible joke someone else makes and my eyes dart around wondering if I can just leave - I will run and I'll be ok. And my head swims and swirls, but then I take another drink and I check my phone to see my father has called me and I draw in a deep smiley breath and I remember I'm fine, but I was just wondering if you'd come along, hold up my head when my head won't hold on. I'll do the same if the same's what you want; If not I'll go I will go alone. 

The song plays on, I hear nothing else, I look over at the sunset and I feel his hand creep to my back, comforting, claiming, but my eyes stay on the sunset and the breeze pushes my hair, and the song pounds on and I hate not being there live and I want to bust out of my skin, or be figure skating and it all crescendos in my head and I need so to stay in your arms, see you smile, hold you close, and it weighs on me, as heavy as stone and a bone chilling cold and I look back to him. Lock his eyes again.

Everything I love and hate about him swirls and I wonder if this is what things are just supposed to feel like. If this is what it means to be committed to someone and a life. But, mostly, I wonder how the fuck I got here and get the feeling that I'm on the fucking moon and feel as though I wasn't meant for this, I was meant to be somewhere else, someone else, who lets things fly out of them onto paper or canvas or ice or the ballet studio, or the pitch, or the bed or all of the above.  One thing I know is that I was not meant to be right here, at this time, sipping champagne on a patio with people I do not love, and how, most of all I was just wondering if you'd come along ..tell me you will.... and my eyes close, cutting his lock on them and I dip my head as a sea of guitar and violin take me away ....

I will wake up tomorrow pleasant and giggly all over again. Before my hangover sets in.

"Who's For Eva Braun Here; Who Wants To Burn Books?!?"

I have absolutely no time to write a blog. That's exactly why I'm going to do it. Being in charge of things sucks, y'all. I need to write.

I was just watching Field of Dreams last night, because of course I was, and I was thinking it's the perfect summer movie.

All that dusty sunlight, the crickets in the background, the relaxed, loose cotton wardrobe that was the norm on farms in the late 80's, everything. I absolutely love everything about that movie. The authenticity of what a small farm town mill looks like (the scene when Ray goes to pick up supplies and ask other farmers if they've heard voices) right down to Patsy Cline playing in the background while the old farmers socialize and talk shop. Ray's perfectly work jeans that appear to be his uniform. Annie pouring a baking pan full of Tater Tots to cook for dinner's side dish. The small-minded PTA meeting that Annie revolutionizes. (Annie is my idol, if you didn't get that)

This art directer outdid himself. That farmhouse is perfection. You can tell that its residents are forward-thinking individuals that really just wanted to live on a farm. The rich colors and art placed around the house, they loved it there.  It's more than functional, it's aesthetically pleasing as well and that's not incredibly common in midwest farm houses unless you're talking paintings of other farms and fake flowers.

I just love it. I love the light they captured. Watching this movie literally makes me feel 9 years old again, out in the middle of nowhere, when putting on overalls and eating a hot dog in your side yard while watching random men play baseball would have been absolutely thrilling. I could have been Karen. Our yard and the fields around our house and the woods next door - that was my scene and I really didn't ever feel like leaving it back then. I didn't want to go to Kalamazoo, I didn't want to go shopping, I needed nothing except snacks and outdoor adventures.

When I watch that movie, I can almost smell the late August corn. The way it smells very earthy and rich, especially after it rains. The smell of fresh cut grass and the sound of hog feeders clanking shut off in the distance. I miss it. I miss that simplicity.

"Is this heaven?"
"No...it's Michigan."

I Can't Stop

Watching the Sia "Chandelier" video. CAN NOT STOP.

I feel like Maddie represents my deep inner brain. And the song is just perfection. I love everything about it. My extension and flexibility certainly are not on Maddie's level, but now I think of her every time I'm stretching and push it as far as possible. Between that video and So You Think You Can Dance, I basically never stop spinning and stretching. It's too hot for my normal stretchies so I can very often be found standing around in a sundress attempting those upright splits. I know I'm dancing in my sleep because I'll wake up with a foot cramp from pointing my toes. JD asked if I've been wearing pointe shoes in Pure Barre because I was standing on my toes and I had to inform him we don't do that. I think he thinks it's an actual ballet class. I now have a membership to a regular gym as well and it feels INSANE to work out in shoes. I roamed around until I found 2 pipes along the wall in the abs/stretching room, removed my shoes, put on my Barre socks and had my own little class right there.

I took a brief break today to watch the Coldplay "Sky Full of Stars" video because that song is also excellent for stretching aaaaand Chris Martin's smiley face makes my heart go pitter patter, but then "Chandelier" came on the radio and my head was right back in that little blonde wig, twirling and twirling.

World Cup.... A Time To Get Turned On.

Reasons World Cup Soccer is the tits:

1. You never feel as patriotic as when you're cheering your very young, inexperienced Team USA as they enter an essentially unbeatable 3 team group. Bonus points if you're me and you're wearing a t-shirt with kittens on an American Flag while doing this.

2. You also get to feel as though you've just won World War III when USA beats Ghana in their opening game. Bonus points as Ghana has been the USA's nemesis in the last 2 World Cups. Seriously, they're our Hitler. (just go with it.)

3. Man on Man foreign PDA like CRAAAAAAZY. Other nations are touchy feely like whoa and I'm all about that.

4. Lets face it: It's porn for women. These are the sexiest athletes on the planet, all rounded up, running for 90 solid minutes, sweating, beating their chests, sliding on their knees, hugging the shit out of each other, ripping their shirts off....just turn on World Cup and if you don't like who's playing, mute the TV, put on some Banks or Sam Smith in the background for sound and get your sex on. BEST SEX OF YOUR LIFE.

5. The fans are just fucking insane. Can't get motivated to do your laundry? Can't stop procrastinating about the dishes? Watch the dedication of some World Cup fans screaming their faces off and you'll inexplicably feel the need to clean your entire house. I don't know why, but that shit works.

6. Avoiding work in search of TVs and day drinking with patriotic purpose.

7. When you're partying your ass off in Detroit and you inevitably end up at Lafayette Coney in the middle of the night, there are always a ton of people from different countries in there and they're ALWAYS ready for World Cup chants. If you don't like playfully chanting USA!! USA!! USA!! against the similar yells of people of other nations, while bombed, in the middle of Detroit, while eating a Coney Dog and drinking a mini carton of milk, then why don't you get the fuck out of America, you know? Just get out. Canada is right there. Go. Go then.

8. Landon Donovan. Even though he's not on the team, he's everywhere else and the sight of his face makes my heart and ovaries smile.

My Dad.

My father had to have surgery on his kidney.

The messed up thing is, I didn't even know. My Dad would mention an upcoming surgery the same way he would mention an upcoming trip to the grocery store, so I had little warning. I didn't even know he was scheduled until my stepmother left me a message saying he made it through ok.

He had a mass removed from his kidney and a little something removed from his bladder as well. Both were sent away for testing and he has a follow up on the 13th or 20th. The doctor said "it doesn't seem to be something to worry about". Thanks, doc. That helps about 0%.

I spoke with my dad today and he was as cheery as ever, which he would be whether he was completely fine or in level 7 pain. He let me know he had already been outside to work on his lawn tractor and he was returning to work on Monday. He also said he was going to Kalamazoo today to pick up his paycheck. So old school.

I asked him why he didn't just finally get direct deposit so he doesn't have to make that trip and without missing a beat he responded "I like to cash it and roll around in it".

Legit. Roll on, Dad. Roll on.

People.com Is On My Shit List

I almost got all the way through today without knowing a damn thing that happened on Game of Thrones last night.

Most websites are really great about spoilers and put nothing telling at all in the title of their posts and they definitely let you know if there are indeed spoilers ahead. But noooooo, People.com has to have a headline reading "An Obituary for the Game of Thrones Character That Died Sunday Night".

What the actual fuck, People. You couldn't wait until around 8pm to post something like that? Maybe give the good people who had to watch their beloved hockey teams battle it out in a vicious Game 7 a chance to get home from work and watch the episode???!

RUDE

#YesAllWomen

I am extremely intrigued by this whole #YesAllWomen movement.

I recently had a situation where I was becoming close with a man, but realized it had gotten to a point where I needed to decide if we were actually dating or just friends that had crossed a bit of a line. Several small red flags were popping up that indicated to me that this would not be a successful dating relationship, but nothing so flagrant as to say "I don't even want to be friends with this person". During our entire 'relationship' we had communicated our fears in dating as we now had many, many mutual friends and nobody wants that awkwardness of the "oh, it didn't work out" conversation if they don't have to have it. He assured me, to my face "the awkwardness isn't an issue, we'll stay friends no matter what". Stupid me, I believed him.

Teetering back and forth after a month and a half if I should in fact date this person or not, a very small, insignificant incident to him, but larger in my mind, let me know this in fact did not need to develop into a romantic relationship. At this point, we had never even so much as kissed, so I figured it would be an easier transition into only friendship than if we had become physical.

After a weekend trip with a large group of people that was quite awkward for both of us, I reached out to him on the Monday back to explain my feelings and let him know I thought we should just remain great friends, that I really appreciated that part of our relationship and just wanted to keep it that way, best for both of us.

At the time, he agreed, even acted like that was his choice as well. Again, stupid me, I believed him. Over the course of the next few days, he first gave me the silent treatment. Then attempted to have a phone confrontation with me over things I said that he views as "tasteless comments" about him. I texted him to let him know if he wanted to talk, I would, but I couldn't even figure out what he meant as I had handled the entire things with kid gloves to say the least.

He decided to take another route. He never did contact ME to discuss things, but he did decide to do some sort of smear campaign behind my back in order to persuade people to not hang out with me or invite me to places. And literally, the theme of the conversation when explained to me by a third party was that he stated "I wanted to date her, she doesn't want to date me, she's blacklisted". Ultimately, he just ended up making himself look bad to people, and I was fine and still invited to things and have these friends.

Now, I could roll off into a comedy-filled tirade here and decide to completely emasculate him in this paragraph. I could even decide to be incredibly flattered and mentally bathe in the idea that I have SO much female power that without so much as a single kiss, I can crush a man to the point where he feels the only way he can get over me is to eliminate me from his sight line for eternity. But mostly, I just feel outraged and sad for him. That nobody taught him this isn't appropriate behavior. That nobody informed him it isn't a woman's obligation to feel romantically toward him, even if he has done everything right. I'm truly hoping that at least one of his female friends pulled him aside and explained to him that it's actually ok for a woman to decide to just be friends with you and attempting to punish her for the way she feels is just wrong. #YesAllWomen should be able to 'friend zone' you without the fear of your attempt at retribution.

Then there was the time I requested an ex to leave my apartment after he asked me to rub his feet, attempted to change the channel on my tv, started rubbing my thigh with zero indication I wanted physical interaction and ultimately just grabbed at my crotch. When I asked him to leave, I was actually still nice. I should have been raging. While driving away, he texted me "That was a waste of my time. You were so rude and unwelcoming, you're unbelievable with your mood swings.". I told him I'm not obligated to rub his feet or have sex with him and I'm totally ok with whatever he'd like to call me in response to that. I also requested he never contact me again. That dude is about 2 shakes away from being an actual date rapist. He seemed to honestly believe the way he was behaving was acceptable and I was actually being rude by rebuffing his attempts to get physical.

Yesterday I was discussing these situations, both the tragedy at UCSB and my experiences with overreaction to being asked to be just friends, with a man. I was telling him about how uncomfortable I was about the things that happened to me so I can't imagine what other girls who have received larger reactions have felt. His response to me was "Well, a beautiful girl like you? If you reject a man, he's not going to take it well."  Really? REALLY? If that was an attempt at flattery, it failed. Did you seriously just condone this behavior after I told you it made me feel uncomfortable?

When women behave badly after being rejected, we're labeled as "crazy" and "psycho". If a man does it, it's because he's "hurt" and "lonely" but most of all, justified. It's ok, because our job as women is to return a man's affection, stroke his ego, especially if he's "a good guy". It's only appropriate for us to reject a romantic relationship with a man if he does something really bad to us. Right? Is that what I'm being told to understand?

Fuck that noise. I don't consider myself much of a feminist and I make concessions for all types of shitty behavior, but if you try to punish me or make me feel guilty for not wanting to be romantically involved with you, you need to get your shit checked. You've got major entitlement issues. And #YesAllWomen should be able to expect grown ups to act like grown ups.

Turtles.

Apparently it's national turtle week. Or day. Whatever. I have 3 relevant stories to share.


1. My first time in Hawaii; I'm there shooting the Sheryl Crow video "Soak Up The Sun". (you're welcome for the name drop). A few of us are in water about waste deep, chest deep for me, and holding on to surfboards with Sheryl and the extras astride them as to not let them float away. There are also several Hawaii native water safety experts there with us to handle sea life approaching. All of a sudden, I see this sort of rolling motion in the water and a VERY large dark spot and thought to myself "This is it. I'm scared of the unknown ocean and I'm going to be eaten by a shark in waste-deep water two days before my birthday because that is SO ME.". I try to look away and not let Sheryl see so she doesn't start crying, but one of our water safety guys starts getting incredibly stoked and basically halts production to point out that these are two sea turtles mating. By this point, they are literally rubbing against me in their process. I am paralyzed with fear and disgust as Sheryl joins in the delight of watching them and everyone around just seems very happy and I am getting woozier by the second. As I stand there being used as some sort of base for these turtles to grind against, the natives explain to us how great this whole thing is and it's very good luck if sea turtles approach you so intimately. I'm just saying it's good luck I didn't faint. No, I wish I had bucked up and reached down and touched them, but at the time, I really was just trying to remain upright and not let a rock goddess get killed by ocean monsters.

2. My mother is such an animal lover, she will risk getting her hand bitten off at the same time as getting hit by a car to rescue even the worst ones. I'm about 28-30 years old and she and I are returning from getting coffee or something. We are driving between 2 lakes in our home town and she sees what I believe to actually be either a swamp monster, dinosaur, or misplaced alligator. It's actually a giant snapping turtle with one million pounds of seaweed attached to his back, slowly forging the road from one body of water to another. My mother jumps out of her car help this beast who seriously looks to be about 90 billion years old. He can clearly take care of himself, but there my mother is, shooing him across the road as he angrily stares and snaps at her. She was so proud.

3. My friend Eric is also an animal lover and just all-around-good guy. One night, we're sitting in a park drinking some beers, waiting for his softball game to start and he sees cars slowing down on the very busy side street next to us. He's actually scared it's a child that has wandered out there because people are beginning to take notice. We rush over and it's actually a HUGE snapping turtle that looks like a mutant killing machine experiment gone wrong. Still, Eric eases out into tons of traffic to grab this nightmare. The turtle is FLIPPING OUT, thrashing and scratching and snapping as poor Eric is yelling "I'm trying to help you!". He succeeds and wanders back across the road with arms full of slashes.

I'm not positive these creatures should get a holiday.....

That Girl Is Gonna Lose Her Voice....

Last night.

I put in WORK yesterday mulching and hanging things and what not. I will be sore today and I figured I would sleep like a corpse.  I finally fall asleep after the Kevin Costner Robin Hood. (because if you don't stay up to watch Robin tell Marion "I'd die for you", you're a chump)

First, am awaken by beeping. Incessant beeping. I realize the neighbors left an alarm on. Fuckers. Everyone in the neighborhood is sleeping with their windows open so no noise goes unnoticed.

Next....crazy sex so loud by another neighbor that I would have called 911 if I hadn't heard the words "good" and "more" in the mix from the female voice. And PS, kudos, you two. Get it.

Finally, a thunderstorm. After the annoying noise of the beep and the amusing noise of the fucking came the ultra soothing noise of rain and thunder and I snuggled right back in knowing my basil plants were getting a nice long drink.

In the middle of all this, I still had time to dream that I was related to Giulliana and Bill Rancic and I was staying with them in New York for a week. They had a rooster theme in their kitchen which solidified the idea that I should have one as well. (this is real. I've been wanting these French print rooster things from World Market for weeks and debating whether to buy anything as I normally hate themes of anything.)

I think the moral of the story here is that people in the neighborhood are getting their fuck on and I shouldn't eat 2 watermelon oreos directly before bed or my brain won't function normally.

Mom

Happy Birthday to the best broad I know. She is the reason I'm a little sassy. She is the reason I love a good adventure. She taught me that tolerance and toughness are not mutually exclusive. She taught me there is great strength in saying what you mean and doing what you say. She taught me being your authentic self is the only way to be truly happy, even if it means you like the Red Wings AND Blackhawks, and she taught me great resilience by making me a Cubs fan.  She is always on deck to help whether it's sitting by a hospital bed or shooing a snapping turtle out of traffic and back into Cedar Lake. She helps me plant my roots, but she never clips my wings. She is my balance, she is my backbone and I am only badass by proxy- because she is my mother.

Oh, My Love It's You That I Dream Of, Oh My Love, Since That Day, Somewhere In My Heart I Am Always Dancin' With You In The Summer Rain

I would not normally blog twice in one day, but my boss is gone, I finished all of my work yesterday and I just had one of those perfect outdoor experiences.

I was at my apartment packing up for the weekend and I heard a noise, looked out and realized it was raining. No big. Love it. Doing nothing outdoors today.

On the way back to work, I stopped to fill up my car and it was just one of those perfect spring rains. Yesterday was soooooo hot, so that warmth still hangs in the air. Not enough to make the pavement steam when the rain hits, but enough that you can smell it. The breeze isn't cold anymore, it's perfectly refreshing and the rain is falling straight down which makes me safe to watch from under the awning of the gas pump.

The air delicately blows the little hairs around my face and I can see them start to curl on the ends from the moisture. The orange in my hair stands out perfectly on days like today when the sky is grey and the light is true instead of bleached out by the sun. I bet if I looked in a mirror while in that time getting gas, my eyes wouldn't have a speck of light blue, only dark grey or navy just like my mom's.

I love these days at the beginning of summer. When a super hot day is followed by a cooler, wetter day where we can all stand in the shop and grill the leftover hot dogs from yesterday's sunny cookout and watch the rain make all the budding leaves and even brighter shade of green.

Oh summer. I missed you so hard during this long, cold winter and no matter how much I sweat, I shall not complain about you even once. xoxo

Summer Is Stressful

A while back I got all hamboned and declared this "THE SUMMER OF LIVE MUSIC AND OTHER GREAT OUTDOOR ACTIVITIES!". I sort of forgot about that, but then accidentally, I started shaping up my summer activities calendar quite nicely.

I have been wanting to see Kings of Leon again for quite some time now and at first, their tour was taking them anywhere but near me and I got all fucking bent about it. Luckily, they added dates and I secretly bought tickets for that already. (shhhh, it's a surprise) Plus, its a Friday night so I can go total ape shit and hopefully just barely be aware of how loudly I'm singing when they play Sex on Fire.

I also wanted to see Ellie again because I'm beyond obsessed, but she only came to Windsor and the US Government still hasn't approved my passport. So whatever. I saw her twice last year, I should call it good until a new album comes out.

Dave. Duh. That's all set, but it's a week night and I'm not sure I'm quite into being sober for that, so we'll see how it plays.

VERY excited to see Ray LaMontagne!!! I have been wanting to groove out to that sonofabitch since getting a little taste of him in Chicago, so that will be great!

I really reallyreallyreally want to see Banks, but it looks like she's only touring places I will not be able to get to. This makes me sad. I'm trying to pay Mike to go see her in Portland and bootleg the entire show for me on his phone. He's less than willing...

I would LOVE to see The Weeknd as well, but he's opening for either Drake (no thanks) or JT (this means nosebleeds unless I beg for great seats and I already get those for sporting events if I swear not to be on my phone during said event.) I'm just not ready to have to deal with a JT concert after the silky smooth sex vibe of The Weeknd. I'd rather see him in a small venue where he's the headliner and I can have sex directly after, possibly in the car. (you'll always get caught having sex in stadium bathrooms, no matter how crafty you think you are. Trust me.)

My friends Charlotte and Tony are also attempting to get me to a few rap shows with them. I eagerly volunteered to see T.I., because fuck yes, but I'm pretty "meh" about Young Jeezy. They warned me that I better "get hood" because they've "been burned before" by one of my other girlfriends complaining the entire show. I assured them I'd have no issues. I did the T.I. video for "What You Know" so I can GET HOOD.

Charlotte would also like to see Tori Amos and I agreed, but I don't even see when she's playing in the United States....that's still up in the air.

I'd also like to see Miguel, but that doesn't appear possible.....plus he kicks his audience in the head.

I really need to figure out what we're doing for 4th of July.....shit....

DEATH BY C&O GARLIC KNOTS!

FREE FUCKING BREAD

Above I have provided one of the best and most helpful posts Buzzfeed has ever displayed. (I also thought the one about tips on maintaining your herb garden was great, but I realize I'm an old lady gardener and most people are, in fact, not)

In my life, there is now a large population of fancy people. I love them dearly, I enjoy learning from them, but if you can't commiserate with me on "accidentally" eating the entire basket of Cheddar Bay Biscuits from Red Lobster, then where does our relationship go from here?

If I sit through a dinner at The Little Club with you where I have to remind myself that my voice must remain below a certain volume at all times, no matter how drunk I am, you can damn well sit through at least 2 baskets of CBBs with me while quietly complaining "you know, I'm not even sure this is real lobster".  Last time I was drunk downtown, I ate at American Coney instead of Lafayette without uttering a single complaint, I've earned a trip to a steakhouse chain, damnit! I'm totally fine with being snobby about the food in front of you at that exact moment. "This Big Mac is sloppy as fuck, I hate too much sauce, this sushi smells a little bit sour, please add even more chili to my coney, will you toast the top of my crème brulee juuuuust a bit more?" etc, but not being willing to even  try to slum just a little bit... I can not abide.

I'll fully enjoy every morsel of Guns & Butter, but you can then enjoy every inch of a Hot n Ready.

Anyway, the point of all of this is I want some fucking bread.  And not gluten fucking free bullshit, I want bread that may or may not contain yoga mat material. Right now, our work kitchen counter is backed full of hot dog buns and it's taking everything I have not to just go in there and eat every single one plain.

Bread!

We're Not Meant To Be Perfect, We're Meant To Be Whole (I Think This Is About Froyo....)

I'm not sure if it's just what the universe is putting in front of me, or it's getting older, or it's self-realization from out of thin air or what, but I see more and more and more how important it is to be your authentic self.

I thought about it just now as I was watching a segment from Oprah's Master Class. A bunch of people she deemed important were sharing what they know to be fundamentally true about life and being human and so much of what they said was about loving when you don't feel like it and being kind and being yourself, knowing what you really want and being able to speak up about it.

I can honestly say, the longer life goes on and I am truly myself and don't worry about what people think, the happier it makes me not only because it's a relief off of my shoulders to be natural, but it has just accidentally put some of the best, most interesting people and situations in my life.

There is no greater comfort and happiness than knowing you are free to be your completely authentic self and the people you love, in front of you, are absolutely ok with that. People who know your flaws and still stick around in your life to celebrate and champion what is good about you are incredible. And you, in turn, become a more forgiving and less judgmental person by allowing that process.

Life is a nice little journey, but I can't imagine the ways it would feel like a prison if I wasn't being myself all the time. Saying what I really feel, forgiving as much as I can, saying sorry as much as I can, loving as much as I can, just being honest.

I don't give a fuck if someone thinks I facebook too much, or don't act my age enough, Instagram froyo every other day, talk about the wrong things, wear heels when I should be in flats and flats when I should be in heels, those things just aren't my problem. Everyone has flaws, HUGE flaws, it doesn't mean they aren't worthy of love and light. One of my favorite things said in the segment was from Jane Fonda - “Many decades it took me to learn to not be afraid of saying how I feel, and to allow my vulnerabilities to show — we are not meant to be perfect, we’re meant to be whole.”

We are not meant to be perfect....we're meant to be whole.

What a sentence!  If you know what makes you whole and you have the courage to follow it and be authentic to it, you'll be happy. That's what I would say I know about being human. Because the easy path is nice, but I'm very, very happy I listened to Robert Frost's words pouring out of my teacher's mouth as she read me The Road Not Taken.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

"Did You Win Your Match Today?" "....I Always Win."

I think it's lovely that such an accurate song, that always reminds me of us, that he enjoys, is also named after his favorite place in the world. Where he's always a champ.

Don't you think that it's boring how people talk
Making smart with their words again, well I'm bored
Because I'm doing this for the thrill of it, killin' it
Never not chasing a million things I want
And I am only as young as the minute is full of it
Getting pumped up on the little bright things I bought
But I know they'll never own me...

Baby, be the class clown
I'll be the beauty queen in tears
It's a new art form showing people how little we care
We're so happy, even when we're smilin' out of fear
Let's go down to the tennis court, and talk it up like yeah

Pretty soon I'll be getting on my first plane
I'll see the veins of my city like they do in space
But my head's filling up fast with the wicked games, up in flames
How can I fuck with the fun again, when I'm known
And my boys trip me up with their heads again, loving them
Everything's cool when we're all in line for the throne
But I know it's not forever

Baby be the class clown
I'll be the beauty queen in tears
It's a new art form showing people how little we care
We're so happy, even when we're smilin' out of fear
Let's go down to the tennis court, and talk it up like yeah

It looked alright in the pictures
Getting caught's half of the trip though, isn't it?
I fall apart with all my heart
And you could watch from your window
And you can watch from your window

Baby be the class clown
I'll be the beauty queen in tears
It's a new art form showing people how little we care
We're so happy, even when we're smilin' out of fear
Let's go down to the tennis court, and talk it up like yeah

And talk it up like yeah

 

How Many Times In A Day Is "Too Many" To Listen to George Michael??

Ok. Yes. FINALLY. Please play the following while reading: Freedom '90

90's fashion is coming back.

Not ALL 90's fashion, but some of the really good stuff. Let me explain my excitement.

1. Non-jeggings. I have come to deal with them, but anyone who knows me is aware that I fucking barely tolerate pants. Especially tight pants. If they're not 90% lycra, I'm really uncomfortable. I do it because it's flattering and in style. I can't WAIT until it's totally not. Gimme alllll the cute, ankle length billowy pants and borderline mom jeans. Yes. OR I'll stick with my usual ankle length slacks from Target that I'm obsessed with and have in every color because those look great with whatevs.

2. Moving on. Daisy/sunflower print. Yes. YES. I dug out my tiny black babydoll sunflower dress yesterday and hugged it to my chest. As far as I'm concerned, I'm never too old to wear it. Screw everyone and everyone who says I am. I don't work these legs to not show em.

3. Sling back pointy flats. Yep. Pointy shoes of any kind, really. Oh, and loafers. But not as if I ever gave those up.

4. Tiny floral print. Again, I didn't really give this up, but I'm glad it's back. Along with Hawaiian print. It's adorable when worn correctly. (see flowy kimono. I die)

5. French top bathing suits. Who decided that string bikinis were the thing forever and ever? Do you know how often I wear a halter top dress? Almost never. Yet I have to walk around all damn summer with halter tan lines? No thanks. Frenchies are back and I am grateful! (that's still a strong no on French cut bottoms though.)

6. Little fluffy angora sweaters with high-wasted jeans? Um, YEAH! Welcome back! I look adorable in fuzzy sweaters! Even though the hairs get in my eyes and I complain.

7. Overalls. I'm not even a little bit mad. Probably won't indulge, but I'm happy to have the option again.

8. The babydoll dress. Oh, how I loved you. And still do. Especially the long, cap-sleeved, floral version that makes one resemble a sweet mom. I'm in.

9. Fit and flare dresses. Or skirts. Anything high-wasted that shows how thin I still am at 37. I'm there. Add in a tie shoulder and I swoon. I like to look like a cross between Betty Draper and Laura Ingalls. I think I've said this before.

10. Flannel. So much flannel. Around my waste, over my shoulder. Wherever.

I mean, I'm thrilled. Give me some frosty make up and dark lips. I want to look like I just stepped out of an episode of Dawson's Creek and about to step into an episode of 90120 (pre Kelly and Dylan). I enjoy looking like a stepford wife during the day and a coked out 90's supermodel at night. Satin slip dresses that fit in only the right places? All night. And all motherfucking day, y'all.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!

I finally finished reading Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn last night. Fuck this fucking book. Fuck it six ways from Saturday.

I would say "spoiler alert!", but please, please allow me to save you the time you'll spend on this particular piece of literature.

I should have known. I should have known by the hype surrounding this book, and I definitely should have known when they chose David Fincher to direct the upcoming movie based on said piece of shit.

Let me explain....

I had read the description, I had even watched the first teaser trailer for the film. Looked very interesting; I wanted to make sure I read the story first. I was advised by two different Harvard graduates, whose social skills I trust very much, that this book was outstanding. Oh... and was it ever.

I was had. I got one paragraph in and thought "this is great, I really miss being curled up reading". Fuck that. I was totally devoted to this book. Though wordy and full of dialogue (both inner and outer), it's a quick read. You are hooked fairly early on and seem to sail through how candidly Gillian is able to tell such a detailed story.

In the middle, you're just all "I need to hurry home from work and read this shit, I have to KNOW.". Then, even when you think you're starting to figure things out, twwwwwist! And not a crappy twist, a really clever, evil twist that makes you wonder if the author is actually sick. (answer:yes)

Toward the end, you're basically emotionally exhausted. You just want closure. You're hoping for the big bang of conclusions; to feel the satisfaction of justice. You are awarded no such thing. Yet...you're not rewarded the opposite either. It is the most hideous of tie scores.

As I read the last page, I thought I had missed something. I literally checked if there was a chapter beyond the acknowledgments. I actually checked to see if my binding was all messed up and a chapter had been left out. No. No. In reality, you NEVER get closure. You get to sink down into the sickening emptiness where the characters also dwell. And it becomes far-fetched. Not only because this has just never happened before, not even on the show Snapped, but because the ending is utterly countered to the beginning of the book in such a horrifying, unsustainable way.

I almost threw my copy. I went back and watched the trailer twice and realized "OF COURSE!". Obviously I should have known the book would end up like this as Fincher is known for directing dark, hopeless pictures lacking a viable closure of story: Fight Club, Seven, The Social Network, etc. Oh! Let's not leave out Zodiac! A movie about a killer who was never ever caught. Well, good luck, David. I have no doubt the adapted screenplay will be stellar and I'd like to thank you in advance for your lack of soul. How you delight in such fruitless journeys, I'll never understand!!

I made 3 different phone calls to just bitch and bitch about this book and how I actually felt like the victim knowing the story did exactly what it was intended to do: draw me in and disappoint me for life. Just like Nick....Amy got me too. Thanks, Amy. Thanks, Gillian Flynn. Thanks a whole bunch.

In closing, this book is The Red Wedding of hype novels... well... besides the actual novel containing The Red Wedding. You know what I'm saying, just save yourself the time. Or don't. Read that shit. Just don't say I didn't warn you.

My Office Has Just Become A Place Where I Eat Trisquits

Today I laughed my shit off at Inside Amy Schumer because that couples counseling skit she did with Chrissy Teigen was outstanding.

Then I zenned my shit out when I got back to work from my place because I have been obsessing over this song we stretch to in Pure Barre. It's all jazzy and soothing and uplifting all at the same time. My teacher Paige, who is just the sweetest, strongest soul you'd ever meet, is super into it and plays it before class as well and dances around and kicks her legs high and the sight of her doing that in my mind just makes me feel joy. Anyway, I youtubed it to play over and over and over until the whole building hates me and turns out there's an actual official music video for it full of beautiful hipsters who appear to be walking around somewhere in the Leland-Walloon area of Lake Michigan! They road trip through fields and get out of their Coachella van to walk through wildflowers and hike through this gorg forest out to a cliff and in my head I was all "Wtf, that's totally Kelly's dad's house and the exact hike we take!". Of course, it's not, but it looks very similar with the cliff and beach and all, so close enough, son.

All of this means nothing. I'm really just passing the time to get through work and working out til I can cuddle up in bed to read Gone Girl and watch the Red Wings lose while telling JD he should become a Blackhawks fan if he wants the really quality back tickles from me. I'm half assing it through the playoffs.

And all the while, here's the happy soundtrack to week days. (Weekends: the music is much more Miguel)

Zen Your Shit Out.

I.........Love It.

I have nothing of real worth to say today. (And yes, everything else I say on here is Dixie Chicks seriously important because people who don't even like me still read this shit). I'm still in a post-Easter/pre-bangs trim happiness phase.

BUT, I did laugh for at least a good 11 minutes over the latest episode of Gay of Thrones.

You're Welcome. Enjoy.

"Do You Have Easter In Austria?"

The breeze on my face. The taste of a perfectly cold beer at 1pm in the afternoon with an even more perfect, greasy bar burger. The release of a huge bout of laughter with your head thrown back. The look of dusty perfection through sunglasses on a back road. The silky, butterfly wing feeling of daffodil petals against my face. The satisfying tug of my muscles while lifting feed sacks and cleaning the barn. The fluttery heartbeat of a baby chick behind its dandelion puff feathers. The hot stone feeling of the driveway pavement beneath my sister and I lying in the sun. The feeling of relief that summer is actually coming after begging and finally being told "the pool will be open in 2 weeks, calm your shit". The smiley feeling while saying "Happy Easter, my little bunny" and the warm-water-being-poured-over-my-heart feeling of him answering "You too, my little chick".

I Can Not Hold It. I Can Not Control It

I'm not really feeling work this week.  Its uninspiring and stressful and monotonous all at the same time. Killer combo.

In an effort to inspire myself to "do better" as my friend Tony would say, I decided to watch some old school Britney videos on youtube to get me moving. Um.... yeah, that didn't do the trick. It did make me want to move, but pretty much move out of the building.

"Everytime" made me a little sad, as it always does, because it's a song about longing and regret that you can almost feel when you hear it. Sadney wrote this and Sadney is my least fave Brit. I'll take pink wig Brit over that. But, whatever, it made me want to be in a yoga class making my muscles long and lean and breathing into stretches and staring out the window at sunshine as I do it. I was leaning back over my chair stretching my arms and hearing my Pure Barre instructor in my head saying "let your head fall back, reach for the corner of the room, close your eyes and breathe". Made me feel relaxed and awesome. I decided to press on.

I looked up "Overprotected", but it was the original. I watched that video just because, but everyone in the world understands it's inferior to the Darkchild Remix/Chris Applebaum version. Once I put that on, I wanted to do plenty of things. None of which involve my job.  I wanted to see how many push ups I could do in a row, then follow regular form up with tricep on my knees and see how low I could go and how many times. I forgot all about the dancers doing the splits in that video as well, so I wanted to also work hamstrings and calves and then turn the heat up in the room and continuously ground stretch until I could prop myself up in the splits.

Figured I should keep going, so I watched "I'm A Slave 4 U" several times. That just reminded me how good Francis Lawrence was at music videos and how fantastic Wade Robson was at choreography and ruining relationships. Also, I realized that may have been the best Britney's body ever looked. So fucking sexy. Which, obviously, made me want to go to Pure Barre. But also to be at Goodnight Gracie dancing allllll night long while spilling my Moscow Mule all over everyone and giving zero fucks. Just getting low and grinding and rolling and singing until I'm borderline blackout. Followed, of course, by exhausting drunk sex. The kind of night I absolutely love. (I also realized that a mash up of "I'm A Slave 4 U" and "Sweater Weather" by the Neighbourhood would not only work, but blow my mind in a very, very, very good way)

That got me thinking about mash ups and so I had to watch the live performance of Kendrick Lamar and what's their names singing "Radioactive" which got me PUMPED like no other. That made me want to do sprints, get stretched out, shower, then have more sex. "Turn Down For What" came on after and that made me want to go dancing again. I mean... it's a vicious cycle. My brain is not sedentary. It just isn't.

I think the moral of this twisted story is that I'd rather be working out, dancing or fucking (or writing, clearly) than doing anything else. Especially my job. If I had the guts, I would apply to be a girl that teaches pole class. I could then combine everything I love in one to make money! Well, not the sex part. I'd have to do that on my lunch.

Things I Miss About Coachella

1.  Flowers in my hair. I am actually still a huge fan of pick flowers and sticking them in my hair, but nowhere is it more an acceptable piece of uniform than Coachella.

2.  Watching celebrities (who are truly there for the music) just chill and rock out looking a little sweaty and dirty. I stared at Danny DeVito jamming to Jack Johnson for at least 20 minutes straight. I couldn't look away.

3.  Watching celebrities (who are there to be photographed) look around very confused and try to make it into a fancy cocktail party.

4.  Churros. Shit, I love eating Churros. I order them at Imperial in Royal Oak all the time, but they are always overdone and just not...Mexican enough.  Sorry about the borderline racism.

5.  Lying on the polo fields in the sun. Not too many places to lie around in the grass when you're a grown adult. Unless you live (ironically) in New York because Central Park is huge and peeps do it there plenty. Boats? Yes, tons. Lakes? Many, including Lake Michigan, but it's just not the same as lying on a perfect lawn.

6.  Saving all your most comfortable hippie clothes that are too whacky to wear normally, but juuuuust right for Coachella. And then matching them with your most practical footwear because you walk forever.

7.  Walking into the EDM tents to get shade and seeing all the people super drugged out just so I can bop around saying "man, this tent makes me want to party" and hope none of them are sober enough to get the Jackass reference and/or kick my ass.

8.  Staying at Big's house afterwards and getting to wash all the sand off. No matter what you're doing in Palm Springs, at the end of the day, you're covered in sand. My ex Andy and I had to get in the pool every night because there's just always a layer of grit and you'll destroy each other's skin during sex if you don't. I usually swam in my sundress. I miss that too.

9.  Networking with people while drunk/high and knowing you'll most likely NEVER reconnect back in LA, but it's nice anyway.

10. The spa treatments Andy would buy us the next day because, man, you need the detox after that much rocking out. Get all the booze, drugs and hippie out of your system.

Things I Thought This Morning When I Saw A Dusting Of Snow

1.  *tears*

2.  You have got to be fucking kidding me. It feels endless and hopeless.

3.  I should start my car, but gas is expensive. I'm tough, I can just scrape.

4.  Fuck. My wipers are stuck to my windshield.

5.  It must be awesome when your parents own the company and you don't have to wake up until way later and the sun has already melted this bullshit.

6.  What if the sun....doesn't melt this bullshit.

7.  What if this is it. Endless Winter. I'll never eat frozen yogurt again.

8.  Is this black ice? Nope. It's not. Good.

9.  I feel like I can never get a car wash again because it always rains or snows.

10. I guess I'm excited to wear my tweed jacket again... I look like a lady who lunches.

Benji

The last time I remember seeing Benji, we were on set. He had just bought a brand new Mercedes and this car was *flawless*. Beyoncé flawless. I think it was when the CLS was first made into that really swoopy model. As most Production Designers do, he parked as close as he could to the action, but agreed to give me his keys to move that beautiful machine if needed. By the end of the day, I had lost his keys. I swore I gave them back to him though, so he took on the responsibility. I remember him saying "you know, I actually did take them from you, this is my fault". I couldn't remember if he had or not, truly.

Either way, I started to get absolutely nuts and anxious and teary-eyed and I can remember him putting his hands on my shoulders and saying "It's just a car. They'll make more keys for it. Not worth flipping about". That was so Benji. I was always SO excited when directed to put his name on a call sheet. I knew fun was ahead.

I know there are those people that make us all think "oh, he was so full of life" or "man, he was talented", but Benji was both of those things in a way the rest of us could only dream of. He was bursting with life, but in that subtle way that doesn't make him a total clown. And he was creative in that manner that makes the rest of us who like to think we're creative seethe with jealously at how effortlessly good ideas came to him.

Benji was the kind of guy you wanted to hang out with so badly. He was bright and fun and coolly calm all the time. And when he did slightly lose his temper, he was so handsome doing it you didn't even care. He was the sort of man that could pull of sleeves of tattoos and a suit with simultaneous relevance and timeless class. He was impossibly hip. He looked like a banker, art gallery owner, box office lead, old-timey gangster, and NYC club promoter all at once. The man was beautiful.

When I left production, he's not a person I really kept in touch with until Instagram. I don't remember if he followed me or I followed him first, but his account was such a delight. It was a perfect mix of production and partying and daily normal life, but it was very clear his favorite subjects of art were his children. So many incredible photos and videos of his beloved babies who all seem to be little sparks that flew off the flame that was their father. My heart absolutely breaks for those kids. And his new fiancé. Benji just seemed SO happy. That's really the only consolation I can take in a time like this. That Benji passed away in what appeared to be a very high peak in his life, surrounded by love and beauty.