February 2012

Have A Nice Life

February 18, 2012

Disclaimer: This post was wine induced.

It’s not difficult to irritate me (ask Bob, the poor guy rarely irritates me…but I blow his hair back all the time). It just goes with the territory. When your heart is naturally affixed to your sleeve…you feel @#$%. It’s not what you want. You just can’t help yourself.

Tonight, I’m going to own it. I’m going to publicly (and by publicly, I mean for the 11 people reading my blog) end a few friendships. I feel irritated. And a little saucy (sauce = Sauvignon Blanc). And, like I just said, I’m going to own it. I’m all about owning it tonight (screw you Lori Diaz).

Let’s cut to the chase…

I’d like to end my friendships with the following people. I have listed the VERY reasonable explanations below.

Feel free to contact me if you think we have a friendship worth saving. If not, HAVE A NICE LIFE.

Brittinee Barrett – We don’t even know each other that well – but you are impossibly likeable and attractive. You reminded me of this when I ran into you last weekend. I don’t even want to deal with this kind of competition as I enter my mid to late 30’s. So…we’re done. Sorry dude.

Julie Berge – I think you really might be as nice as you seem. That’s @#$%ing ridiculous. Nobody is as nice as they seem. I’m so over you and your super hot bass master husband. You guys are stupid.

Brianna Brackett – I’m just bitter that I’m not a Brackett. I don’t even know why. There must be a timeshare or an inheritance. Maybe that’s it. And you guys all have the pinkest, softest looking lips. You guys are a$$holes. All of you.

Sarah Campbell – One time you told me you were irritated because you saw a dimple on your a$$. Yes, one dimple on your a$$. And I’m pretty sure you were able to eliminate said dimple with a pilates class. Yes, one pilates class. Frankly, I’m not even sure why you like me. But I’m pretty sure I don’t like you. Anymore.

Gordon Fowler – I don’t like scarves. I don’t like them in the summer OR winter. I never have and I don’t know if I ever will. I accept them on you. And I don’t like that you make me want to bend my rules. Whatever this power is that you have over me, I want it to stop. Be gone Gordon.

Ashlee Gadd – I have more stretch marks than you would have if 12,000 children exited your womb. If you don’t believe me, I will come to your house and show you each one. I will even let you photograph them for some sort of photo essay. You can post pics weekly…with the pics of your itsy bitsy belly that you like to call big. Sweet pea, you will never truly know the meaning of big. No offense. Really. This all comes from a place of wine-spirited love. And our friendship is over. Starting now.

Leslie Gantan – I’ve seen photos of you in a swimsuit. You’re a @#$%ing @#$%&. Nobody should want to be your friend.

Tara Leonard – Your thighs don’t touch. You have amazing buns. And then God gave you an intolerance to dairy; which made you even thinner than you already were (nevermind the fact that you can’t enjoy cheese or butter with the rest of us). You also have fake grass. At your house in San Diego. Where the weather is always warm. And I really like your husband. I don’t know how our friendship even survived this long.

Jennifer Myers – I don’t know anyone, besides you, who is ALWAYS wearing a matching bra and underwear set. I don’t know why I know this. And I don’t care that I just told everyone else. But I hate you for it. It makes the rest of us look bad. Lower your standards. @#$%head.

Chris Tucker – I spend an unreasonable amount of time wondering where you are working. I know there is nothing wrong with wanting a handcrafted cocktail. But, my obsession with you and Brian Mizner is out of control. I want to quit you both.

Allison Yee-Garcia – Recently, we have cried in an unnecessary amount of public places. WTF. We should just call it quits dude. And you’re pretty logical. I loathe that about you.

Ali Zamanian – For some reason, after a few glasses of wine, I like to give you lots of kisses and tweet the inappropriate things you say to me. It makes sense to us, but to nobody else (although I think Bob understands). I need to know if you really want to be together or if you are just going to take pictures of your food…and I’m going to play second fiddle for the rest of my life. Suck it Ali. I’m done with you too. P.S. I inserted a photo of awesome us, before I was done with you.

Persian Flava Flav meets sequin Nanette Lepore with blunt bangs


Never Say Never

February 14, 2012

movie promo picture of Justin Bieber, Never Say Never

Ten things Justin Bieber taught me over the weekend (yes, I watched the movie)…

  1. I would totally date Jaden Smith. If he was not 14 years old. Just to be clear – I know dating him is not legally an option. And I am ok with that (until 2016).
  2. Puberty is humiliating. I am so glad I’m past that point in my life. Jesus. Those poor little girls. Estrogen, acne and crushes are so confusing. I thought my first true love was Dylan McKay AND I plastered my bedroom walls with pictures of the Preferred Stock twins. Just shoot me.
  3. Bob cannot stand when people sag their pants. For some reason, it really gets under his skin. I am laughing as I type this. I’m not kidding. It SERIOUSLY bothers Bob when people sag their pants (even Justin Bieber).
  4. Singing is, and will always be, the one thing I wish I could do well.
  5. Justin Bieber is undeniably talented and beyond driven – but I still think his hair is dumb (although one might argue bangs are dumb) and I wish he’d bulk up. Actually, I don’t even know if that’s possible at his age. When do boys start looking like men? In their 30’s? Sorry boys. We “develop” way sooner than you do. And not typically by choice…or in the places we’d like. It’s awesome.
  6. I have to close my eyes when I see Miley Cyrus. I have no idea why the girl bothers me so much (other than the fact that she’s dating Gale, one of my Hunger Games boyfriends). I actually like her music, which annoys me even more…because I’m not only a hater; I’m also a hypocrite.
  7. I’m old. In Hollywood years, I’m a @#$%ing Brontosaurus (is that how you spell it?).
  8. All of this tween hating makes me wonder if anyone hates on me. And then I think how much worse it would be if I was famous. And then I think it’s funny that I actually think I’m still going to be famous. And THEN I think I’m insane. But I don’t really care. Obviously. I mean – I’ve been blogging about lady bits and now…Justin Bieber.
  9. I’d like to perform. On stage. At Madison Square Garden. Now I just need a talent. Or a baton. And an agent.
  10. I have spent an unnecessary amount of time loathing The Biebs. I’ll never swoon over him or his music, but that little dude is fearless. He’s doing things that terrify me…that terrify most of us. I can’t help but hope it’s not too late for me to dig deep enough to start doing some of those things now. I was admittedly entertained by his story and more than a little threatened by his ambition. Justin Bieber could, and has, run circles around me (and he’s not old enough to legally drive, vote or drink).



February 8, 2012

My father died when I was four.

I don’t actually remember when he died. I honestly don’t remember losing him. I don’t even remember seeing my mother cry over what I know was, and still is, an unbearable loss – not only for her – but also for every person that ever knew and loved him.

I have always known, and just accepted, that he is gone.

For the past 32 years, I have kindly thanked the people who have offered their condolences when they realize my father is no longer alive. Most of the time, I quickly dismiss the conversation. I tell them it’s ok, everything happens for a reason, and that my mother and I are very lucky…that despite this loss, I have been loved so very much. We went to Disneyland every year. We made macaroni and cheese (with hot dogs of course). We wore matching pajamas and we did book reports. We went to Greece. We sang and danced in the living room and we swam on hot summer nights. I STILL get an Easter basket. Long story short, because of my mother…we NEVER fell apart. I am admittedly really hard on my mom (she can be a real pain in my a$$) – but she made cream of tuna on toast (the WORST dinner ever) fun. I dare you to try and feed your children that @#$%. Only a real woman, only a woman with some real fire in her belly could convince her little girl that meal is a treat – before they watch their favorite shows together.

It wasn’t until recently that I realized it wasn’t normal that I couldn’t remember anything about my father’s death. I spoke to a therapist (thank you mom – for letting me know – from a very young age – there is nothing embarrassing about asking for help) about this period of time and how it just seemed…blacked out. The therapist had small children of her own. Coincidentally, one of her children was the same age I was, when my father passed away. She told me something that comes to mind – at least once a day. She told me that her children’s father was one of the two most important people in their lives. And, if they were to lose their father, if he was to disappear, tomorrow – they would be wrecked.

While she did not expect me to remember every detail, she was certain I had buried the pain of that loss somewhere very deep. We talked for as long as I could stand talking about my dad, which truthfully, wasn’t much longer. Then she gave me some homework to do. She asked me to go to the cemetery. I had not been in months. Maybe even years.

It took me weeks to complete my assignment. I cried all the way there. I cried the entire time I was there. And I cried all the way home. It was as if someone had ripped the bandage off (of a huge wound I swore wasn’t even there in the first place).

I never thought I’d have to take a ride on this daddy issue rollercoaster right now, at this age, at this stage in my life. I’m still not really comfortable talking about it. At all. But…the more honest I am about the way it’s impacting my life, the more other women (and some men) have opened up to me about how their own losses and their own relationships – specifically with their fathers – are currently impacting them. And selfishly, I feel a little less alone.

I’m not brave enough to get more specific about how the loss of my father haunts me. Some of you know. Some of you will learn over time. And some of you will just hear me make really bad (although funny) jokes about it (sort of like the fluctuating size of my thighs).

For some reason, at this moment, I just had to get this off my chest. I already feel like I’m going to regret putting this blog post out in the universe…but I just could not keep it to myself.

So…thank you for listening.

And thank you Uncle Win, Chris, Tommy, Tony, Greg Miller, Tony Tamagni, Tony Santich, Dave Quirk and Gary Guenther. I know, throughout my life, if I ever needed anything at all – you would treat/love me like your own (even those of you I have not seen in years). I will be forever grateful for that. Your children, my best friends and family, are so incredibly lucky to have you – some of the most amazing men (yes, even you Tommy) I have ever met in my life.

I have so many other people I could thank for their love. But I’m drained. I want to stop writing about this now. Like the scars, the writing makes it real.

my father's headstone with fresh red flowers