Why MOST People Don’t Text at 2AM

Cell-phonesI have a habit of texting while on sleeping medications.  I could lock up my phone, but where is the fun in that?  The first I texted only to myself (an edited version)…because he doesn’t want to hear it.  The rest are actual texts to my best night-owl friends, ex-boyfriends, my deceased gay-boyfriend, etc..


So…I am texting you and I am not sure why.  Broke up with my person because I couldn’t accept excuses from someone who actually believes in them and refuses to own up to his own flawed humanity.  It makes me miss you.  Until an hour ago, I believed I was immortal, but I’ve lost my one chance at redemption.

New blog title: sometimes you feel like a slut, sometimes you were.

I miss you beyond comprehension. I do not, and never will, blame you for my failed relationships, but I entirely and completely blame you for all of my failed relationships.  You f*cked me up just enough to f*ck me up for life: your neuroses and our volatile arguments; my one-sided, midnight, insane ramblings; your one-sided, midnight, insane ramblings; the only person I would refuse to break a date with despite nearly two dozen staples to the skull only hours after tripping over my humidifier.  For years…not one broken date on my end…true story.

There is little else to say.  I see glasses and want to cry.  As much as I love anyone else, I refuse to put up with their sh*t, only making the acceptance of the sh*t I once put up with you more disturbing…you were my exception.

The only consolation I have is that you affected me enough to know I will never not miss you.  No one else will ever quite fill “the cray”.  I will always love you more than air.  The thought of you makes it difficult to breathe and even more difficult to look in the mirror.  You are the only person who will ever understand me.

I hate you for not being what you wanted.


sometimes unprotected sex has negative consequences. like orgasms with thorns. i’m tired.


Kitty Glitter!!!!!!


some chick  in the elevator’s taint smelled…funky town.







answer me

answer me

answer me



why are you dead? I’m pissed off at u, u shithead. glittertime.


come fetch your boyfriend…he is on crack…like, literally on crack


he has THE HERP. we should send a fruit basket.


Kitty Glitter, Kitty Glitter, Glittering all over someone’s Kitty.


did you just call me a bitch?  turn off your phoooonnnneee!


i’m mad at you. i want to make out with your face and give you my cold.  but you like boys so i would have to cut off my hair or dress like a pirate…or both…i only have a girl pirate costume tho…


seeking revenge on Kitty Glitter.  need my glitter mask.




why do you suck?!?!?!?!?!

As you can see…texting anyone while on sleeping medication is stupid.  And, at times, hilarious.  Keep your phones on people!  Keep them on!


When A**hole Drivers Ditch You


Every other weekend, I head out to Roosevelt Island (just east of Manhattan) for a fun, relaxing getaway with my person.  Like every staycation, my lovey called a driver to pick up my dogter and me, saving me the hassle and difficulty of solo-dropping Delilah off with my best girlfriend and her family in Queens before towing my weekender bag and myself to this heavenly oasis just outside the city.

Using an alternative car service than the one we usually rely on (holiday weekend and all), I was still able to begin a pleasant conversation with my driver…which did not last long when my driver, a military veteran, learned my brother-in-law is now an army recruiter after serving time in Iraq. Unbeknownst to me, my driver was not only homophobic, but hated one of the most important men in my life simply because he has no issues with recruiting gays into the military!  When the verbal haranguing ensued, I asked that he leave me at my first stop so I could switch drivers…instead, he pulled into an abandoned lot in Queens and forced me out of the car.  It was a twilight zone moment: I had been forced from a car into an area I knew nothing about–alone–and because I believe in equal rights and refused to let a man being paid to drive me badmouth one of the people I love most in the world.

Ultimately, my boyfriend was refunded, awarded a credit, and secured a new driver…and I learned that, like at dinner parties, politics and pleasant social conversations do not mix.  And I am sticking to Uber, henceforth.

Sometimes I F*ck Up

IMG_1360Yes, I am a near-perfect human being (cough, ahem) but there is the occasional night when back pain and vodka get involved…and then I might f*ck up.

Like I said, the night started with back spasms and tempering the blinding pain of daggers stabbing my arthritic joints and the surround muscles contracting.  Then I discovered my person was having a grand old-time with his buddies, watching the Rangers at a bar.  At this news, my vision went red.  How dare he enjoy a night out with his friends when I was screaming into a pillow.  My last memory is a one-sided breakup (which I soon learned was discovered after his friends told him I’m “hot”…whoops).


I spent the next day begging for forgiveness and ensuring that our three-day staycation was back on.  (Keep in mind he really had no reason for complaints considering the first time we dated, he broke up with me via text message…true story).

All I have to say is: “Girls, do not send texts or emails when you’ve had sleeping meds, painkillers, and/or alcohol.”  I almost lost my best friend/boyfriend/most supportive man I know.  He accepts me for what I can do and never mentions what I cannot.  He is a trophy and I am a DAMN trophy.  And if you still manage to sh*t all over your relationship via text message, love notes and explanations do wonders…especially when your boyfriend finds u adorable.

Why High-Maintenance Chicks Are Annoying….

high-maintenanceUsually, I could not care less regarding the grooming and shopping habits of the upper class and wannabes; however, the majority of my friends are single males in NYC and sharing a ginormous dating pool of superficial, self-entitled, emotionally manipulative ladies looking for someone with a wallet and “Yes!” attitude.  These label-crazed diva wannabes circle like sharks and are more physically and mentally exhausting than the plague.  Making all-or-nothing demands (because compromise does not exist in one’s vocabulary) can easily end a relationship.

Anyway, I apologize for the prologue.  Listed below are reasons and anecdotes to shun these annoying, self-centered diet coke fiends, their clones, and the pathetic protégés who will replace them once the Botox, hair chemicals, and aspartame take over their soulless shells (unfortunately, they just keep reproducing).

Hey Tall Girl, Can You Tell Me Why High-Maintenance Chicks Deserve Surprise Water Balloon Onslaughts?  Why ,YES I CAN!  Here we go:

  1. They expect five-star treatment on a first date. After meeting a girl online and conversing via text for only a few weeks, my friend finally asked her for a post-work drink.  One hour before the date, she messaged him, demanding he send (and pay for) a car service to bring her to the bistro they had agreed upon.  These OkSTUPID members had never even met face-to-face and this chick felt entitled to a car service instead of being a grown-*ss woman and finding her own way.  No longer interested, he canceled the date and ignored subsequent phone calls.
  2.  Another best guy friend invited a woman he met on Match.com to dinner and, being a gentleman, asked if she had a food preference.  Instead of informing him about cuisine likes and dislikes, the delusional diva demanded one of the most expensive restaurants in the city with the sole purpose of showing off her new designer gown.  This friend took the same action as the guy in scenario #1 and went to a sports bar with his coworkers to watch the Rangers game.
  3. An ex-coworker of mine made a habit of scanning women’s fingers for professional manicures, expensive jewelry, hair treatments, designer clothes and accessories…he would even find out what job field she was in and if her estimated income could not easily pay for her expensive wardrobe and cosmetic necessities, he would turn down all post-work drink requests.  Smart man.
  4. A woman who refuses to help with errands, does not contribute to maintaining the household (insisting on paying a housekeeper), throws a fit at the thought of making her own dinner, and freaks out if she has to cancel her tanning session or miss a Pilates class might not be a good fit for any man or woman with a brain.
  5. A woman who smirks or directly attacks her person for not wearing designer clothes will only make her victim insecure and a little hostile…and no one wants to be around that.
  6. Permanent PMS: she blames the wailing on her lady flow and makes everyone’s life Hell for a week with her constant sobbing, screaming, and cravings.  Hot Mess Express.

magnets-high-maintenance-doesn-t-even-begin-toI realize this list is a mere summary of a true high-maintenance Hot Mess Express, but you can add your own observations and cautionary tales as you encounter these complex and completely deranged women–you, too, can have very own Red Flag Journal.

***Please note that not all hot messes are high-maintenance head cases.  I am a total hot mess times ten.  However, my sweaty hot messiness directly correlates to my lack of maintenance.  My nails are a nightmare; I don’t like having my feet touched (obviously no one needs to see what is going on there); I rarely use makeup and often wear hats so I don’t have to deal with my hair; designer luggage annoys me; and if you call me “princess” I will shank you in the face (that’s not a threat, it’s a fact).  Some chicks are dressed-to-impress, demanding little nightmares.  Others play drinking games and rely on their boyfriends to wake them up when they fall asleep on the bathroom floor with a toothbrush in my hand….uh, their hands.

And fellows, you have tons of weird, demanding flaws yourself so think about that.

Why Couples Should Make Time for Lunch


My current relationship is the healthiest I have ever been in.  Although we dated previously, this time around we are a much stronger couple and the reason is obvious: strength in one’s relationship is the direct result of communication and making time for one another.  My boyfriend and I keep track of one another’s schedules, are in contact multiple times throughout the day, video chat every night we are unable to spend together, and we meet for lunch at least once every week.  Walking home from Chelsea’s Tre Dici Restaurant yesterday afternoon, I was inspired to write about the benefits of weekday lunches with one’s significant other.

My schedule is much more flexible than my boyfriend’s, so he lets me know on Monday which day or days he isn’t slammed with meetings and we grab a bite down the street from his office.  Although it is a slight pain in the *ss to travel crosstown during the lunch rush, I jump at the chance to see him for an hour to decompress, connect, and grant him the privilege of buying me lunch.

So, why are lunch dates, in particular, so important for couples?  My list of observations:

  1. It is unlikely you will be distracted by television, your kids, or work.
  2. No drinking…therefore, you will remember the conversation.
  3. Restaurants and restaurant/bars are quieter at lunch than dinner.  They keep the music down and there are no drunk “bros” yell-conversing in the background.
  4. It is still only noon!  You are less exhausted than you will be after work and important conversations are less likely to be put on the back burner if you have energy when issues come up.
  5. Taking a break away from the workplace with someone you love (and food!) is a major incentive to power through the morning.

Basically, I see lunch as an opportunity to focus on my person–to catch up in an environment where I can give him my full attention.  Turning off the phone and tuning into the person sitting across from me keeps my relationship real…and unplugging from the world to have lunch with your person means you are less likely to overlook anything in your relationship as well.

Why Rescue Dogs Are the Best

I call Delilah my “dogter” (dog/daughter).  At only 12 lbs, my (approx.) 7 y/o dachshund/beagle/jack russell is the greatest joy in my life.

When I adopted Midge McGee (one of her twenty nicknames) in 2009, I was nervous that adopting an adult dog would prevent the level of bonding I had experienced with the dogs I was raised with.  Every dog we have owned has been a rescue, but only one was adopted as an adult…and she had severe psychological issues.  I have been proven wrong every day since my beaweiner russell came into my life…and I could not be happier to admit it.

IMG_0015_2_2Surprisingly, despite having been raised by several strangers during her first year of life, she has my spunk and flirtatious personality (but is very, very short).  She never wants to leave my side and crawls into my purse (even attempting clutches and wristlets) whenever I’m getting ready to leave the apartment.  She spoons with me under the covers at night, sits on my lap underneath the laptop I’m currently using during the day, and woke me up two years ago when I tripped and cracked my head open on the kitchen tile (after 13 staples to my skull, I came home from NYU Hospital’s emergency room to clean up the blood left from my wound…and the nervous mess she made while I was unconscious on the floor).

I believe our bond is attributed to Delilah having been abandoned several times during her first year of life, that her fierce devotion is the result of having found someone who also felt lost and alone at the time, and I am grateful to have found the love of my life in a pint-sized container (plus she came POTTY TRAINED!).


Change in Emotional Climate

IMG_1061I spent the first twenty-nine years of my life in a black hole of extreme emotional pain.  Unrelenting depression was all I knew–it was my identity.  Crying every day was my norm and I suffered from anorexia, drug abuse, cutting, and other destructive behaviors.  It was only when I focused my energy on someone else that I was able to open my soul and figure out who I am: a woman worthy of the love being offered to her.  I never thought I would have that in my life.

Ten years ago, I was painfully shy and had a very hard time making friends.  I had been bullied for 0000567365534as long as I could remember and had self-esteem so low, I kind of gave up on trying to initiate friendships.  Something had to be wrong with me…I just assumed I was blind to whatever the rest of the world saw.  No one (other than my family) had ever loved me as much as I loved them and I was certain it would always be that way.  What changed?

A few years ago, I decided that remaining a wallflower certainly wasn’t making my life any happier and being shy was getting me nowhere.  I made a conscious decision that I was going to speak to 5 strangers every day. It started with pretending to be cheerful when I spoke to the bus driver every morning.  Then I decided to sit in the front row every day in class and answer as many questions as I could…which was really fun when they were hot, nerdy TA’s (I love nerds).  As I became more outgoing, my entire personality changed, I had more confidence, and I became more open-minded regarding relationships.

Ten years ago, I would have run for the hills after being asked out by a man 16 years my senior with two preteens…but interacting so often with different age groups and types of individuals showed me there is a lot of commonality despite age gaps and the differences give your interactions so much more color.

I give my boyfriend so much credit for my having emotional stability IMG_0896for the first time in my life and showing me what real love is.  I still cry every day…but only grateful, happy tears.  I finally have a lot of hope for a blissful ending with someone incredible, a man I love more than words…what’s more, I know I deserve it.

I’m only 30

11218555_10153303776099207_8142849044047854642_oThe last ten years have created serious doubts in my life.  I spent a decade and a half chasing the diagnosis trail, but at twenty, never did I think my life would be turned upside down due to Rheumatoid Arthritis.  I didn’t even realize what RA is!  I thought it was just a more severe form of typical osteoarthritis.

Wearing knee braces for over two years, using canes (to the extent they have their own names) for over one year, having my mom fly to NYC when I didn’t answer my phone and EMS told her I had been on the floor for 48 hours, and taking chemotherapy drugs (possibly for life…or until it kills my organs) was never part of my ten year plan.  It was not even part of my fifty year plan.  Daily physical pain which (literally) takes one’s breath away…pain like this just doesn’t exist in your twenties.  I was convinced I was being punked.

At twenty, I knew what being bullied felt like…I don’t remember a time in my life when I was not a victim of bullying, but I never understood why.  Being bullied at thirty is just as painful but at least I have some clarity.  Bullies are insecure and enjoy laughing about others’ issues so they don’t have to think about their own.  I never thought bullies would make fun of a 30-year-old woman who needed a cane to walk down the bus aisle; that the comments and laughing from an igorant woman and her friend would make me cry; that men and women I had previously called “friends”…people I worked with on a play only weeks earlier, would avoid me like the plague when I had an RA flareup and had to use one of my canes.  It has put a serious dent in my belief in human compassion. You can’t “catch” arthritis.  I went to a show I had to drop out of and left during intermission when only three people, my castmembers for months, spoke to me. It was one of the most heartbreaking experiences of my life.

At twenty, I thought I would have it all figured out: I don’t.  I can only focus on my life’s light, and he is beyond amazing.  I am sorry that today’s post may come across as negative…but to be totally honest about living with Rheumatoid Arthritis, I couldn’t have been more wrong about my disease, the age it hits, and about who sticks around.

Where Do I Go From Here?–My Last Ten Years

springhatmoreYesterday, I spent the majority of the afternoon watching “My Generation”, a fake docuseries catching up with a group of former friends, a decade post-graduation.  Despite being a scripted drama, the message is surprisingly accurate: No matter how set your ten-year plan is, you will never accurately predict the next decade and where its course will lead you.  I know I never saw the life I’m currenty living or even have been able to guess my current life at twenty in my wildest fantasy or nightmare.  This week’s blogs are devoted to (my) life’s surprises.

When I was almost nineteen and waiting for college to begin, a Hummer totaled my family’s rental Expedition at a stop light while on vacation and my joints (especially, my jaw) were “turned into hamburger” according to physicians.  After only one year, I had to drop out of my performing arts college.  The recovery-process for my TMJ was so drastic, it took until I was twenty-one to even sing again. I wore a permanent orthotic in my mouth 24/7…and 2 ½ years of braces with bands after that…not to mention a lifetime of physical therapy, night guards for my mouth, and retainers.  One cannot be a musical theater major at Boston Conservatory if she cannot sing.  I was also still unable to dance after undergoing my first knee surgery and dealing with the implications associated with that and its difficulty healing, so musical theatre (my soul) was obviously put on the back burner after only one year of training.

The only dream which has never altered since I first watched “The Sound of Music”–unflinching from the age of two, was to perform as a singer/actor.  After my jaw and knee joint “issues” underwent the beginning stages of treatment, I officially withdrew from the top program in the country and moved to New York City (or Williamsburg, Brooklyn…before it was cool) in 2004.  I was the only tall, white chick in the neighborhood, thus my moniker: “Hey Tall Girl, Can You Reach That?!”…given to me by the abuelas at Key Foods who couldn’t reach the higher shelves.  Only ten years later, I would be asking for help with the lower shelves from mis abuelas.

I had planned on returning to Boston Conservatory after the medical issues had been fixed…but my braces weren’t removed until late September 2006 and I had found my niche in NYC.  Why go back to Boston Conservatory when I had Stella Adler Studio in my corner and a vocal coach only blocks away?  Anyway, my immune system was starting to produce really funky test results and my lively energy was starting to break down.

As my friends moved away to a city I left for LA, a city I had no desire to return to, they had lovely, well-intentioned, pieces of wisdom about acupuncture and love….which were somewhat entertaining emails about the horrors of chemo. So I chose to take that with a grain of salt. People always have so many opinions about what not to do…but they never offer to help you through it.  No one has any right to comment on my decisions if they don’t plan on sticking around for the puking.


***Everyone assumes I either do or do not want kids.  10-years-ago, I would have said, “hell nah!” with no hesitation.  Now, I am banking on a life spent with the man I love most and his children…and I truly believe that may be enough…but more in a later blog this week.