Christmas Trip to Seattle and Berkeley as Told by the Photos on my iPhone (and some from Zack’s Galaxy S5)

Zack and I just got home from our Christmas adventures on Sunday and even though I have a terrible cough/cold situation, I had a really great time! I’m not sure how we fit so much into 6 days, but we did, which is probably why I’m sick. Since I can’t think of a good way to explain all the things we did on our trip I’m gonna let the photos on my iPhone tell the story…

Free gin and tonics on our flight from Burbank to Seattle! Thanks, Southwest.

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I ate so many oysters! This is a white wine/oyster sampler at The Brooklyn in downtown Seattle.

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A cold and rainy walk from our hotel to Capitol Hill on Tuesday.

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Lunch at Sitka and Spruce in Capitol Hlll. I can’t stop thinking about the cured salmon and sunchokes dish, sooooooo tasty.  In fact, everything there was amazing and the decor was beautiful. It’s tucked right next to a flower shop so you can see happy folks picking up parcels of fresh flowers as you eat. And the kitchen is simply a big island, in the dining room, with talented chefs standing around it and putting together wonderful, gorgeous dishes. It feels like you are at a friends house except your friends are very talented artists and you’re scared to talk to them.

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Pike Place at night.

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The line at Starbucks Reserve in Capitol Hill (we did not go in because lines are dumb and well, it’s still Starbucks, and they probably still don’t have almond milk).

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The great wall of gum in Seattle. One of the few times in my life when I’ve found something to be totally gross and beautiful at the same time.

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Everyone kept telling us that we MUST try a Tom Douglas restaurant, so we had lunch at Seatown Seabar & Rotisserie in downtown Seattle with Kim and Damaris (who, sadly, aren’t pictured here). If it’s good enough for Anthony Bourdain, it’s good enough for me!

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The Fluevog store window in Seattle. I took this photo to send to my friend Patty because she loves fluevogs and I forgot to send it. But it still seems fitting…

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Early Christmas morning trek from Seattle to Berkeley where I started calling Zack my “luggage robot”

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Uncle Pauls extensive bug collection! We got to look at a bunch of them through the magnifying glass and they are fascinating. Some have eyeballs that look like glittery mesh!

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Christmas cuddles with my aunt Arayah.

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Day after Christmas brunch in San Francisco at my cousin Jenan’s house. My brother and cousin cooked a wonderful dish called “Shakshuka” and I made bloody mary’s with the finest ingredients I’ve probably ever used in a cocktail. Then we all ate outside on Jenan’s (sometimes) sunny patio. It was lovely!

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After brunch hike to Bernal Hill, which just about killed some of the older folks.

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Riding the Bernal Hill slide, which also just about killed some of us.

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Saturday was dubbed “memory lane day” by my parents, but then their memories failed them when they couldn’t remember which house we used to live in and just kept driving back and forth on the same block looking for it. After that we had lunch at Chez Panisse, where my Dad spent a lot of his days and was once a partial owner, it was fabulous as always. Our friend Michele (a retired Chez Panisse pizza chef) and Rebecca (my former nanny and a retired Chez Panisse bus-girl) joined us for lunch, with that much history sitting at our table we got lots of attention and lots of food. There’s something quite magical about eating at a well-known restaurant with some of the people who made it all happen.  And Alice gave me a signed copy of her most recent book!

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The beautiful sunset as we drove around Berkeley looking for people and places we used to know.

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Things that are not pictured but were still thoroughly enjoyed

  1. Dinner with Carol and Tal in Seattle.
  2. Dinner and drinks with Kim, Damaris, Jennifer, Cody and Ryan in Seattle.
  3. Christmas Dinner! yummmmmmmm.
  4. Dinner at The Sullivans house in Berkeley.

Now it’s time to go back to work and back to eating food from the 99cents store so I can pay off this trip! 😉

What’s the Deal with??

Girls Buying Cars

I’ve been doing some car shopping lately, because the lease is up on my VW. I was in the market for something more economical…smaller, better gas mileage, lower monthly payment etc. After doing lots of research (lots=a few google searches), I decided I wanted a Prius C. On Sunday, I talked Zack (my boyfriend) into going to look at them with me. We went to the Toyota dealer in Downtown LA and I walked in and told them I was interested in buying a car. Immediately, the man in the showroom escorted me to a booth outside, where all the salesmen were waiting for their prey. They all stood up and shifted their energies when they saw us approaching, I could hear them saying, “Whose turn is it!?” in loud whispers and then a short, chubby man in a blue shirt stepped forward. The greeter man from the showroom told him that my name was Ginger and I was interested in a Prius C. The salesman totally ignored that fact and greeted Zack, who was standing behind me, by shaking his hand and saying, “How can I help you, sir?” Seriously!? You’re gonna greet my boyfriend instead of me simply because he is a man and I am a woman? Let’s just say, I hated this salesman from the get-go. He continued to talk down to me and talk up to Zack the entire time I was there, saying things like, “What does she want? Just tell me what she wants, sir, and I will make it happen.” When I would ask a question, he would address Zack with the answer instead of me. At one point, I asked how they calculate the monthly payments, and he told me, “It’s just simple math.” He was terrible and condescending and chauvinistic, and I left there without buying anything and in a fit of rage.

However, I didn’t let that guy get to me! I ended up going on Tuesday to two different Toyota dealers — by myself. The first dealership, Hamer Toyota, treated me very nicely, even though I was a woman, car shopping alone. Unfortunately, all they had to offer me was a great deal on a very-bright-yellow Prius C. I politely declined, because I despise yellow cars, and went to another dealer.

The third dealership, North Hollywood Toyota, kept me there for hours! It was all this back and forth about all sorts of things. But, the salesman had kind eyes, and they had the car I wanted, in the color I wanted, so I stuck around. At one point, the gentleman helping me said, “It’s very rare to see a girl like you, car shopping alone, so all the guys are asking me if you are here by yourself. I told them you are a strong woman”. Um, really?? I left that day without a car, mostly because I had to get to work. Since I knew the deal I wanted and they weren’t really giving it to me, I told them I would be back at 11am the next day to do more negotiating. When I went back at 11am on Wednesday, I had the paperwork from VW that spelled out exactly how much it would cost to turn in my Jetta and I told them that I wanted them to pay it. Guess what? They did! They actually decided to give me exactly what I asked for. And they told me that they were impressed that I showed back up, at the time I had promised, with the paperwork I had promised them. Why were they impressed? I guess because I’m a woman. This brings me to my point…do women not go car shopping? Are we stuck in 1950? Is it strange that I didn’t have a man holding my hand when I walked in? Why was I met with surprise and awe at every point of the car-buying process? If I’m the one who is signing the papers and I’m the one who will be driving the car and I’m the one who will be making the payments, then why would I need anyone else to come with me to the dealership? I know what I want. I know how to negotiate what I want. I know how to keep appointments. I know how to drive. I have a good credit score, and I know how to sign paperwork. Is any of that more or less impressive because I’m a woman? I don’t think so. But, apparently, in the world of car sales, it makes me a “strong woman”. The way I see it, all of that just makes me a responsible human being. So, what I have to say to all the car salesmen asking if I was car-shopping alone is, “Why would I not car-shop alone?” I am woman; hear me quietly start my new Prius C with the push of a button.

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Sixteen Tons

When I was around 17, I got my first credit card. It was to get me ready for college, to build my credit and to use in case of emergencies. My mom was a co-signer, so it felt really safe and I rarely used it­ — at first. But, as time went on, there were more things I considered “emergencies” and when I over-used it, I would get an earful from my mom, so I started opening cards on my own. When the checkout girl at Express would offer me a card to save 15%, I would say, “Yes, please!” Then, I started getting more credit card offers in the mail, and getting credit card offers from the bank teller. At the time, I thought, “This is great! All of these people are offering me all this FREE money!” So, I got all sorts of cards and I didn’t really pay attention to the interest rates because I didn’t even know what those were, really. And, I used those cards. I used them hard. If I wanted a new pair of shoes, I bought them. If I wanted to go out to eat, I did. If my friend was having a bachelorette party in Las Vegas, I went. I felt like this sort of behavior was OK, because I was working and going to school and living and paying rent in San Francisco and I DESERVED that hundred-dollar dress. In fact, I deserved a new dress for every. Single. Event. A young girl has to look good, eat well, and make lasting memories, right? I even printed out an Oscar Wilde quote to put on my wall that read, “Anyone who lives within their means suffers from a lack of imagination.” The whole I’ll-just-swipe-this-card-and-have-whatever-I-want-right-now-and-figure-the-rest-out-later mentality lasted for years.

I was 24 and living in San Diego when I realized I had royally fucked myself. I was waiting tables because, well, that’s what I always do to make money. But, no matter how much I worked or how great my tips were, there just wasn’t enough money to cover my rent, my bills, my car payment, and whatever else I thought I needed. I remember sitting on the floor in my apartment one day, surrounded by the cash I had made that week and a list of all of my debts…I tallied them up and the grand total was around $30,000. I didn’t even have enough cash to make the minimum payments. I sat there on that shitty carpet sobbing for what felt like forever and thinking there was no way out. Then I called my mom and finally admitted to her how deeply I had dug myself into debt. I was filled with guilt and shame and self-hatred. And really, all I had to show for it was a bunch of dresses and shoes that I didn’t even like anymore. That day, my mom and I decided that I should move home and get a grip on my spending.

I lived at home for a year. I worked two jobs and tried to live the simplest life I could. But, after that year, I was still in massive amounts of debt and feeling like I wasn’t making any progress. I decided I needed to get out of that small town before I fell asleep one day and woke up with four kids and even more debt. So, I moved to Pasadena and I took my debt with me. Once I moved to Pasadena, I worked, and I made payments, and I worked, and I made payments. It felt never-ending. I was always embarrassed to tell people about my debt, so I’d try to keep it secret for as long as possible, only telling my close friends and lovers. And when I did tell those that I’m close to, it was usually through tears and with the hopes that they wouldn’t stop talking to me forever.

Earlier this year, my parents said enough was enough! They started me on the right track by making some payments on my huge pile of debt for me and, more importantly, they made me sign a contract saying that I wouldn’t continue to spend money I didn’t have and wouldn’t let credit card companies rape me with interest rates. And, it worked. After I signed that contract, I felt like I owed something to my family. And to myself. I have been aggressively paying off debt ever since. All of my spare money goes to the credit cards — the evil, terrible credit cards.

At this point, you may be wondering, why am I telling you all of this? And putting it on the Internet? Well, because today, on November 14, 2014, I am officially credit-card-debt free! I paid the very last balance this morning and then I sat here crying tears of happiness as I wrote this. I honestly never thought this day would come. I’ve given so much of my money and my time and my energy to those credit cards. I’ve taken my debt with me everywhere I’ve gone for the last 13 years. It followed me, a black cloud of my own creation; haunting me and weighing on me and holding me back from so many things — a constant reminder of how irresponsible and careless and materialistic I am. I never thought I would get myself out of that $30,000 hole I was in. But I did! And I’m just so happy to get rid of that black cloud.

shit my mom says, chapter 1

Today is my beautiful/wonderful/loving/hilarious Mom’s birthday! She may not know it, but I’ve been taking notes of some of the things she’s said over the past year and waiting for the perfect time to share them. Today seems like the right day! Happy Birthday, Mom!

On hairstyles — “I’m not sure if you have time right now, but I’ve noticed your hair doesn’t get bushy on the bottom anymore and I want to talk about what I should say to the hair stylist to get mine like that” –Deborah Budrick

On taxes — “I’m a bookkeeper, my shit’s too tight for them to audit” –Deborah Budrick

On one — “I’ve got a natch high” –Deborah Budrick

On sneezing — “I hate sneezing, it gives me goosebumps, scares the shit out of me and messes up my makeup” –Deborah Budrick

On selfies — “So, If I want to take a selfie that’s how I do it? I’ve been thinking I should try to take some selfies” –Deborah Budrick

On nuts — “Gerald! Did you tie these nut bags!?” –Deborah Budrick

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What’s the Deal with??

Bread on Salads

I love salads. So-o-o much. I order them at, like, every restaurant I go to. Seriously, if I don’t get an entrée salad, I usually get a starter salad or a side salad, because I just don’t like to go a day without it. That cold, crispy, crunchy deliciousness brightens up even the darkest day. Lately, however, I’ve been noticing a new problem in the world…restaurants all over the place are serving salads with a slice of bread! Automatically! Even when you don’t ask for it! They just put it on your salad like you need it or want it or deserve it or something. There are a few reasons this bothers me…

  1. I don’t eat bread
  2. Bread makes me uncomfortable
  3. I could have celiac disease! (I don’t)
  4. Simple carbohydrates are hard to digest
  5. Salad is amazing! It doesn’t need a sidekick
  6. Things that aren’t listed on the menu shouldn’t be on the salad
  7. I’m now forced to be wasteful

A couple of times recently I’ll get my salad, see the bread, not want to be wasteful and say, “Oh, you can take that bread back, I’m not gonna eat it and I haven’t touched it.” And then I watch them take it from my plate and throw it in the trash. There are starving people in the world! You just forced a piece of bread on me and then when I politely tell you, “No thanks!” you just threw it in the trash!? Now I look/feel like an asshole! What just happened? #nobreadplease

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Mondays and Tuesdays

Please note: You may click on highlighted slang terms to see the Urban Dictionary definition.

Do you ever wake up on a Monday and think, “What on earth have I done to myself?” Your eyes are swollen, yesterday’s makeup is on your face and your head is killing you. Then you realize your car is broken down in a parking garage miles away. And you barely have the energy to walk to the kitchen and get a glass of water, but water sounds so-o-o-o good, so-o-o-o refreshing, so-o-o-o cold. When you finally muster the energy to get water, and rinse your body with water, and splash water on your face, it doesn’t make you feel or look much better. And then you leave the house, take a cab to your broken-down car and wait 75 minutes for roadside assistance to come help you get it started. During those 75 minutes, you manage to spend $170, lose your parking pass and run into 2 people you know, which always seems to happen when you are looking swollen and tired. Those 75 minutes of down time also give you ample opportunity to reflect on the events that lead you to this moment; the copious quantity of cocktails consumed on both Saturday and Sunday; the excessive amount of money spent; the way that trying to be a good friend and play wingwoman can totally backfire; the 2 douchebags who came in and out of your life as a result of aforementioned wingwoman activities (and the way they reminded you that most people suck). You recall the way they reminded you that, to some men, women are nothing more than objects. What you say and what you think and what your friends say and think doesn’t matter to some men — you seem to keep forgetting that. Your faith in humanity feels demolished, again. You go to work that night and put on a fake smile, all the while feeling discouraged and confused about life and people and the interactions we have with one another and the power those interactions have over you.

Fortunately, you wake up on Tuesday and realize that you have a boyfriend who is the opposite of a douchebag and does care about what you say and think. And you know what? You have a Dad and a brother who care about what you say and think as well! And there are still lots of great men in the world and in your life! And not everyone sucks; you just have to weed through all the rotten eggs to find the good ones. And lucky for you, you’ll never have to see those douchebags from Saturday again. And you will recover from the way they skeezed you out. And your car is working again. And your cat is cute and cuddly. And it’s summertime and the birds are chirping and you may have had too much to drink over the weekend, and spent too much money and spent your time with people you didn’t have much respect for, but that’s over now. So, you make yourself a cup of coffee and you sauté some spinach and mushrooms and you top them with an almost-perfect fried egg and you think, “I’m so glad it’s Tuesday and I’m alive and I have feelings.”

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What’s the Deal with??

Short-Hair Haters

I somewhat recently chopped my hair off. Not all of it, just a lot of it. It wasn’t a rash decision. I didn’t break up with my boyfriend. I didn’t have a death in the family, and I didn’t experience a major life change that led me to cut my hair as a desperate cry for attention. I just wanted short hair. That’s it. I was tired of having long hair, and I thought it looked bad on me. Also, long hair was way too much work! I hated brushing it; I hated washing it; I hated styling it; and, I hated when it tickled my back in a certain way that made me think there were bugs crawling on me. I would sometimes look at photos from the past and think, “Why do I have long hair?” I looked better and felt better with short hair. So, I cut it off! And, I’m pretty excited about it! However, since cutting my hair off, I’ve discovered a sub-group of people I never knew existed — the short-hair haters. These are the people who see me and say things like…

“Oh WOW! You cut your hair? You cut it REALLLLLY short. Wowwww!”

“So, what made you decide to cut your hair? Is everything ok?”

“Sooooo, what does your boyfriend think of your hair? Or did you guys break up?”

“Did you cry when you cut your hair?”

All of these questions seem to be asked while they are staring at me with dead eyes, and in a tone of voice that would be appropriate for asking about a car accident or a recent amputation. Well, you know what I have to say to these people? Yes, I did cut my hair! And yes, everything is ok! And I’m pretty sure my boyfriend likes it, but the important thing is that I LIKE IT. And no, I didn’t cry when I cut it, I smiled (although I cry for lots and lots of other reasons). Listen, I get it if you think long hair is attractive, so do I. I even (kinda) get it if you think long hair makes a woman more feminine, but, I disagree. I think some of the most beautiful women in the world have short hair! And, if I like my hair better this way, what the hell do you care!? Also, did anyone ever teach you to keep your opinion to yourself if it might hurt someone else’s feelings? Now, more than ever, I understand the desire to use the hash tag: #shorthairdontcare.

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Caught up in Questions

Hello to all my faithful subscribers! I’d like to apologize for not blogging in so long. I’m not entirely sure if I’m apologizing to you or apologizing to myself, let’s say I’m doing both! The truth is, I’ve been feeling down. And confused. And doubting myself. SO, SO MUCH DOUBTING. Lots of my spare time is spent wondering…

Does anyone care what I think?

Am I interesting?

Can I even call myself a writer?

Do I even want to be a writer?

Maybe being a writer is too scary for me.

Can I handle the harsh opinions of others?

Am I too sensitive for this place?

Will I ever be a real adult?

Am I a good person?

Does my boyfriend really love me?

Do my PARENTS really love me?

Does my cat really love me?

Or does she pretend to because I feed her?

Do I even really love myself?

Or do I pretend to because I’m supposed to?

Am I smart? Am I stupid? Am I right in between like so many other people whom I never wanted to be like?

Are my ideas even my own?

Or did I find them in a dream one night?

Or see them on the Internet one day?

Do people get me?

Do I even get myself?

Do I have an audience?

Do I even WANT an audience?

Maybe audiences are too scary for me.

Am I a good friend?

Am I a good lover?

Am I good at ANYTHING?

Are the people I love going to be ok?

Am I going to be ok?

Is everyone going to be ok?

Is everyone sad?

Is life just moments of happiness mixed with I’m-standing-ankle-deep-in-sewage-water moments?

What do other people feel like?

What do they think about when they wake up in the morning?

Or on their lunch breaks?

Or when they can’t get cell phone service and are completely alone for a moment?

What parts of their bodies or their minds hurt?

What parts feel good?

I don’t expect you to answer any of these questions by the way. In a perfect world, I’d like to answer them all for myself. Or at least not let them be as debilitating as they have been. And that is what I’ve been doing instead of blogging. I’ve been caught up in questions. Trying to learn to love myself and the world around me. And the longer I go without posting, the harder it is to bring myself to do it. I often wonder if anyone even reads these things or what the point of it is. But, this morning I told myself; I’m going to blog today! And I’m going to blog more regularly! And even if no one ever reads them it will be good for me! Because writing feels good. And talking about feelings feels good. A sweet release. And ya, cheers to that.

What’s the Deal with??

Opening Doors

Last night, while I was working my SUPER GLAMOUROUS job as a cocktail waitress I overheard some ladies talking about guys. I should start by saying; I do a LOT of eavesdropping. If you are ever out and you wonder if your server or bartender is listening to your conversation, assume they are, especially if I’m in the building. I’ve found that in my years of eavesdropping, girls talk about boys pretty much all the time. Girls also talk about TV shows, the occasional book, the girl/guy they hate at work, the girl/guy they love at work, the girl/guy that smells funny at work, kids, plastic surgery, delicious recipes, etc. But, if there is a group of girls out for a girl’s night, there WILL be at least some talk of boys; I can pretty much guarantee it. So, last night, I was doing what I do and I heard a lady telling her friend about how she had to get up the nerve to talk to the guy she had been dating about something that had been bothering her. I lingered around their table, taking extra time to clean the table next to them, just so I could hear what it was that was bothering her. Turns out, she was upset that he hadn’t opened the door for her on TWO separate occasions. She said that he argued with her, said he thought he had opened the door for her every time they had gone through a door, so she had to tell him specifically when and where he had missed the mark. She continued, telling her friend how it had made her feel disrespected and like less of a lady. As I heard this, I wondered, is this what confident women feel is necessary to bring up to their guys? Is this really something that matters to anyone? I mean, say you end up wanting to marry this guy, are you going to decide not to because he forgot to open the door for you a couple of times? Call me crazy, but I don’t care if a guy opens the door for me! If he does, I guess it’s a nice surprise, but I often go to open it before he even has the chance. And, I feel like there are so many things that matter more than door opening in a relationship… like cuddling style and conversations and whether or not you like oysters. When I talk to my boyfriend about things that bother me, I always make sure it’s something I REALLY care about and I end up feeling bad about it afterwards — like, I might have been too hard on him or hurt his feelings. But, when I heard this lady talking about the doors, I decided maybe I shouldn’t feel so bad! Or maybe I just don’t have as much respect for myself as she does! What about you? Does door opening matter in your relationships?

Yes to Blueberries

I think I have body wash commitment issues. I’ve never found one in all my 30 years of life that I’m in love with. There was this coconut one once…he sent my senses flying every morning for weeks! He made me think we had a future, always begging me to consider romantic trips to Hawaii or sexy beach getaways to the Caribbean. But, in the end, he was just like the rest, leaving me unsatisfied and broken out (you know, breakups can be hard on the skin).

This body wash commitment phobia isn’t an easy thing to keep from my current boyfriend. After he had showered at my place multiple times, it was bound to come up. Especially after I bought 3 new body washes at the same time and put them in my shower! I tried to explain my actions by claiming there was a “sale” but I knew he’d find out soon enough.

The refreshing part of it all is that my boyfriend didn’t seem bothered by my promiscuous body washing ways. He would even finish off the remnants of the bottles I turned my nose up at. He would discuss with me the relative merits of certain body washes compared to others, “I’m a big fan of the exfoliating effect of this one, but I prefer the scent of this one”.

One day, quite recently, I was in Target and a large, purple body wash started flirting with me from the shelf. These guys never give up, do they!? I forgot all about all the suds that had hurt me in the past and I threw him in my cart, daydreaming of our future together as I walked toward the checkout. When I checked out, I was surprised to see that my new “Yes to Blueberries” body wash was on sale. This guy really knew how to wow a girl! But, it’s always the ones who start out opening doors for you that end up not delivering in the end, isn’t it?

When I finally got naked with my new body wash he turned out to be completely unavailable! As in, I couldn’t even squeeze the bottle. Was it me or was it him? Was I weak or was he just playing a little too hard to get? It was impossible to get him to open up. I ended up forcing my way in, but felt terrible about it later. I just wanted a body wash that had his shit figured out! I didn’t want to have to break down his walls every time I wanted to be close to him. I cast him aside and went back to my ex body wash without speaking a word of it to anyone.

So, imagine my surprise when my boyfriend asked, “Have you noticed how hard that new body wash is to use?” I admitted that I HAD noticed and it very much bothered me because I had had such high hopes. We laughed and talked about how it was a shame because we really enjoyed the smell. My boyfriend told me he had seen that same body wash in someone else’s shower and the lid had been completely broken off, which suggested that it wasn’t me, it was the body wash. This made me feel better.

The next morning my boyfriend took a shower and left for work before I was even awake. Little did I know, he had left a little gift for me. When I went to take a shower, the top was broken off the body wash and it worked perfectly! My boyfriend had taken care of body wash business! He had listened to me talk about my body wash woes, and then he made them disappear, without making me feel silly or dramatic. And now, every time I take a shower, I see that body wash with the top broken off and I think, “That boyfriend of mine, he just gets me”.

Halloween 2013

Come Play with us Danny…

I know Halloween was over a week ago, but I can’t stop thinking about it! It’s just so fun getting into character and dressing up like a creepy person. Or a cat. Or a banana. Or whatever you are into. This year I had to work on Halloween…so, my coworkers and I decided to be the Grady sisters and Danny from The Shining. If you haven’t seen that movie recently, you should watch it! Lots of people showed up to the party and my friend Spiros took some awesome photos! Here are some of my favorite pics:

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What’s the Deal with??

Masking our Real Emotions on Social Media

Social media has to be one of the most fascinating things to come about in my lifetime (followed closely by iPhones and Juggalos). Every. Single. Day. I’m excited to log onto Facebook, Instagram and Twitter to see how other people are presenting themselves on the Internet. Who had a baby today? Who’s engaged? Who’s being funny? Who’s newly single? Who looks skinny? Who is wearing too much makeup? What kind of music are people listening to? What are people writing? What events are they going to? Who’s super proud to be drinking Starbucks? But, if I’m having a bad day, logging onto social media can be the worst idea ever! Why? Because no one ever gets sad on social media! So, it makes me feel like I’m the only one in the world who’s bummed out. And I just don’t get it. Personally, I get sad, a lot. And sometimes, bad things happen to me. But, you probably wouldn’t know that from social media, because I’m constantly editing myself online. Sometimes I feel like I should post pictures or stories of what’s REALLY happening in my life, but I quickly decide not to, because I don’t want to bring anyone else down. Or creep anyone out. But, the truth is, we all get sad, we all get embarrassed, we all get angry. It’s a part of life. And, maybe, if we shared a few more of those moments, we could all relate to each other a little more. If you’re having a bad day and you log onto Facebook, all you see is happy people and that can make you feel like even more of a bummer. So, l say, let’s start sharing some sad, bad, weird stuff! Let’s start posting ugly photos of ourselves; let’s start sharing embarrassing stories, or photos of us crying, or photos of us in the hospital. Let’s get REAL. And I’ll start…I had surgery yesterday. There was nothing glamorous about it. I feel like it’s a big deal, though, and so I’m gonna post some photos of me in the hospital. Because I want to be real and honest and raw. And, I think a surgery is much more important than what I ate for dinner last week, or the foam art on my cappuccino. Hopefully, anyone who reads this will share some rawness with me as well! By the way, I’m feeling much better already.

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shit my friends say, chapter 4

Happy Birthday, Gianna! 

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“What do they call that…the groom of honor?” -Laura Frank

“Every time I use my foot to flush the toilet in a public restroom, I think of you”  -Yvette Thomassian (said to Gianna Assereto)

“We have olives, but they are for wine club members only. They’re imported from Spain” -Our server at Gloria Ferrer

“My stomach feels like it needs some breast milk and a nap” -Candice Cushing

What’s the Deal with??

Being Awoken by Words

I often wake up with a word in my head that keeps repeating itself to me, as if it wants me to acknowledge its presence. It’s kind of like getting a song stuck in your head, but it’s just one word — on “repeat.” And the word doesn’t just whisper to me, it repeats itself LOUDLY, so that I can’t ignore it, as if it’s saying, “PAY ATTENTION TO ME, I’M MORE IMPORTANT THAN THAT DELIGHTFULLY WARM COFFEE YOU ARE ABOUT TO DRINK!” Most of the time, it’s a word that I’ve heard before, but am not 100% sure of its definition. The only way to get the word to stop repeating in my head is to look it up, commit the exact definition to memory, and use it in sentences for the rest of the day, which often results in me sounding like a crazy person. Some of the words I’ve woken up to lately are (click on the word for the definition)…

Catawampus

Shawarma

Cotillion

My stomach is feeling a little catawampus, so I’m gonna go to the shawarma shop before I head over to the cotillion. 

Does this happen to anyone else? If so, what are some of the words that have been stuck in your head lately?