Tuesday, March 28, 2017

How Giving up Alcohol Has Changed my Life

Well, I did it.  

I made it through 30 days sans drunk texting booze.  I suffered through deep, plaguing bouts of FOMO, resisted giving into numerous temptations and achieved my goal.  The beginning of my hiatus from Grandpa's Old Cough Medicine was harder than Kanye gazing at a photo of Kanye, but as time went on it got more and more boring easier.  I made the conscious decision to let my coworkers, family and friends know about my decision so I'd be accountable which made me wildly self-conscious helped.

I wasn't aware of how much my life would change when I lived it booze-free.  I've created a list of things I've noticed through my sober lens over the last month.  Let's get sharted.

I've become more in tune with what's happening around me
I'm much more aware of my adult acne surroundings these days.  I listen to people when they talk except for when they talk too much, then I tune the fuck out.  I absorb experiences.  My senses are heightened.  I'm present like 50% of the time.    

I was "handled with care" a couple times
The other night after work 2 of my coworkers were heading out of the office to pick up wine and hang.  I asked one of them why I wasn't invited and she responded with "we figured you wouldn't want to be around us while we're drinking."  While I appreciated the gesture, the last thing I want to make people feel is uncomfortable (I already do that enough just by being myself) about tossing back some cocktails in my presence.  Seriously, feel like doing a keg stand as someone slurps tequila from your butthole right in front of my face?  Go right ahead.  Fucks I give = ZERO.  

I saved money
I've saved some serious bills over the last month which I ended up spending on other random shit like cookies, ring pops and tweezers.

I finally learned how to be a cheap date Date with Dignity
I went on a first date sober which was profoundly boring YUGE for me.  First dates typically make me want to gouge my eyes out and I've always relied on like 80 mgs of xanax the sauce to help make them more bearable.  There's nothing scarier to me than a forced, staged one-on-one interaction with another random human.  So when I agreed to go on a first date during my second week of sobriety I felt more nervous than a ceiling fan owner with a combover.  But, I took some deep breaths and reminded myself that I'm not meeting with the Dali Lama to discuss world peace or the fiscal cliff or the Dow Jone or whatever.  And, it was fine.  He was hammered fine.  I was fine.  Like most things in life that I over-analyze and generally lose my shit over: it all turned out to be fine.  I felt together and lucid.  Also, it was nice to wake up the next morning without wincing as flashbacks of my aggressive handjobs Ace Ventura impressions danced through my head.

Flying without booze was easier than I thought
If you read Toe Pick you know I am insane have a fear of flying.  Normally when I fly I make sure to have 27 a few cocktails at the airport and a few more on the plane.  Well, I've flown twice over the last month sans booze and I lost my shit and basically broke the arm of the guy sitting next to me from grabbing it so hard dealt.  It was scary but I did it - I believe this has been my greatest accomplishment in recent memory, aside from the time I blew a bubble the side of Kim Karshashian's ass.

My skin has become glowier (is that a word.)
Let's face it, alcohol can wreak havoc on your epidermis (god, I've been waiting to use that word for like, ever.) I noticed a marked difference in the size of my face in just a little over a week of giving up booze.  By the third week other people were starting to notice a difference in my skin as well - although I'm not sure if they were just complimenting me because they wanted me to give them some of those cookies I mentioned earlier.  

My productivity level has become higher than Snoop Dogg
I'm actually getting shit done at work.  I think more clearly and work harder.  I work in sales, so being hyped up and aggressive is vital to my survival.  I'm no longer taking naps in our meditation room as I douse my eye balls in some generic walgreen's form of eye drops.

Everything is copacetic now
I've learned that the majority of anxiety I've had has been a direct result of poor decisions I've made when I've been drinking.  A lot of that anxiety has disappeared since I've become sober because I'm no longer acting like a monkey on nitrous and making rash decisions like flying to Vegas to spend the night with a stranger (no shit) or dumping a bowl of peanuts on my head in a bar (again, no shit) because I need an easy way to make people laugh.  The only thing I've regretted in the last month and a half is saying no when the guy at Chipotle asked me if I "wanted to add guac to dat?"  Also, I don't chase the wrong relationships anymore because I'm clear-headed and have enough sense to know when I'm wasting my fucking time, whereas before, when I've been blurry or hungover I've clung to dead-end relationships out of loneliness.

I have very supportive friends who want to see me stop talking about becoming sober all the time happy
You sure do realize how unattractive people actually are who your friends are when you quit boozing. People have been so supportive of me and my decision and haven't treated me like a leper which is nice, and brings me to my next point...

cheersing with my pals 
No one gives a shit 
I figured people would be uber curious about why I'm not drinking but that hasn't been the case.  And the people who have been hyper-inquisitive?  Those are the ones I look at and say "You wanna back off talk?"  These are generally the ones who might have an issue with alcohol themselves.

Listen, I don't want to be that person who constantly spews out proclamations of how much giving up partying can change one's life so I'll only say this once:

Giving up partying has changed my life.

All it took was one moment: I looked around and realized that things were nowhere near as good as they could be.  I'm at a place in my life where I want to chill out, marry someone rich meet someone, settle down, have a family, make some coin, live in a cute little cottage by the sea and take a break from headbanging deep breath.  EVERY SINGLE fiber of my being told me that I would achieve none of these things if I kept raging like I was.  To put it simply: I got sick and tired of being sick and tired.

turns out I don't need to be hungover to be wildly annoyed
by anyone i come into contact with 
All of my regrets, anxiety, self-doubt, self-loathing and sadness stemmed from alcohol so the natural next step was to remove it from the equation. Now when I'm sad, irritable or anxious (which isn't nearly as often) I know it's not from binge drinking: it's because I'm having normal, authentic human emotions.  If a friend is constantly complaining to me about the UTI she got from banging that tinderturd fuckboy named Raul and I find myself getting wildly agitated I'll know it's because humans in general annoy the shit out of me and not because I'm hungover from slurping down too many fernet shots the night before.

 And, like everything in life: making a change started with me: a grown-ass woman.  The notion that this is my life - the only life I'll ever have - has become abundantly clear. The best part of this experience: I found strength I truly never, ever realized I had and I won't even make a joke here because I am so dead serious about this.

I'm not sure how long I'll keep this up but for now - it's working for me.  I do know I'd like to get to a point where I feel comfortable tossing back a glass or 2 of buttery chard with my girlfriends as we discuss important things like dick sizes and Justin Bieber's newest gf, but for now I'm cutting it all out.

My reason for sharing this is twofold:
1) I recognize I have a voice here and I felt it was my responsibility to share my experience with all of you in the event that anyone reading can relate.
2) I really just wanted to use the word "twofold".

Sarcasm aside, and I mean this in all sincerity: if alcohol is fucking your world up and you want to get out of your head about it, reach out to me (ambuntin@gmail.com)...I'll listen to you without judgement.

Let's take care of each other, shall we?  Thanks as always for reading and for keeping me accountable.


Sunday, February 26, 2017


I've decided to give up drunk texting booze for a month.

I am on day 9 which is an accomplishment in and of itself. What prompted my temporary abstinence from the sauce?  A myriad of things, but to name a particular instance: last weekend I went to a party.  'Twas a party crawling with twenty-somethings, and at one point (at around 3am) I looked around and realized I was the oldest person in the room. I had another drink to make my realization less jarring something of an epiphany, ordered myself an Uber and GTFO.  The next day I made a promise to myself that I would chill out for 30 days (or maybe more?).  And here I am.

day nine, feeling fine. (blarf)
It's Saturday morning as I type this - last night I stayed in, scotch-taped sewed a button that had fallen off my jacket back on, sifted through an old issue of He's Just Not That Into You People Magazine, watched 5 episodes of Newlyweds: Nick & Jessica: Season 4, 3 episodes of Laguna Beach (the LC, Steevaaaaan and Kristin era) and 1 episode of the Osbornes AND FUCK I WISH IT WAS STILL THE EARLY 2000s.

I decided there was no better way to commemorate my week+ of not sippin' on Grandpa's Old Cough Medicine (if you can't name that movie we will never be close) than to construct a list comprised of the pros and cons of not partying.  Let's get sharted:

Hangovers become obsolete 

There aren't many things worse than waking up and feeling like you've been slugged in the head by Marla Hooch (what a hitter!) and being thirstier than cured ham as you come to the realization you're still wearing your pea coat and 5 inch heels from the night before.  Looking in the mirror and seeing a Comet Club stamp etched onto your cheek from where you slept on your hand is about as humiliating as that time you had to remove your headgear before losing your virginity to the co-captain of the Geometry league in high school AND SHIT I'M GETTING OFF TOPIC.  Hangovers are as cool as hemorrhoids and lemme tell any of you little shits youngins reading this who think you're invincible: they only get worse.  Way, way worse my little oblivious, care-free rascals.

You start to realize how much of your social life revolves around alcohol: work events, going on a first date with that dicktard named Johnny "White Lightning" Martinezo who you met on Tinder, catching up a with an old friend over a couple bottles of glass of Pinot Noir, birthday parties, dinner parties, brunches, lunches, dinners, linners, housewarming parties, baby showers, happy hours, music festivals, client meetings, the list goes on and fucking on.  Cocktails are everywhere.  I can't look at social media without spotting a picture of SillySally sitting sideways on the seesaw sipping cocktails by the seashore in her swimsuit with her galpals.  If I'm honest with myself, I lack some self-control when it comes to saying no to a cocktail, especially when all my friends are indulging so giving up booze can be isolating, mainly on weekends - as I'm slowly realizing.  I've found it's important to pick up a vibrator hobby - my hobby is overanalyzing every situation to the point of alienating friends and family writing so that's what I'm doing now and OH MY GOD I'M JUST GOING TO STATE THE OBVIOUS FROM NOW ON. Seriously, thank G I have my vibrator keyboard and journal to help keep me entertained while I'm aboard the proverbial wagon.

No drunk texting.
ALLELUIA.  Waking up and seeing texts you sent to your ex-boyfriend you met 9 years ago while waiting in line for the porta potty at Bonnarro (you know, the dingus who still lives in his parents' basement who treated you like a sperm receptacle) in a desperate attempt to get attention is sadder than the Kardashian girls when they realize they didn't score front row seats at the BET awards.  I felt like Muhammad Ali after he'd won the Heavyweight Championship title when I woke up this morning and saw that the only person I'd messaged last night was my OBGYN asking if we could reschedule my pap smear AND GOOD GOD SOMETIMES THIS BLOG FEELS LIKE ONE GIANT DRUNK TEXT.

Peer pressure still exists, even in your thirties.
Remember when you learned about D.A.R.E in middle school?  Your teacher probably didn't tell you that peer pressure and sober shaming continues WELL INTO YOUR THIRTIES.  (BTW, we all know D.A.R.E. really stands for Drugs Are Really Expensive).  It's been amusing to see people's reactions when I tell them I'm not drinking:



I love to go make out.  I love to see people I like make fools of themselves. I like going to Balboa (and I don't care if you're a hipster or whatever and have something against it, I fucking love that place and I don't judge your bars AND GOOD GOD I'M PROJECTING AGAIN).  Going out and raging is an escape from the mundanities of every day life.  Abruptly quitting drinking can bring about major shakes FOMO and it can be torturous.  I try and remind myself that missing an event doesn't mean I need to curl up in the fetal position and douse myself in Nutella as I cry into my pillow and scour social media wishing I was headbanging alongside Muffy and Duffy as we sloppily discuss politics, religion, the meaning of life and other shit no one will absorb or remember.

The likelihood of going home with that drunk guy named Darryl with the frosted tips who keeps buying you shots, grabbing your mid-section and calling you "mama" is significantly lower when you're sober. Very recently A couple years ago I woke up one morning in the room of a guy who had a No Doubt poster on his wall and a lower back tat.  It's nice to know that even though I'm basically sacrificing my social life for a few weeks, at least I can seek solace in the fact that the only thing I'll be going home with on a Friday night is Chinese takeout.

The Likelihood of going home with anyone is higher than Snoop Dogg.  Speaking to all you singles out there, of course.

You become remarkably more boring clear-headed when binge drinking is taken out of the equation.  In just over a week I feel sharper than a Number 2 pencil that fills in those little ovals on the SATs. Things that were once as irritating as wet sand in your underwear ain't no big thang anymore AND I'M NOT REALLY SOMEONE WHO CAN PULL "AIN'T NO BIG THANG" OFF, GOOD GOD LAY OFF ME. Work becomes more fun because you're not on the verge of faceplanting onto your keyboard every 69 seconds.  I'm actually looking forward to going to work on monday morning because I know I'll be more alert when scouring social media and gchatting productive.

Hyperboles aside, I wasn't planning on writing this but I need to be held by a rich, strong man who will feed me Rocky Road ice cream like a mama bird accountable so it helps to put it out there.  I also want to take part in lifting the stigma off of the subject of adult acne sobriety - it's a life thing that many people struggle with and I've chosen to be vocal about it in hopes that people reading can relate.  "Kind of personal to put out there," a friend (who apparently never reads Toe Pick?) said to me on the phone earlier when I mentioned I was broaching this topic (toepick?); but my head is high. BESIDES I HAVE MANY OTHER THINGS TO BE EMBARRASSED ABOUT LIKE THE FACT THAT I JUST TOLD THE ENTIRE FUCKING BLOGOSPHERE THAT I'M ON TEXTING TERMS WITH MY OBGYN.

I hope you find something to be happy about today, my friends.


Wednesday, February 8, 2017


Hi there!  It seems like my adult acne is here to stay people aren’t bitching and moaning about the world/life enough these days so I figured I’d contribute to the collective, overall distress of the human race by featuring a compilation of things that have been chafing me as of late.  Also, if I can offer some reprieve from the incessant, chafe-inducing political posts on Facebook, then I’ll feel like I’ve really made a contribution to our society as a whole.

1. Dating apps
I spent a good 5 years using dating apps as avenues to prank message unassuming, horny male humanoids...until recently when I hit an age where wasting my free time dicking around on tinder isn't so productive: apparently in my case, time is of the essence and in the words of my beloved mother “WHAT DO WE THINK IS WRONG, WHY CAN’T WE SEEM TO SETTLE DOWN WITH A NICE GUY, LET’S FIND US SOMEONE SOON, SHALL WE” So, “we” (apparently my happily married mom and I are a package deal?) decided to take the whole dating app thing seriously, and the result?  A bunch of anticlimactic back and forth banter that has ultimately lead to nothing.  Seriously, I've had more fun making small talk with my dentist as he's shoving his chubby, shaky hands in my mouth and probing my gums with one of those terrifying metal picks.  OH, I also connected with the male version of Debbie Downer.  OH, also – my name isn’t Alex.

we've never met but YES I will definitely book it to Napa for a concert ASAP  
(keep in mind, I watch an average of 2 Dateline episodes a night)

 super quick, meaningful exchange

I've had deeper conversations with my thumb.
btw, no response to my Sixers comment, I'm guessing he's a Celtics fan?




My final take on dating apps: they're not my jam.  I'd much rather meet someone the old-fashioned way: shitfaced at a bar.  

2. An ear caressing uberpool passenger.
This didn’t necessarily chafe me too much, but I guarantee 34 minutes of continually rubbing and bending one’s lobe would definitely result in some chafe-age.

3.Political rants on facebook
Our country is going through some shit, I get it.  In the beginning of Trump-a-polooza I’ll admit I laid in bed at night and scrolled through heated arguments betwixt grown adults, fascinated by how fast fights escalated.  People have made good points and at first, it was entertaining.  After awhile though, these fights have become sad and annoying and well – let’s face it, someone's political stance isn't going to change because their biology lab partner from the 7th grade typed out a rebuttal (filled wirh grammatical/spelling error's and you see what i did there) to their charged status update.  I find myself longing for the days when people posted photos of their sonograms and fritata. SERIOUSLY, CAN WE BRING BACK THE FUCKING SONOGRAMS AND FRITATTA PICTURES!?

I'm envious of Gisele Bundchen dog owners.  I grew up with dogs and I've always wanted one of my own.  I'm not envious of said owners having to pick up their dog's shit and put it in those little baggies, though. That said, it has to be done.  So when a dog owner doesn't do this and their dog shits in front of my apartment building and I almost step in it as I'm hurriedly running out the door in the morning, well I'M CHAFED. 

this does look staged amiright!?

And, that's all the chafes I can come up with for now.  Happy dry Hump Day!  Get dim sum!


PS. I don't want to end on a negative note so I will say I'm proud to have blown a bubble twice the size of my rather large dome last week.  Thank you for the congratulatory flowers, texts and calls.  I'm so blown away I might burst and you see what I did there.

Tuesday, January 17, 2017

A Fuck: To Give Or Not to Give

I’ve spent a lot of my life giving fucks about things I shouldn’t.  When it comes to being neurotic, I'm right up there with George Costanza.  I am self-aware enough to make that statement regretfully confidently. 

ah, to be a care-free kid covered in pig shit again...

As I get older, though, it becomes abundantly clear to me a lot of my neuroses have been about as unproductive and chafe-inducing as an Over The Pants Handjob.  So, I took some time to compile a list of things I think are worth Bob doling out a couple of fucks for. On the flip, I've included some things/people that I've deemed unworthy of any of my precious, sugar-coated fucks.  

Let's get sharted, people:

Parents/Guardians/whoever raised you and dealt with your shit, literally and figuratively 
Our creators are at the top of my list of things to give a fuck about it: the ones who raised us, changed our diapers, accompanied us to get our wisdom teeth yanked, bailed us out of jail during college for drinking underage and proceeding to act like Ace Ventura upon arrest..is that only me?? Shit. Our parents are responsible for our deep rooted issues stemming from early childhood lives.  We all wouldn't be here if our mom didn't forget to take her birth control and/or didn't have an ineffective diaphragm.  Only me again?  Shit.  My point is: it is of the utmost importance to give a fuck about respecting, appreciating and loving your mom+dad/mom+mom/dad+dad/weird aunt Judy and Crazy Uncle Phil/Grandma...whoever was responsible bringing your annoying, snot-nosed, punk-ass up. 

me and my parentals

Caring about what others think
The moment I click share on a toe pick post, I feel a pang of "Jesus Christ Lord Almighty God Help Me, WHAT am I thinking, WHY AM I SHARING THIS?" in my gut.  Then, I pace uncontrollably until someone force feeds me a Xanax breathe, then I give myself a pep talk: if some dickhead random feels like judging me, they can go fuck themselves go right ahead, that's not my business - of course, this mentality has been hard for me to adopt, but I always end up choosing it, which is why I'm able to continue sharing my writing.  I know this a reoccurring sentiment on Toe Pick, but I'll reiterate it: mulling over what people think of you is about as productive, tedious and ineffective as trying to play pick-up stix with your butt cheeks. NO ONE IS THINKING ABOUT YOU AS MUCH AS YOU THINK THEY ARE (I repeat this to myself like 19 times a day).  Seriously, your coworker Debra in HR likely has a ruptured hemorrhoid from too much anal with her douche boyfriend, Raul who she met on FarmersOnly.com, and that's why she looks at you like you just stole her Lean Cuisine from the communal office fridge: IT AIN'T GOT NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU.

You have to give a fuck about them and pay them or whatever EVEN THOUGH NO ONE EVER TAUGHT YOU ABOUT THEM IN SCHOOL AND THEY'RE SO FUCKING COMPLICATED AND SUCK BALLS.  I learned about them from the IT guy named Darryl at my first job as a temp receptionist at a car dealership and I felt so confused and lost and scared.

an ex 
Let's say you drop your ice cream cone into a pile of manure...you wouldn't pick it up and keep eating it, would you?  That's essentially what you're doing when you give a fuck about an ex. Let him/her/shim go.


Your chompers 
Teeth are monumentally important.  Crooked teeth can be sexy, but yellow teeth have the power to make people never want to eat corn again.  There's so much to laugh (aka: expose our teeth) about in this ridiculous world we live in: Donald Trump's affinity for golden shower orgies, Carrie Fisher's Prozac-shaped urn (RIP, CF...respect.), the Kardtrashians, that guy you passed on the street who tripped and tried to pass it off as a jog...my point: your teeth are visible a lot, make sure they're clean or not urine colored (thanks for the inspo, Trump-a-lump).  And if they are? Bleach that shit, Crest Whitestrips are like 39.99 at walgreens and if you have a Walgreens card, it's even cheaper NOT THAT I WOULD KNOW OR ANYTHING.


I am a HUGE animal lover...I can confidently say I'm more fond of dogs than I am of most humans.  I will admit I'm not particularly fond of cats but I'll pet them and say "hereee kitty kitty" if i'm around one BECAUSE THEY'RE LIVING THINGS AND THEY DIDN'T CHOOSE TO BE CATS. One time I dated a guy whose roommate had a cat.  We were watching tv and the cat sauntered over and the guy kicked it away.  I got out of there faster than Kanye gets off when jerking off to a picture of Kanye.  When it comes to animals: give a fuck.  It's a dealbreaker to not. And FYI - if you dislike animals, get your head checked: that is some Jeffrey Dahmer shit. 

Saying no
Turning down invitations is no big deal...and is not something to stress over.  You're an adult and if you'd rather stay home, heat up a frozen waffle, douse it in Nutella and whip cream and shove it in your face faster than R. Kelley orgasms at a urinal while you do the macarena in your underwear instead of attending the Bris of your second cousin's dogwalker's baby, YOU CAN!  That's the best part of being a grown-up, you can do whatever the F you want.  Just don't say yes to an invite and then bail last minute - flaking is as cool as a pap smear. 

And, that's all I have for now.  Right now I need to give a fuck about picking up some DayQuil as I've gotten that cold that has been going around, whatever that even means. 

Happy Tuesday, my fellow fuck givers! 

xo -

Tuesday, January 3, 2017

I'm Looking Up

I should look up.
I should put you away.

looking down
I should have done these things long ago.  Years ago.
I should have put you away as my friend ruminated about her dad’s cancer last month: it had spread.  The cancer had spread.
I knew you were there. You were face down, but goddammit I knew you were there.
You vibrated several times as she spoke to me - cried to me.  I looked down at you and I wondered what messages you were transmitting.  Was it my mom?  A Facebook message?  My boss emailing me to tell me I did something wrong? 
My focus darted from consoling my friend WHOSE FATHER HAS CANCER THAT HAS SPREAD to looking down and wondering who it was that could have possibly been causing you to vibrate so incessantly.

Jesus, I should have continued looking up at her, I should've never looked down at you.
I should have put you away.

I should have looked up at the sunset beneath the Golden Gate Bridge, illuminated by hues of gold, amber and flamingo pink. 
Instead, I picked you up and used you to capture this otherworldly sight.
I looked down at you as the sun continued to set, applying a cocktail of various filters to my image – straining my eyes as I imagined which ones would garner results that would appeal to my followers: to the people I rarely communicate with outside of this app called Instagram
It was important: I needed to show people that I was there in the presence of that sunset. 
I needed to allude to the fact that I’m a content human being, gaping at this view and basking in the glow of this spectacular sky.  
By the time I posted my exaggeratedly filtered photo, the sun had gone down.  
It had become dark.  
I had missed the moment, all because I was fixated on you and the fleeting satisfaction you'd bring.
I was fixated on you: a fucking cracked device.

I should have looked up.
I should have put you away.

I should have put you away that morning I woke up after having been out until 5am.
Feeling tired, despondent, empty and alone, I struggled to find you. 
You’d alleviate some of my pain; I knew you would.
Visions of the night before marred my consciousness, and I wondered to myself why I still have this insatiable desire to party like it’s 1999. 
Something needs to change, I think to myself as I look down and notice I’m still wearing my little black dress, infused with the pungent stench of stale cigarette smoke, booze and that perfume my mom got me for my 30th birthday.

I sifted through my disheveled sheets and found you. 
I heaved a sigh of relief, held you up and stared at you as I applied an absurd filter to my face that distorted my forehead and mouth.
I began spouting out a nonsensical soliloquy about my irresponsible night out and noticed my mascara stained eyes were still visible, even through the Snapchat filter. 
I hoped my followers would find my diatribe amusing and figure if I make hard life things funny then they'll subsequently feel less dangerous.  
After all, I've got a persona to uphold, to fulfill...this persona that I've assigned to myself: I'm the single 30-something girl who is behind in life and it's all one big fucking joke. 
I needed attention and I was using you to get it.

I opened my Instagram app and began scrolling; I see several memes featuring jokes about drinking too much and again, my debacle seems funny and normal. 
Everyone overindulges, everyone gets massive hangovers, everyone feels lonely sometimes, we’ve all felt behind in life; it’s all funny, it’s all okay: it's all one big fucking joke.  

I should have looked up and embraced the state I was in, I should've honored the fact that I am a human being, and life is hard - not funny all the time, but hard. 
It’s messy.  It can be sad, it can be ruthless, it can be unforgiving, it can chew you up like dipping tobacco and spit you out, leaving you to pick up the pieces; it can make you wonder what the point of it all is.

When I look down at you, I forget that.  
Maybe that's why you're an addiction of mine; an affliction.
When I look down at you and pull up Facebook or instagram I don't see any of “the hard” in life.  
I see champagne brunches on a sunny day, skiing trips in Aspen and loving couples basking in merriment.
Social media makes hardships seem like an anomaly.
"Is it okay that I don't have this markedly charmed life?" I start to wonder the more I'm exposed to these idyllic lives via filtered photos.  Then, I participate in this charade and so begins a vicious cycle.

Sometimes when I look down at you I think of how social media is nothing more than a mindfuck, a false representation of this intrinsically complicated thing called life; a life that, unlike our photos, cannot be filtered.  

I should have put you away when I stumbled upon those pictures of the person I was once in love with who is now in love with someone else.
What does she have that I don’t, I think as I continue to scroll through photos.
My heart sinks lower than I ever thought it could ever sink and my ability to swallow becomes obsolete.
My mind races as I think of how well my day started – I’d woken up to news that I’d finally placed my candidate in an awesome job!  But, because of you, because of social media – feelings of inadequacy, dread and heartbreak have flooded my system like really bad tsunami, you know – like that one they had in Japan not too long ago.

I should have looked up, accepted the fact that I'm not anyone's person yet, and that's okay - instead of gaping at you, and continuing to inflict pain on myself with every methodical swipe.

I should have looked up.
I should have put you away. 

Henceforward I’m going to try and look up.
I know it won’t be easy, but I give my word I will try.
I need to scale back. I'm going to try and scale back.

I’ll try and put you down and away as I talk to a friend, a coworker or even a stranger.
I’ll look into their eyes and try to listen, interact and be all there.  
I’ll be respectful, I’ll be gracious; the fact that you’re in my pocket, by my side – won’t even cross my mind.  I am going to try not to let it.

Here, now, in this moment - I am choosing to look up. 

Monday, December 19, 2016

16 Life Things I Learned in 2016

2016 has been a shit year for most, but for me it has been fine.  My best friend took me on a tour of all the landmarks from the OJ Simpson case (no shit, it was a spectacular day), I decided to freeze my leftovers eggs, auditioned for two reality TV shows (a wildly entertaining process), learned how to singe curl my hair, quit my miserable job and found a lovely new one, and reconnected with ex-boyfriends via incessant drunk text old friends. With every passing year I find myself growing more desperate to get married learning various life things.  Please allow me to share what I've learned this year:

1. Your most important relationship is the one you have with your vibrator self.

single and losing my shit loving it!

2. If you love someone who doesn't love you back it's important to set their house on fire them free.

3. Social media is extremely surface-level (duh).  I visited my BFF the other weekend and we drank talked extensively about how facebook and instagram allows us all to put up such a facade in spite of any tribulations we may be grappling with.  It is so important to recognize and remember that real life is so much more than a filtered picture or a braggy status update. So many of us are struggling with something: whether it be the death of a loved one, finances, a severe UTI from banging some dingus we met on Tinder, lost love, addiction or illness.  Most things on social media aren't what they seem - I remind myself of that every time I find myself comparing my life to Silly Sally Sitting Sideways on the Sidewalk with her hot husband and Hermes scarf.

4. People for the most part don't change their underwear as much as we desperately try and convince ourselves that they do.

5.  Keep the people you love close to you at all times, as you never know when you'll need to borrow money or that really cool sweater from them.

6. The secret to happiness lies within a bag of double stuft oreos and a Lexapro prescription  yourself.

7. Always follow your ex on all forms of social media so you can keep tabs on their every move instincts, they're almost always accurate.

8. It is important to designate alone time with your vibrator self and your thoughts.

9. Your thoughts have the power to create massive anxiety and unrealistic expectations  reality and happiness.

10. Always nourish and maintain the relationship you have with the lady at Bank of America who waives your overdraft fees  your family.

This is Diane.
 Diane is nice.
Diane sometimes waives my overdraft fees.
I like Diane.

Let's be more like Diane.
11.  Not everyone is going to like you, and that's not okay.  Accept that, be a dick back gracious and tell them to go fuck themselves move on.

12.  Smoking pole cigarettes can make a hangover exponentially worse.

13.  Letting go of your ex's leg as he's running away from you the past is vital to one's sanity.

14.  No one thinks about Dateline and Haribo gummi bears you as much as you think they do.

15.  Don't blow your ex-boyfriend in hopes of getting him back  paycheck within 4 days of receiving it.

16.  Smile!  It's really rude, especially when someone is telling you about their life dilemmas contagious!

Perhaps the most important thing I've learned in 2016 is the importance of withholding judgment with regard to other people.  We never truly know what battles people are fighting, and thus it's important to be nice and compassionate as often as possible.  And let's face it, WHO AM I TO JUDGE!?  Don't answer that.

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, I wish you the breast in the new year.


Friday, December 9, 2016

When I Think About you I Touch My Elf

Menopause Christmas is fast-approaching and more importantly so is my birthday.  I was born on December 23rd and delivered home on Christmas morning which might explain why I'm so Christ-like.  I was a definite accident, as evidenced by my parents' inability to properly plan for a non-Christmas-time birth.  But that's neither here nor there.

I've come up with a wish-list of things I want (both tangible and non) for Birthmas. Here goes:

1. Frozen eggs 
I'm not really a spring chicken anymore as evidenced by my inability to recover from hangovers in 24 hours and the 3 grey hairs I found last Tuesday as I attempted to use my Head & Shoulders curling wand properly.  I feel like girls my age are like figurative (beautiful, amazing, glorious) gumball machines - popping out babies on the reg and while I do try and bask in their merriment I can't help but worry that as I get old AF, so are my eggs (EW).  So the the other day when my boss informed me that my insurance covers egg freezing, I promptly felt desperate did my research and asked "where do I sign up?!"  Feeling really anxious about this overshare proud to announce that's what I'll be getting myself for Birthmas, if for nothing else than to alleviate the mounting anxiety I face every time I log in to Facebook only to be bombarded by an onslaught of baby pics.  Also, it's almost like I'm giving a gift to the world as I will be ensuring that I'll have the opportunity to reproduce one day and WHO DOESN'T WANT A BUNCH OF MINI-ME'S RUNNING RAMPANT!?  Don't answer that. 

2. An Egg Making Machine
I promise you this whole list won't involve some variation of eggs.  I recently discovered the hard boiled egg maker at my office and I'm baffled transfixed by it.  Simply take an egg, prick it on the pricker provided by aforementioned machine, put it in the egg holder-socket-thingy for eleventeen minutes and VOILA! you've got an afternoon snack to get you through your work day AND OH MY FUCKING CHRIST AM I REALLY TALKING ABOUT A HARD-BOILED EGG MACHINE LIKE A REAL LIVE ADULT-HUMAN?  Whatever - it's a chicken's nightmare, but my favorite new discovery and an egg-cellent stocking stuffer and you see what I did there.

3. A trip to LA to see my Godson and bestie 
I'm beginning to realize that adult acne is a very real thing plane tickets to see friends and family are the most important investment one can make.  Who really gives a flying fuck about a nice pair of shoes or a designer coat when you could buy a ticket to see your #1s?  Last month I went east to see my college pals and I'm heading to LA this weekend to see more of my people and I'm more excited than Pee Wee Herman in an adult movie theater even though LA scares me and I can't explain why.

4. The ability to not flake
I'm a notorious flake and I'm realizing more and more how unattractive, rude and deplorable that is.  I work in a business where people are about as reliable as Wal-pons (Walgreen's brand tampons) and it's forcing me to understand how fucked it is to bail on a plan last minute or worse - to simply ghost. I've always adhered to the whole "I don't have to do anything I don't want to do" adage and now I'm realizing that actually, "YES, you have to go buy tiddly winx and pantyhose with your dog walker because you fucking told her you would AND IT'S NOT ALL ABOUT YOU".  

5. The ability to properly comprehend traffic signals.
I would like, for once, to be able to lead the pack of pedestrians across the street as opposed to sheepishly lurking behind them and monitoring their every move to see when I can walk AND SERIOUSLY WHAT THE FUCK DO THESE CONFLICTING SIGNALS MEAN!?   

6. A portable phone charger.
If my chord gets stuck in my chair wheel one more time...

Alright, that's all I got.  Have a great weekend!  Get dim sum!


Wednesday, November 16, 2016

A Farewell Letter

day 1

When I first saw you I felt dazed.  A hailstorm of emotions had pelted my nervous system all through the night. Now, I was ready to sleep.  Ready to see family too, but mostly - ready to sleep.  For awhile.

But, then - there you were.  I smiled assuredly and praised myself for making it through my cross-country flight unscathed: an accomplishment so easy for most, but one that was wildly difficult for me. Fellow passengers traipsed by me as I struggled to stuff my US Magazine splattered with Kardashian headlines into my over-sized, tattered carry-on I've had since college.

I looked at you in wonderment, brows furrowed.  I thought of how I needed you.  I needed you to cover my droopy eyes offset by dark, puffy circles: a direct result of my seemingly insurmountable fear of flying and consequent inability to sleep through red-eyes.  I needed you to make me feel emboldened.  I needed you to help me dodge the inevitable question I'd get from my mom the moment I walked through the door.  "You look tired!! Are you tired?"

"Ma'am?" the salesman jolted me out of my Xanax-induced haze.
"Would you like to try those on?"

"Yeah, sure.  Okay."  I responded as I continued to gape at you as though I was at one of those inexplicably fascinating sex shows in Amsterdam.  I picked you up gingerly and pulled you over my smudged eye makeup.  You hugged my face like a glove (a glove that would be considered the opposite of the one OJ Simpson tried on in court). You also covered almost half of it, which I liked; maintaining eye contact is not one of my strong suits, nor is applying eyeliner with a steady hand.

I think briefly about the slew of sunglasses I've had through the years.  I think about the ones I stepped on and broke in Napa after too much wine-tasting.  I think about the Oakley's I stole from my big brother when I was a teenager that were so tragic looking that my mouth contorts into a Grumpy Cat-like grimace when I think of how often I wore them in public.  I think about the fugly fake Chanel ones my roommate's dog used as a chew toy that likely ended up in his digestive tract.

But I'd take care of you, I thought.  You'd be different.

"How much?" I pried.
"$165.00," he responded.

"I'll take them!" I say as I remind myself that I've earned you.  You are fucking mine, I thought.  I don't have to buy you like I have to to pay my rent or my water bill.  But I want you and I'm going to get you.  There has to be a positive reason I spend 8 hours of my day in a heinous office complete with a defunct water cooler and rachet carpeting, I told myself.

I didn't realize at the time just how helpful you'd be...how you'd be with me day in and day out.

I wore you to and from my unfulfilling job each day.  You helped conceal my empty, hollow eyes as I trudged up the steps onto my bus in the mornings, en route to a place I considered a youth + life vacuum.

I wore you on a Sunday morning in May as I stumbled down a random street to wait for my Uber after a late night party that had turned into an early morning one.  I thought of how grateful I was to have had you in my purse that morning.  You hid my bloodshot, half-open eyes from fellow pedestrians, early morning runners, mothers with strollers and that crossing guard who greeted me with a "nice morning, isn't it!?"  For me, it wasn't a nice morning.  It was one of those mornings I realized I'm too old to be acting like I'm not too old.

I wore you in my Uber the day I found out my dad had retired from his job.  You caught my tears and hid the disassociation in my eyes as I feigned interest in my chatty driver's story about his various side jobs.  "Uh huh," I'd chime in methodically every 30 seconds or so all the while attempting to accept time and the inevitable changes it brings. I associate my Dad with going to work every day and how happy it makes him.  Will he still be happy?  I thought. Do I need to be closer to my parents?  Am I selfish for being all the way out here in California?

I wore you the day I up and left that youth + fun vacuum I mentioned earlier. My head hung low as I walked down Market street to the ice cream store contemplating what my next life move would be. You kept falling down. I kept having to pull you back up.  I needed to get you more secure.  It was all kind of like a metaphor for how life works I guess.

I set you across the table from me the night I did something that 7 years ago I never imagined I could do: eat dinner alone in a crowded restaurant.  It was a monumental moment for me - someone who once too chickenshit to walk into a party alone could now dine solo on a Thursday night in San Francisco.  You reminded me of how far I've come, but also of how far I need to go - let's face it, I put you there so it looked like someone was meeting me because life is a work in progress.  Baby steps.


You were with me through mostly everything over the last couple years - if not pulled over my eyes or on top of my head then by my side in my bag. I found comfort in reaching down and feeling you at the bottom of my purse among loose gummy bears and receipts.

So when I rifled through my bag on a rainy day last week and didn't feel you, my heart sank.  I retraced my steps looking for you.  You were gone.  I chastised myself for feeling so sad about losing something inanimate, then I gently reminded myself that there are far more important things to be concerned about - like the fact that our country is about to be led by the former host of a show that starred Gary Bussey and that chick from Real Housewives of New Jersey - you know, the one with little forehead (twohead?) who got her ass thrown in jail for tax evasion AND OH MY GOD I REFUSE TO GO DOWN THIS POLITICAL RABBIT HOLE, I'M NOT INFORMED ENOUGH AND FUCKING A, CAN'T WE ALL JUST GET ALONG?

But I digress.  They say everything happens for a reason.  I think they're right.  I think you served your purpose and are now tucked somewhere in the dismal, bottomless abyss with my debit cards, virginity, keys and socks.  Who knows?  Maybe a homeless person found you and you're serving a purpose for him or her.  Maybe not.

So now, I'll say good-bye.

And thanks.

For being a reminder of the times in my life when I felt the most human.

Seriously, thanks.  For that.

Monday, October 24, 2016

Why Caring About What People think of you is as Productive as Playing Darts in the Dark

The other day I got adult acne downloaded an app called "Unfollowgram" which tracks and identifies the dickheads people who unfollow you on Instagram.  My heart sunk when I saw that several worms people I barely know had jumped ship.  What the fuck?  I thought to myself as I spiraled headfirst down a slippery slope of despair and into a cesspool of nagging, hypothetical questions.  Did I post something offensive? Am I annoying?  Do I post too much?  Do people hate me?  I promptly unfollowed all of them back and made a mental note to snub them if I ever ran into them which is about as likely as Donald Trump respecting women given that most of my unfollowers don't live in my city.  Letting people so insignificant to my life/happiness cause me even 5 seconds of despair is more insane than Amanda Bynes circa 2013.

Then, I sobbed thought to myself:  Who cares?  Why am I getting adult acne worked up?  So what, someone was cleaning out their friend list and I didn't make the cut. Does this affect my life?  Does it affect my job?  My family?  My friends?   The world?  Even now as I read my intro paragraph I find myself cringing at the level of childishness I allowed myself to sink to. Vowing to snub a near-stranger because they chose not see my pictures on social media? That's a new low.

We all have that one person who we admire above all.  For me, that person is my Dad, whose name is Si. Sometimes, in various situations I'll think to myself: What Would Si Do?  I did this in this instance and the answer I came up with?  He'd never be rattled by an app called unfollowgram, that's for fucking sure.

But there I was, letting this ridiculous app effect my day and HOLY SHIT I NEED TO STEP AWAY FROM MY PHONE AND GET A LIFE.

The most important lesson I continue to learn as I grow older is that adult acne is a very real thing people in general don't think about me as much as I think they do.  They really, really don't.   I'm writing this as a reminder to myself and to my people - STOP CARING WHAT PEOPLE THINK ABOUT YOU.

Here's why:

People are thinking of themselves most of the time.
Let's say you're talking to a coworker.  We'll call her Tabitha.  You and Tabby are in a meeting and you notice she is scowling in your general direction.  You think to yourself: Tabby hates me because I forgot to add the attachment to an email I sent her earlier.  She thinks I'm stupid and careless and she's going to mention the blunder to my boss, then I'll be fired and have to move in with my parents. What's actually happening is: Tabby is scowling because she's suffering from a UTI she got from banging her dickhead tinder boyfriend and she's not looking at you, dipshit - she's looking at the clock and counting down the minutes until she can bolt from the meeting and slurp up a gallon of cranberry juice to ease the burning sensation.

Thinking about what another person thinks of you is as productive trying to give an Over The Pants Handy under Niagara Falls 
Trying to dissect how another person might perceive you robs you of the present moment.  I struggle every day to establish a marriage between the present moment and my mind.  The only times I really let my mind run rampant without any hesitation is when I'm writing and need to imagine the future or pull from the past to create content.  But in general, I've grown terrifically tired of the residual effects of overthinking. When I find myself speculating about what Darryl Dipshit thinks of me I am essentially leaving the shallow end of contentment and control and diving into the deep end of worry and uncertainty. Staying present (most of the time) is wildly essential to my sanity.  I'm sure it is to yours, too.

Letting people's opinion of you effect you can be stunting/paralyzing
Let's take a look at successful people: Steve Jobs, for example (RIP).  You think he gave a rats ass what people thought of him?  Same with people like Beyonce and Ghandi.  That's how they all became so successful - they didn't care.

If I got too much in my head about what people thought of me I wouldn't be able to write this entire fucking blog, because - let's face it: I am putting it allll out there for everyone to see.  It would be absolutely crippling for me to pay too much attention to what Doreen from Accounting thinks of what I have to say on Toe Pick, assuming she reads it.

Not everyone is going to like you
I do not consider myself to be what some would say (for lack of a better word) "normal".  I'm an acquired taste.  We all are - we are all made up of different parts, that's what denotes individuality. I know there are 2 people out there who don't like me.  I'm not comfortable with that. All that matters is that I like me AND SHIT OUT COMES TONY ROBBINS AGAIN.  I think about it like this: does the fact that Silly Sally Sitting Sideways on the Sidewalk Selling Seashells by the Seashore thinks I'm weird effect my life at all?  Nope.  That's Stupid Sally's problem, not mine.  Moving right along.

Life is so short - think about chocolate cake, not Glenn
This is something I think a lot of females have problems with: over thinking about an ex or someone who is doesn't reciprocate romantic feelings.  This is literally the biggest waste of time.  Lying in bed thinking about someone who is not thinking about you and is likely banging another person is so extremely tragic.  When this happens, it is pertinent to shift your focus to something wildly random.  Think about dildos, Fidel Castro, monkeys, global warming, Donald Trump's toddler hands, OJ Simpson's guilt, Ross Perot's ears and why he never once considered pinning them, where tollbooth workers park their cars (SEROIUSLY, is there a fucking parking lot on the side of the highway? Or are they airlifted in and out of their booths?), how snakes mate (they already are a penis so WHAT THE FUCK, HOW DOES IT WORK!?), butt plugs (seriously, are those really a thing and what is their purpose?), or whatever else your warped little mind chooses to think of.  (BTW, your are welx for the suggestions and insight to the inner workings of my brain).

In conclusion, always remember that the most important relationship you have is the one with your vibrator yourself, so fuck what other people think, seriously.

HAPPY MONDAY, my friends!