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!


Tuesday, October 18, 2016


2016 has been...for lack of a better word: normal. Aside from having left my job after 4 years in early June, nothing even mildly eventful has happened.  It's been a year of releasing things that haven't brought me pizza joy - I equated said job to a youth/pleasure/life vacuum and part of me thinks I was suffering from Stockholm Syndrome while I was there; the other part thinks I might just be watching too many Dateline episodes about brainwashed kidnap victims.  Who knows. Who cares.  I’m out!  That’s all that matters.

TV revivals of the OJ Simpson and JonBenet Ramsey cases drew me in and proved to be all-consuming. I can safely say I’m a self-proclaimed expert on both cases - a direct result of countless hours devoted to watching any relevant documentaries/interviews I could get my hands on. Coworkers, friends and family members have grown wildly irritated by my inability to refrain from pelting them with obscure, random facts on the subjects and I’d like to take this opportunity to formally apologize to them for my lengthy outbursts JUST KIDDING I LISTEN TO OTHER PEOPLE’S BULLSHIT ALL THE TIME, LIKE THE OTHER DAY WHEN MY FRIEND SPENT AN HOUR TELLING ME ABOUT HER BOYFRIEND’S DISDAIN FOR GRANOLA AND BOOT CUT JEANS, LET ME HAVE MY MOMENTS PEOPLE.  Sorry for yelling.

I also took a break from dating to focus on JonBenet Ramsey documentaries myself this year.  I sought to become happier by quitting my job and finding JonBenet Ramsey documentaries a new, more suitable one and in turn I figure I'll eventually find a mate because of the whole "no one can make you happy until you're happy with yourself" adage and OUT COMES MY INNER TONY ROBBINS AGAIN. Seriously, I haven't even had as much as a tiny crush in 2016 – in fact, I'm pretty sure my hymen has grown back and OH MY GOD I NEED TO WATCH WHAT I SAY, THIS IS A PUBE-LIC BLOG.  But this is all neither here nor there.

Lately I've tried to take online dating seriously - per the suggestion of every person I know in San Francisco.  I'm not sure about the rest of the country but dating apps in SF have become more endorsed than Air Jordans were back in '92.  As I fumbled to have anticlimactic conversations with guys on these apps I had a monumental breakthrough (sarcasm font): prank tindering is waaay more fulfilling and entertaining than real tindering is.  

Seriously, prank tindering has offered me reprieve from having to watch Vagisil and HPV vaccine commercials in between JBR and OJ documentaries.  It has made me laugh when I've wanted to cry about my discovery of how Haribo Gummi Bears are really made. Before you call me an evil sadist who gets pleasure from messing with unassuming male humanoids, I implore you to get a fucking sense of humor and stop being such a fun-absorbing tampon keep an open mind.  These pranks are all in good fun. 

My characters this round include: Debbie Downer, Donald Trump and last but not least, a cat-obsessed whack-job.  Enjoy.  (If you're reading this on your mobile device, please click on the below messages to enlarge them as they may be too small.  <if only that worked for other things>).







And, that's all I have.  Happy hump day!


Tuesday, October 11, 2016

A Thank You Letter to Donald Trump

Dear Donald Trump,

Thank you. 

Thank you for reminding me of the importance of bleaching/flossing my bottom teeth on the reg.

Thank you for helping me to recognize the fact that doing the duck face is about as cool as a pap smear.  Because of you I'll likely never do it again - maybe then my Instagram follower count won't be in constant jeopardy.  

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Thank you for being the reason I saved 40 bucks after cancelling my spray tan appointment with “Cindi with an i”.  Without you, I would’ve continued to resemble a pumpkin - but seeing your image on the daily has knocked some serious sense into me.  Thanks, Don.

While we’re on the subject of hair: thank you for reminding me I need to deep condition and brush mine.

Thank you for (especially just now) reminding me that mocking other people for their appearance is sinking to your level – so in addition to saying thank you, I’ll also say I’m sorry for my aforementioned comments.  I’m better than that.

Thank you for renewing my admiration for my father; a man who would never deign to talk like you, to act like you, to discriminate against minorities like you, to disparage women like you, to set a tragic example for the children of America like you, to act as a reprehensible representative for all redneck racists and sexists like you.  Thank you, Donald – because of you I hugged my dad a little tighter when I saw him last weekend.

Thank you for reconfirming what I’ve known all along: men who’ve treated me like nothing more than a sperm receptacle will never have a place in my life or take up any more of my time.  Thanks making my resolve to find a man who is a good person a little stronger.

Thank you for reminding of the negative effects of cocaine – incessant sniffling and spouting out rampant, unintelligible drivel is never a good look.  I really do forget that sometimes, so thank you for the reminder!

Thank you for instilling in me the old adage: money doesn’t buy class, especially if it can’t even buy a mildly realistic toupee.

Thank you for making me even more grateful for the women in my life: you remember women, right? They’re the ones you objectify – you know, the ones whose pussies you think you’re entitled to grab?  Without the women in my life I’d be a pretty lost person – so, thank you – your barbaric locker room talk helped strengthen and solidify the respect I have for women.

Most of all, thank you for confirming for me that I’m not perfect; no one is.  I have a lot I need to work on – so do you. 

That may be the only thing we have in common, Donnie.



Thursday, September 29, 2016

Why I Refuse to Settle; and Why You Should too

6 years ago I got adult acne a temp-to-hire job as a Tenant Coordinator at 650 California street in SF where I was responsible for shit like paging building engineers on their Walkie Talkies in an effort to alert them of a ruptured urinal in the Men's bathroom of some random finance company like Credit Suisse or Dow Jone Ventures or whatever.  I figured the multitude of menial tasks I was responsible for were worth taking on if it meant that in exchange I got to be a functioning member of society who could barely pay her rent and be a part of this spectacularly weird town they call San Francisco.

It was a trade-off really: ping Reginald the engineer and make him aware of the onslaught of engorged cock roaches pervading the ladies bathroom on the 16th floor and in return be afforded the opportunity to indulge in a boozy brunch at Perry's with my delinquent friends on Sundays.

I was settling.  Settling for a job I knew I wasn't meant for - one that was purely a means to an end.  It was a place where I spent the majority of my time, and yet I'd walk in every morning knowing full well I'd spend the subsequent 8 hours as the human equivalent of a limp dick.  I'll admit it: I've settled a lot in the past: I've settled for crumbs I've gotten from guys I know I have no future with because it's easy and because I'm a girl in heat and I need attention.  I've settled for jobs I've been overqualified for because they've been safe. I've come to realize that settling is a surefire way to ensure that my life will be saturated with ramen and fuckboys unfulfillment.

Moreover, the older I get the more I realize how much I need to freeze my eggs and get botox in my forehead deserve in this life; not because I'm special or anything like that, but because I'm a human being and we, as humans deserve to be happy.  Every day I try and remind myself that life is shorter than Wee Man.  Time is fleeting. That's right - there simply enough time to settle anymore and OH MY GOD I SOUND LIKE TONY ROBBINS.
Recently I came across an article about a techie who'd sold his app for $54 million.  He and his wife decided to ditch conventionalism, pack up their family and devote their time to traveling and crossing things off their bucket list via their newly acquired dough.  They opted not to settle for a life of mediocrity and instead chose to live well.  Granted, the money helped with this - but the reason the techie had the money was because he didn't settle for a Tenant Coordinator job.

I got to thinking about my own bucket list, and what my life would look like if I never, ever settled again, which is henceforward my ultimate goal. Below is a list I compiled of life things that one should never, ever settle for:

Don't settle for a shitty job.
Sweet Mother of Christ if there's anything in life I regret it's the fact that I've drunk-texted exes on the reg settled for gigs that've taken up time in my life I can never get back.  Refilling tampon baskets, discussing overflowing men's urinals with building engineers, selling moldy hotdog buns, you name a shit job, I've had it.  I'm not a stupid person, but I've made stupid choices professionally.   Devoting a huge chunk of your life to a job you're not happy with is a travesty EVEN THOUGH ALL OF MINE HAVE GIVEN ME SUPERB TOE PICK MATERIAL.  Sorry for yelling.

Don't settle for something that's broken but can be easily fixed 
The letter "j" doesn't work on my keyboard, so I have to cut and paste it from other articles every fucking time I need to use it.  As of now, I've settled for my bunk keyboard and consequently my life is unnecessarily more difficult.  I type a lot - there's no reason I shouldn't have a pristine, full-functioning keyboard, goddammit. I'm a wildly fairly disorganized person and I've settled for the idea that this is simply how I'm wired.  But being organized is a learned skill and I'm a slow fast learner.  I can make my life easier by refusing not to settle for disarray or a broken keyboard any longer.  Feel like you're an irritable, moody person?  Figure out why that is and work on improving your temperament.  This type of shit is fixable.

Don't settle for banality
I've always wanted to build an animal sanctuary somewhere in middle America (and now I have that Counting Crows song in my head).  I'd live like Dr. Doolittle and in the morning when I woke up I'd emerge from my tree house and exclaim "Come to me Jungle Friends" as I'm greeted by a barrage of the animals inhabiting my sanctuary and holy shit this looks so weird on paper DONT UDGE ME AND MY DREAMS (please notice what letter is missing in this statement - it's a product of me settling).  Okay, having a zoo on my property one day might be a stretch, but my point is: there's no reason that your (or my) life shouldn't be just as exciting as Beyonce's and OH MY GOD I'M MORPHING INTO TONY ROBBINS BY THE SECOND.

Don't settle in love
Um, yeah, this is the most important point I want to make here.  I would never settle for someone who doesn't understand and accept me or what I've asserted in bullet points 1, 2, and 3 (or in this entire blog).  I once dated a guy who was uncircumcised didn't read Toe Pick because he thought it was silly and weird and crazy.  Looking back I wish I'd said "fuck you, eat a dick" to him and slammed the door of his room in his parents basement in his face. Why? because it's all a representation of me.  I was settling for someone who essentially didn't like who I was - good god, that's sad.  Also, settling for someone because you feel like you need to settle is a stupid idea.  I'll get artificially inseminated and be single forever before I settle for some horny dicktard Tinder match with 4 teeth named Juanito just because I've succumbed to the ever-present societal pressure to be married by X age.  Also, how does one have sex with someone that they've settled for? Sounds like sheer torture to me.

Don't settle for what others think
The other day I got upset because someone I don't know told my sister she thought I was "out there." I settled for her opinion and let it affect me. The only person whose opinion of me that matters is my own.  Not the opinion of Debra from my sister's PTA meeting, not the dipshit dickwad from Bumble and not the Asian man from the corner store who scowls every time I come in and purchase ZzzQuil and a crunch bar.  My point: letting someone's perception of you affect you is a form of settling.  Don't settle for anyone or anything that makes you feel inferior or badly about yourself.  And, that's it - I am Tony Robbins.

And in conclusion may I please remind you that it does not say RSVP on the Statue of Liberty.
(Sorry, I couldn't think of a way to wrap this up.)

Please always remember:
We aren't fucking pilgrims;
We don't settle.


Tuesday, August 30, 2016

My Top 8 Chafes of the Week

My last post featured life things that make me happy.  Now I'm going to feature life things that make me unhappy.  Before you tell me I need to quit being an ungrateful little shit and just get laid already, I implore you to cut me a break: I just found a weird hair in my ramen salad and have an adult earache (aren't toddlers the only people who get earaches?).  Ergo, I am not in the breast mood.  Here I go with the top chafes in my life at the moment:

1.  Excessive political rants on facebook.
I get it; our country is going through some shit.  Sharing an occasional thought here and there on the election is fine but I don't spend 85% of my life on social media to see my lab partner from Miss Bonfantay's second grade biology lab express his disdain for Donald Trump via perpetual status updates every 69 seconds. Wanna share a funny anecdote? A cute picture of your chubby baby with endearing fat rolls? By all means - share away.  Social media is for lightheartedness, IMO.  No one cares if you think Hillary shouldn't be rolling down the Fiscal Cliff with Ross Perot or whatever it is your political rants include.  We really, really don't.

 2.  Long work days.
The other day I was so tired from working so much that I accidentally calendared a call to speak with myself AND OH MY GOD, MY MOTHER WAS RIGHT, I NEED TO JUST FIND A RICH HUSBAND TO TAKE CARE OF ME.

3.  Couples, couples everywhere!
This couple pictured is actually the cutest, but these days it seems everywhere I turn people are necking and dry-humping and canoodling and whispering sweet nothings to each other.  Meanwhile a homeless man dressed like a bear just asked me if I'd like to "get involved."  I even had to unfollow JoJo the Bachelorette on SnapChat because she and her new boyfriend prompted me to buy Pepto Bismol in an effort to combat the nausea I picked up on account of witnessing their giggly, couple-y snaps every 5 minutes AND SHIT MAYBE YOU GUYS ARE RIGHT ABOUT WHAT I MENTIONED IN THE INTRO TO THIS POST.  Sorry for yelling.

4.  Dating apps.
I am giving them an honest try but the banter that transpires once I connect with someone makes my face contort into the face I'd make if I ate 10 warheads, funky tasting spunk and a lemon all at once. Cringe worthy I tell you.  And yes I just referenced Samantha Jones.  


Also, here's a text my mom sent when I was home recently.  It's relevant to this segment.

5.  Bad timing.
This happened to me last week.  Timing's a bitch, but she's a bitch that can sometimes give me funny toe pick material.

6. Random numbers calling my phone.
To be fair, I'm notoriously bad at saving numbers (all the important ones like my ex boyfriends' numbers I have memorized), so every time I get a call from a random San Mateo or Winchester County number my entire being becomes riddled with anxiety as my mind darts between worst case scenarios: OMG it's the cop from my Ole Miss days who caught me peeing behind a fraternity house and wants to press belated charges and finally bring me to justice OR it's the IRS OR it's the SF fire department calling to tell me I left my straightener on and burned down my entire apartment building. Don't even get me started on incoming blocked numbers...Anxiety City, Population: me.

7. UberPool
I take UberPool to and from work, and for the most part, I love it. Lately though, it's been chafing me.  I can never see which side my fellow pool passenger is sitting on on account of the tinted windows so there have been a few times I've almost crawled into someone's lap accidentally.  I may be desperate for a human's touch but I'm not that desperate.  Also, when did Uber decide to turn into a school bus?  8 times out of 10 I'm riding with TWO or THREE passengers, and then I'm late.

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8. Chicken and eggs in the same meal
Not to get too George Costanza on this, but a mother and her desecrated unborn child should not be eaten at the same time, out of respect.  #BoycottCobbSaladz

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I just learned how to make memes!  still got some work to do, obvi.
Okay, I will stop with the negativity and leave you with 3 things that make me happy:

1. Bolognese 
...or whatever the shit you call the flowers that grow on houses.  I'm obsessed.


2.  This dog in my hood channeling his inner Richard Simmons


3.  Finally, at the end of a bad day, I'm reminded that nothing's so bad it can't be fixed by a pink starburst.

Happy hump day, y'all!


Tuesday, August 23, 2016


Achieving orgasm happiness is the ultimate goal in life, amiright?  The other day I got to thinking about the little things in life that make me happy.  Here's what I came up with:

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Sorry for yelling.

...seeing that San Francisco is still San Francisco in spite of the chafe-y changes taking place here. 
I'm always reading articles bashing SF in some way: whether people are complaining about the astronomical rent prices, the onslaught of tech douches pervading the city or homeless people relieving themselves in Bart stations - SF seems to be the sand in a lot of people's underwear these days.  Can't we all quit complaining about this otherworldly slice of earth and take a moment to appreciate the wonderful freaks who still inhabit it?  Seeing them around town makes me feel happy and considerably less fucked in the head.

...receiving texts like these from Uber right after I stub my toe and think my week is going to shit:

...relishing in life's little milestones.
I lose things.  It's what I do.  It's who I am.  If this irritates you we will probably never be close. On Sunday I celebrated my 6 month anniversary with my keys.  It makes me happy to have had so much time with them and I hope we don't part for at least another couple months or so.  Thank you so much for all your well wishes, by the way; my heart is bursting and we are thrilled!  We celebrated by cracking open a couple Keystone lights. Commitment is always key. Belated apologies for the dad jokes.


...celebrating life's big milestones.  
Speaking of anniversaries, my parents celebrated their 51st wedding anniversary over the weekend. Pretty insane.  

...realizing that just because my parents have been basking in martial bliss for over half a century doesn't make me inferior or any less of a human being for being a 33 year old single girl who gets text messages like this BECAUSE ROMANCE IS STILL ALIVE, DAMMIT.

...checking things off my Monday list and gloating about it on instagram.  

...walking through the door after not having been home for 8 months and being greeted by the loves of my life:  Flossie and Coco.

flossie and coco coming at me at 47585 MPH

...finding old childhood photos like this one from 1988, a time when my brother and I went through 8 nannies in 2 years and my parents slowly began to realize that having me solely to keep him company was something of a grave mistake.

...receiving texts like these from your friend and being reminded of why you're friends

...waking up and feeling accomplished for having self control.  My best friend decided to get a serious boyfriend without consulting with me about it first (<3 ya, Gym) so I don't spend 24/7 with her anymore.  So yeah, sometimes I get lonely and crave attention - mainly after a couple cocktails. It's not uncommon for me to reach into my arsenal of ex boyfriends/crushes/whatevers and text them. When I don't do this it makes me very very happy.  No judgments please, this is a safe space.

...a song I've been wanting to hear comes on Pandora.  Incidentally if anyone ever got ahold of my Pandora account I'd move to Bangladesh and change my name to Rhonda.  It's that embarrassing.

...not licking envelopes for a living.  I love my new job and praise Ghandi I don't have to worry about OD'ing on envelope sealing chemicals on the reg.

...finding random stains on the earth, pointing at them and exclaiming "doesn't that look like a dick?!!!!"

...digging up my old cell phones, charging them and noticing how much I haven't changed since 2008, the year of the Crackberry.

...these two handsome corgis spotted on Crissy field.

In all seriousness though:

True contentment is reached when one's desire to be validated or accepted by anyone other than oneself ceases to take up space in one's consciousness.

I may have regressed back into a 12 year old pervert child in a lot of ways (please see majority of this post) but I my above statement becomes truer and truer every day.

Hope you find some happiness today, friendos!

xo, Nige

PMS.  You can follow me on snapchat if you like toe pick and want to see it in video form: owlbunting