Wednesday, February 14, 2018

My Interview with the Star of Relationshep

Is this thing on? Happy Valentine's Day!  Hope everyone has plans with a special someone tonight. I plan on curling up in the fetal position and watching a Jeffrey Dahmer documentary while stuffing my face with brownie mix and trying to figure out how many of my eggs have died since last Valentine's Day.  Love is love is love.

I haven't flossed written in awhile.  I've been busy sabotaging potential relationships working, life-ing and watching Relationshep on Bravo (which just ended 3 weeks ago - I've never been known for my punctuality, sorry).  Seen it?  It's like a more entertaining version of the Bachelor.  I've been meaning to marry interview Shep for awhile, as he's really funny and has some shepic one-liners, and I can relate to him on a lot of levels.  I'm not even being sarcastic when I say that.  Navigating through life in your mid-30's as a Bachelor/ette ain't no picnic when people are constantly asking... "what's the deal?  When are you going to get some dignity married!?" Anyway, I threw some random questions at him and here's what I got.


1. What do you think about when you're alone in your car? 
Driving is very important to me. One of the big reasons I could never live in NYC. I sort things out. Remember things i forgot. It’s cathartic, I think.

2. How would you sell hot cocoa in Florida? 
I’ve recently scolded myself (hot reference!) or is it scalded? We may never know. Ordered hot coffee when iced is totally available. I need to be more cognizant of iced drinks that are traditionally hot. I mean chocolate milk is the tits.

3. What's the weirdest thing a guest has done in your house?
 Invited guest? Because that’s important. Too many weird stories to recount.

4. If you could steal credit for any great piece of art, song, film or book which one would you claim? 
Any John Irving book. Or Pink Floyd album. Stanley Kubrick also comes to mind. There’s a documentary about a screenwriter named John Milius and he seemed kind of larger than life and outrageous and cool.

5. You're on death row.  What's your last meal? 
Velveeta shells and cheese.
(mine would be Benihana, but not sure if they can set up one of those cooking tables in jail?)

6. Everyone has a good app idea.  What's yours? 
Text message consultants. “We’ll turn that 'who is this?' into an LOL.” Basically having a bank of thousands of text responses that are slightly rude and funny. George Fox and I have been kicking this around for years.
(I am going to make an app where you're phone shocks you every time you try and drunk dial an ex.  Like, legit electrocutes you.)

7. What turns you on creatively, spiritually and emotionally?
 Humor. Wittiness.

8. What turns you off? 
People who are unable or unwilling to make fun of themselves.

9. What profession would you not like to do? 
Investment banker. No offense to my friends that are and make a really good living I’m sure. Also a professional mover. That would be hell.

10. If heaven exists what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the pearly gates? (stole this from Lipton)

The Proust questionnaire. He stole it from vanity fair. I think. Sort of.
I’d like him to say: you treated everyone fairly well. We have cold beer, good friends and a nice house band inside.  Come on in.

11. What social stigma does society need to get over? 
Sensitivity. On the one side it’s good that we are mindful and respectful of others. But people choose to fight unsolicited battles for other people vis a vis pseudo offensiveness etc. It waters down and makes their sentiment less effective. Pick battles. Two steps forward, one back. That’s how the world works. Idealism is nice on paper. But pragmatism wins every time.

12. If you were have someone, besides Morgan Freeman narrate your life, who would it be?
Lou Bega

Shep as a mental patient 
(I thought he was supposed to be an OBGYN, oops.)

13. What's your least favorite word?

A phrase- “we need to talk”

14. What's your favorite word?

Curable - best word in the English language.

And, that's all he wrote.  


PS. Catch Shep on Southern Charm, the show I tried out for but didn't get cast in (or is it casted?) It premieres April 5th and is highly entertaining! 

PMS.  Happy V-day, again.  Use protection tonight, especially if you're a Trump supporter.  JK*.  :)

*Not really

Wednesday, November 1, 2017


Hi everyone.  I'm really tired Alexandra and I have adult acne Generalized Anxiety Disorder.
Everyone:"Hi Alexandra."

I equate anxiety with wet sand in my underwear that feeling you get when you're at the checkout counter buying something embarrassing like Gold Bond or Prep H with 20 people trailing behind you.  The cashier swipes your card - and even though you know you have money in your account, you still have a fear that a big, jarring DECLINED will pop up on the register. It's the same thing with anxiety, only that feeling can be relentless: you're essentially worrying (to an irrational extent) about the outcome of an event.  Most of the time anxiety is unfounded and not based in reality, etc etc.

I've barely kept my anxiety at bay over the last 5 years or so.  It has always lingered of course, but I've managed to stay afloat amid the rough seas of adulthood.  Then, earlier this year anxiety barged into my head like a disgruntled, naggy landlord who hadn't collected rent in awhile. She decided to make herself right at home - keeping me up until 3am by incessantly reminding me of low points in my past while simultaneously making promises of a bleak future devoid of happiness.  (Side note: I refer to my anxiety as a girl because as much as I wish my inner monologue sounded like Morgan Freeman, it's much more like Fran Drescher on nitrous.) 

Gradually the stress of work, family stuff and being alone at age 34 began to wreak havoc on my mind.  Night after night Fran kept me awake with taunting, incessant, dismal thoughts: "All your friends are dropping like flies - they're all where they're supposed to be: married and living in houses THAT THEY DON'T RENT with their children and monogrammed bathmats.  Picture this: you, age 85, sitting in a rocking chair on your front porch, alone. HAHAHA, you thought you were dozing off just now, didn't you - nice try.  Not so fast, let's think about that time you acted like a monkey at the keg party in the summer of '06."

I became exhausted and unfortunately didn't have the luxury of spending each day cowering beneath a blanket on my sofa as I gazed blankly out the window, clutching my cup of chamomile tea like the people in Zoloft commercials.  I had rent to pay, showers to take and people to pretend to be happy to see. So, I soldiered on and found myself becoming increasingly irritable and enormous bitch.  I'm generally a very fake nice person.  I've always been able to pull out (that's what he said?) some humor from beneath the deep, dark trenches of anxiety - but I got to a point where, to put it simply: nothing was funny - not even the movie Borat, what the fuck.

"You look sad lately," my colleague said to me one morning.  I told her to eat a dick I'd been going through a rough time and in that moment I realized I needed to get help. I saw a doctor about my insomnia and started meeting with a mindfulness coach (only in San Francisco would such a person exist) twice a week. I developed a strong resolve not to crumble under the societal pressures that I'd always loathed.

I would be remiss if I didn't use my voice and this platform to share what I've learned about overcoming fear and anxiety in the last few months.  I know you or someone you know is battling this motherfucker called anxiety and we need to help and relate to each other, right?

1.  Ask for some xanax help. 
so wanted to bottle up my feelings, slap a fake smile on my face and pretend like things were hunky-fucking-dory, and that worked...until it didn't.  I am walking proof that "faking it til ya make it" is not effective when it comes to conquering your anxiety/depression. You have to put in the work every fucking day.  People for the most part are really nice, understanding and human too!  Talk to someone: a friend, a family member, a life coach or a therapist BUT WHATEVER YOU DO, DON'T TALK TO YOUR UBER DRIVER NAMED KARL IN A KIA AT 4AM ON THE WAY HOME FROM A LATE NIGHT - THIS IS NOT EFFECTIVE, FOR FUCK'S SAKE.

2. Practice gratitude 
Part of the reason I'd become so anxious was because I was focusing on all the things I don't have that other people do, and this was exacerbated by social media, no doubt.  Now, each morning I try and remind myself of how lucky I am and if you're fortunate enough to be reading this on your phone, computer or iPad then chances are, you're lucky too.  Most of us were random lucky sperm - that's it.  It has been important for me to recognize that I could just as easily be a pigeon right now - waddling around the outskirts of bumblefuck Chicago pecking at vomit on the ground - but, I'm not and THANK GOD, LITERALLY. My boss recommended that I start making lists of all the things I'm grateful for, and in turn, I've became less distressed about what I don't have - like children, a hummingbird feeder, blue eyes, dignity or a tree house.

3. Do what you love
"So many of us choose our path out of fear disguised as practicality."  Jim Carrey said this during his commencement speech; a speech that practically changed my life.  I was approached by a producer in LA and given the opportunity to write a pilot based on Toe Pick a couple years ago.  As time went on I grew intimidated by the process which stifled me.  I let my need for acceptance and subsequent fear of rejection make me invisible.  So, I quit.  It was the opportunity of a lifetime and I let my fear take it away from me.  I'm pretty sure this will haunt me until the day I expire.

The other morning I did something I hadn't done in months: I flossed woke up and just started writing.  It made me feel awake and content.  Indulging in something that you love to do is like getting happy-drunk without the liver damage, rosacea and debilitating hangover.

4.  Practice mindfulness  
"There is a huge difference between a dog that is going to eat you in your mind and an actual dog that is going to eat you."  Jim Carrey also said this in his speech and good God, it resonated with me.  I've been spending a big part of my life worrying about the unknown. Now, when I have an unsettling thought I try to rewire my brain so I can acknowledge it and accept it as separate from who I am.  This makes me feel more in control because it forces me to remember that I am not my thoughts and IF YOU'RE READING THIS DR. REYNOLDS, PLEASE FEEL FREE TO CORRECT ME IF I'M NOT FULLY GRASPING THIS CONCEPT DURING OUR NEXT SESSION ON THURSDAY AT 6PM, I PROMISE I WON'T BE LATE THIS TIME.

5. What you put in your body has a direct effect on your brain.
I struggle with this one, even though I know how blatantly true and important it is.  Eating dick ranch flavored Bugles dipped in fried Nutella on the reg can make you feel weird, lethargic and on edge.  Opt to down a head of lettuce or a clove of beets or whatever instead.  And instead of imbibing a double long island iced tea, choke down some good ol' H2O. Alcohol is to anxiety what Ike is to Tina Turner.

6. Practice self-soothing
Oftentimes, I'd chastise myself when I started feeling anxious.  "Chillll, Alexandra.  You're freaking out over nothing, Jesus!"  Now, when I'm feeling anxious, I try and soothe myself by saying, "You're having these unsettling thoughts and it's okay.  You're fine.  Your Jheri curl isn't acting up today and you made a clever pun last week.  Also, you have a 401K plan now, so that's comforting. You're doing better than you think you are."  I am 1 of 40,000,000 people in the US who is suffering from anxiety - there's no reason to treat myself like a damaged, irrational freak and the same goes for you.

7.  Find a dog and pet it.  Also, try and avoid binge-watching crime shows at night. 
a.) If dogs were a drug they would be Xanax.  I'm heading to the ASPCA on sunday to hang with some mutts and I'm looking forward to the effect this will have on my overall state-of-mind.
b.) If a crime show was a drug it would be speed or meth. I have no doubt that the amount of hours I've accrued watching horrific documentaries and crime shows has contributed to my distress. As much as I love that shit, I also know that watching Care Bears is better for me because I'm fragile and ugh, I'm going to throw up now.

I am a work in progress.  We all are.  I do know that I want to continue on this path to Benihana self-realization and one day look back and bask in the progress I've made.  Lastly, I want to leave you with the line from Jim Carrey's speech that meant a great deal to me and I hope you'll find the beauty in it too:

"You will only really have 2 choices in life: love and fear.  Choose love, and don't ever let fear turn you against your playful heart."


Thursday, September 21, 2017

10 Photos that Prove Instagram is a Lie

Bueller?  Bueller?  ANYONE?

It has been months since I've gotten laid written a piece for toe pick (dontcha just love when bloggers call posts "pieces" HAHAHA).  I've been pretty busy watching OJ Simpson documentaries and sabotaging potential relationships over the last few months and although I haven't managed to squeeze in any dick writing I have managed to keep people abreast of my life via instagram at the expense of several hundred followers.

Recently I read an article in Forbes proclaiming that instagram is the social media app most likely to cause anxiety.  Oftentimes it can cause feelings inadequacy because people showcase their lives in an unrealistic light.  I wrote a post a couple years back exploring ways in which I've made my life seem far more idyllic than it is via instagram (c'mon, you've done it too).  Today I'd like to feature the sequel to said post by sharing some more photos wherein (good God, I've been waiting forever to use that word in a sentence) life appears to be rainbows and cool ranch doritos and sparkly butterflies.  Let's get sharted!

The "I live in a cool city" shot
You think: she lives in a beautiful city with colorful architecture and restaurants that serve things like kale popsicles dipped in African albino chia seeds.

Reality: There is human excrement to my left, I think I have a cavity and there's a screaming toddler behind me who might've just ruptured my eardrum.  This beautiful city is responsible for my insignificant funds, yet to be detected liver damage and perpetual fear of seeing pigeons peck at vomit and/or crackheads jerking off every time I deign to walk down Market street.

the "Single and Loving it!" post 
You think: She's single and on dating apps and has a sense of humor about it.

Reality: I just matched with a guy who had his tongue sliced in the middle to make himself look like a lizard, every single one of my friends seems to be getting impregnated at exactly the same time and I haven't had a relationshit since the Dukakis administration for a myriad of reasons and fucking A, I would've been Sigmund Freud's wet dream.


The Puppy Shot
You think: omg this puppy is so cute and this girl looks happy to be holding him!  Her workplace seems lively and fun!

Reality:  The puppy's red rocket is grazing my new blazer and I just walked in on the lady down the hall (who I pass everyday without fail) going to the bathroom.  I was so stunned that I didn't immediately close the stall door and she had to yell "CLOSE THE DOOR!"  I'm terrified at the awkwardness that will ensue every fucking day in the upcoming months AND YES, I LIKED MY OWN PHOTO.

The Baby Shot
You think: Aw!  Cute baby.

Reality: The baby is definitely cute.  And definitely is in the process of sharting.  Pretty sure 9 of my eggs died this day. RIP.

Image may contain: one or more people and closeup

The Vacation Shot
You think: Fun vacation shot!  I bet there are cute guys wearing Nantucket Reds and navy blazers everywhere.

Reality:  I've been chilling with my beloved childhood friends listening to them commiserate about their leaky post-pregnancy purple nipples and all the guys with Nantucket reds and navy blazers are either married, gay or 13.  Vacation ain't that fun when I'm dealing with family drama and hair that turns into a giant chia bush every time I step outside.  Also, I've been essentially freebasing clam chowder for 2 weeks which has gone straight to my face.

The "who is that cute guy!?" shot 
You think: Oh wow, she's finally found happiness.  

Reality: That's my brother.

The Family Shot
You think: her nieces look sweet and well-mannered.  They are respectful of her boundaries especially when talking to her about her love-life. 

Reality: one of these little pipsqueaks asked me if I "maybe like girls instead of boys?" 2 seconds before this photo was snapped.  Also, I had such a terrible hangnail that weekend that I wanted to have my finger amputated. 

And, that's all I have for now.  Moral of this story: every time you find yourself feeling less than as you scroll through instagram try to remember: it's all surface level BS, for the most part. 

Hope everyone is well and holding up okay in this shitshow of a world we live in!  Have an awkward day!


Wednesday, June 14, 2017

Why I'm Putting my Eggs on Ice

"hey!  take a picture of me freezing my eggs."
"Your first appointment will include a consultation with Dr. Ice* followed by a sonogram to assess your fertility.  Be sure to have all your forms filled out prior to the appointment.  Okay, Ms. Bunteen?"

"Got it.  A sonogram, huh?  I'll be sure to get a Brazilian beforehand.  Or a landing strip?  Hahaha."  I laughed nervously into the phone as my coworker gave me some major side-eye.

"We'll see you tomorrow," the receptionist replied, deadpanned.

I took a xanax deep breath and tried to focus on work as my imagination ran wild with visions of a monstrous OB-GYN bearing a strong resemblance to Ursula from the Little Mermaid shoving a giant crane-like object in between my legs as she assesses my insides only to conclude, "Alexandra, you shouldn't have wasted most of your youth going after unavailable, dickhead men - your follicles and eggs are about as non-existent as Mr. Clean's hair."

For the last 5 years year or so I've toyed with the idea of becoming gay freezing my eggs.  I got to a point where every time I logged onto facebook and saw a sonogram photo accompanied by the caption "baby Tomothan due mid-October!!! We're so excited!" my resolve to explore my options as a single woman (in her early 30s) who would like to be a mom one day became stronger.

Of course, I'm always happy for my married friends who end up getting divorced, making me feel less alone have babies, but there's also a part of me that thinks "When will this happen for me?  Will this happen for me?  I'm going to have to go on like 56 Bumble dates with guys who have flavor-savers shaped like yin-yangs before I find the right douche-turd to settle for."  I knew I needed to take the bull by the horns and do something to calm my ass down.

So I did my research and found that the egg-freezing process was quite terrifying intricate and included stabbing myself with hormone shots daily for a few weeks.  I thought about how the only shots I've ever enjoyed were of the Lemon Drop variety but knew that a 5 second pin-prick was a small price to pay for some much needed peace of mind.

So a couple weeks ago I made the definitive decision to move forward with icing my eggs.  After spending 20 minutes awhile carefully considering multiple places, I decided to make the first of many appointments at UCSF Center for Reproductive Health solely because they're located next to an In-N-Out.  I got to talk to a lady named Kathy prior to my visit today who answered all of my asinine questions like: "is this going involve beakers and test tubes!?"  I immediately called my mother to tell her the news.  "OH, why don't you just do it the old fashioned way!?" she quipped as I cringed and told her I had to run and re-lace my shoes.

After what has seemed like an eternity, my ex-boyfriend with erectile dysfunction disorder today (the day) came. As I walked into the UCSF Center for Reproductive Health (yeah, I'm gonna keep plugging them in hopes that they throw in some complimentary hormones) this morning I felt scared and excited all at once.  I looked around and noticed a couple of expectant moms with their husbands or trapped one-night-stands from Tinder boyfriends and felt a pang of anxiety in my stomach. There I was: alone, somewhat freaked out and wildly slightly disheveled from my dash to the appointment (I was 15 minutes late, as always).  I didn't have anyone there to pay for me hold my hand or sweep my jheri curl hair from my face and say "this is all going to turn out fine, one way or another - you'll be okay."

Then, a wave of perspiration calm swept over me as I looked up, smiled at the receptionist and checked in.  "I'm Alexandra and I'm here to put my eggs on ice.  Sorry I didn't bring my own cooler. HAHAHAHA."  I chastised myself internally for making such a terrible dad joke but began to feel empowered as I took a xanax seat and waited to be summoned by the kind nurse named Daphni with an i.  And so it all began...

I know I'll always look back on today as the day I took charge of my future - a future that one day, God willing, will include never having to work again kids.  It's the day I chose to ease my overanxious mind all on my own dime -- money that I've worked my ass off for.  I'll look back on today and think of how I was completely on my own; the only thing that sat next to me in that waiting room was my half-drunken peach flavored Snapple and a wrinkled consent form I'd filled out in my Uber on the way there.  I'll look back and think of how when the nurse opened the door and called my name, I knew that I had something more important than a husband, a boyfriend or a partner:  I had myself.

...and I'll think of how, in that moment, that was all I needed.

Thursday, June 1, 2017

Be Here Now: 5 Ways to Stay Present

One of the most daunting things in life (for me, at least) is my quest to create a marriage between me and anyone at this point my mind and the present moment.  I often find myself lost in thought: either I'm mulling over my ex from 8th grade the past or straining to predict the future.  To put it simply: I am a motherfucking worrier.  I worry about what people think of my inability to not talk about crime shows me. I worry about never getting laid again married or having kids.  I worry about my adult acne finances.  I worry about that time I got too drunk and professed my love to an unsuspecting childhood friend - ah fuck, actually - he suspected it, let's be honest.  I worry about my family, my friends, my teeth, my mistakes, my job - I could go on and on. Recently I've become cognizant of the fact that it's all a terrific waste of time.  Almost all of the disastrous things I think are going to happen always never do.  As for the terrible things that've happened in the past? They've all become lessons - that's it...that's all they are now.  SO why can't I stop worrying?

coloring is a good way to stay present and feel like a 5-year-old in public

I was back east visiting my family over the long weekend and as I traipsed through Newark airport yesterday I began to feel uneasy.  Coming back to San Francisco after spending time at home is always difficult for me, as it's far away from a lot of people that I really, really tolerate like.  A barrage of dreadful thoughts started to swim in my head, and I felt stifled as I meandered through the throngs of people racing to their gates.

My tempestuous, nagging inner monologue ran rampant with patronizing thoughts:
"OH SHIT, you're going back to reality - do you realize how much work you have to do?  If you don't do that work and do it well then you'll get fired and you won't have any money to fall back on because GUESS WHAT, you're 34 and unmarried BECAUSE YOU STILL ONLY GO FOR ASSHOLES - do you think you'll ever be able to have kids at the rate you're going? You have to pay your rent tomorrow - oh, and don't forget about the PG&E bill. Ah, well - who knows if you'll even have to deal with all this shit, your plane might crash today. OMG YOUR PLANE IS GOING TO CRASH. What a shitty way to go out.  Oh my god, that girl over there is looking at you like you're a freak, act normal.  Smile."  

I then sat down at a random gate, took 12 deep breaths and thought to myself - how can I put a stop to this madness?  HOW CAN I BE IN THE MOMENT?   I pulled out my notebook and made a list. Here's what I came up with:

1. Look around; name your surroundings 
Forcing yourself to name different things around you jolts you out of all the "what if" scenarios wreaking havoc on your brain. I'm not a multitasker: it's impossible for me to focus on 2 things simultaneously.  If I force myself to become aware of my surroundings and devote all of my attention to a woman with a crew cut wearing a fanny pack and picking her wedgie then I stop thinking about how disastrous my upcoming Bumble date THAT HASN'T EVEN HAPPENED YET will be.  So yesterday, I began to observe what was happening around me. Here's what I noticed:

a.) Two children fighting over a bag of Chex Mix as their parents, clad in matching windbreakers struggled (and failed) to asset their authority over their snot-nosed offspring.
b.) A hipster donning skinny jeans and a wrist tattoo of a symbol that likely meant "kale".  
c.) The heinous blue carpeting blanketing the airport floor.
d.) A dim sum restaurant down the hall; which I figured was the only redeeming part of the Newark airport/Newark in general as a whole.
e.) A 20-something guy donning headphones and nodding his head to his music as he caressed his flavor-saver.  This led me to hone in and focus solely on said flavor-savor AND DEAR GUYS, PLEASE JUST STOP WITH THE FLAVOR-SAVER BULLSHIT.  
flavor savors begone! 
I also chose to focus on the fact that the outline of my uber's route yesterday was phallic.  Ahh, feels good to be 12 years old in the moment.
2.  Realize that the thing you're stressing over hasn't happened yet and likely never will. 
Striving to anticipate a future event is about as productive as trying to marry Brad Pitt.  The likelihood of your boss calling you into her office and chastising you for being late to that meeting 7 months ago and subsequently firing you, resulting in you becoming homeless, living under a bridge and contracting Hep C. is about as likely as Mike Tyson finally opting to see a speech pathologist. 

3. No one is thinking about you.
I gotten myself into some ridiculous and sometimes terrifying situations over the years that have stayed with me.  I've embarrassed and disgraced myself more times than I can count.  Whenever I mull over these things and think: will people ever forget about that?  What in the fuck was I thinking? The truth is: people forget.  People move on. People are thinking about themselves as much as you think about yourself.  Jizzy Johnny isn't staying up at night analyzing every little detail about the time you drunk dialed him 69 times back in '07.

4.  Life is shorter than your ex-boyfriend's choad
It's true.  Good God, life moves fast.  20 years ago I was a 14-year-old sneaking cigs behind the squash courts at my high school as I struggled to hide my clear braces that always turned orange whenever I drank anything other than water.  It truly infuriates me when I think of how much time I've devoted to thinking about things that aren't even real.

5. Wake up and get the f out of bed immediately
I talked to my good friend from childhood over the weekend about anxiety - something he struggles with too.  We discussed how high testosterone anxiety levels are first thing in the morning. He told me that our bodies produce a fuckload of Cortisol (the hormone that causes stress) as we sleep which can make our first waking moments particularly unsettling.  Lying in bed for a half hour can exacerbate this.  His advice: get up and do something.  So this morning I woke up in the fetal position, cold, alone and longing to be held and immediately scrolled through instagram and facebook for a good 45 mins planted my feet on the floor.  I didn't lie in bed and think of all I had to do today.  I hopped in the shower and doused myself in cold water. I got out and I realized I'd left my brush in Rhode Island and was forced to use a fork to tame my tresses (which happens way more often than it should). Talk about having to stay present: I had to meticulously brush each clump of hair in such a way that the prongs didn't stab me in my skull. What a time to be alive! 

What about you?  Are there any methods I haven't mentioned that you use to stay in the present moment?  Asking for a friend. :)

Happy Thursday numbutz!



PMS.  Thanks for reading.

Monday, May 8, 2017

Hey, it's Okay...

Heyo!  Happy Monday :(

I spent the weekend riddled with anxiety in Mill Valley with my friend who recently moved there with her boyf.  We spent Sunday meandering through the town, popping in and out of boutiques and perusing overpriced tunics as moms with Bugaboo strollers sauntered by.  Even amongst the tranquility of this dreamland, I felt panicked.  This pristine, manicured town practically sparkled in the urethral ethereal sunlight.  It seemed as though all of its inhabitants were blissfully happy; their only care in the world was centered around whether they would have the kale smoothie or the one with chia seeds for lunch. It all made me feel dizzy with envy.

"You okay?" my friend asked me as I found myself lost in thought.  "Yeah," I retorted.  "This town gives me same kind of anxiety that instagram does: you know, everything looks perfect, everyone seems to have the perfect life, blah blah".

Then, I literally told myself to freeze my eggs and find a rich husband ASAP stop it. Like, out loud. I felt slightly schizo doing that in front of the people at the nail place, but what-the-fuck-ever.  I needed to snap out of it - I needed to pull myself out of the "woe is me for not having a family, a rock the size of Jersey on my left ring finger, and a successful banker husband with the perfect dick hair" hole that I'd allowed my thoughts to kick me into.

Because, the truth is - it's all not okay.  Literally.  I was a pretty lucky sperm born into a pretty okay life. Sure, I'm not where most people at my age are in life - I still have roommates, I still throw my laundry in a trash bag and haul it to my married friend's house to use their washer/dryer because my building doesn't have them... and that's mortifying okay.  I still have a meddling phenomenal family, very forgiving, accepting friends and a vibrator job that I really, really like.  Mulling over all of the things I don't have is about as productive as trying to grow a tail. This brings me to a segment I stole from Glamour mag called "Hey, it's okay..." Surprisingly, this article resonated with me more than the article entitled "12 Ways to Please Your Man with a Surprise Handjob" on page 17.

Let's get sharted:

Hey, it's okay...

...that your friends are nursing babies while you're nursing a hangover pretend to be on your phone to avoid small-talk with your doorman as you pass him in the lobby.

walking out of my lobby unscathed.  thanks, fake phone call!
...that you're trying to figure out how to score Molly while your friend Rhonda is trying to figure out if she should name her newborn daughter Molly feel like Pandora is more in touch with your life than you are not fully know what the word "legislation" means 100% zone out the very second a friend says "I had the craziest dream last night..." still want your mommy when you're sick wince when someone calls you a "woman" - you're still a girl, dammit!  A 34-year-old girl on birth control with a checkbook, heels and a 401K plan

....that most of your friends are pushing strollers while you're pushing the "place order" button on your GrubHub app.  Bring on the pizza and wangs! just smile, nod and say "totallyyyy, that's amazing" when you can't understand what the fuck someone is saying (or when you're zoned out) floss with your hair occasionally when no one is looking AND IS THIS ONE JUST ME? Shit. have no idea how taxes work.  Isn't a W-2 a gate at the airport? cringe every time a bumble match uses the acronym "LMAO"

...that you won't meet your friend's single cousin with the barb wire arm tat and flavor savor, even though "he's a great guy, promise!!!" because standards. not understand what how the stock market works and to think that Dow Jones is some dickwad who summers in Nantucket and makes this known every chance he gets. get more sad when a dog dies in a movie than when a human does secretly enjoy losing your voice because you think it makes you sound sexier slip your headphones on to signal to your uber driver that you're not available to hear his long-winded stories about his side job at IKEA and his garage band not understand how and why black chokers from the early 2000's came back with such a vengeance ask for crayons at a restaurant and proceed to play an intense game of MASH with your girlfriend

...if you'd rather gouge your eyes out than give a blowjob.  Shoving a snake-like appendage in your pie-hole for a few minutes!? know very little about politics - isn't the Fiscal Cliff some kind of energy bar? be more knowledgeable about the OJ case than Trump's new healthcare plan ACTUALLY THAT'S NOT OKAY AND I'M SORRY FOR ANYONE I'VE OFFENDED BY SAYING THAT PLEASE DON'T CRUCIFY ME AND OH MY GOD I'M PROJECTING AGAIN.  Sorry for yelling.

...if your idea of marinading food is dousing it in ketchup and shoving it in your mouth faster than Mike Tyson runs to a speech pathologist be secretly ecstatic that your ex-boyfriend and his beautiful new girlfriend  Brad and Angelica broke up, now's your chance - right!? go to sleep knowing that you're going to wake up the next morning cold, alone and unfulfilled, as corny as it may sound, everything in life is...

just as it should be.

Have a lovely day, friendos!


Wednesday, May 3, 2017

Come Waste Your Time With Me

Hey!  It has been really uneventful which is why I haven't written a minute.

First and foremost I'd like to get rid of my adult acne thank everyone who read my last post.  I was blown away by the anxiety I felt from oversharing positive responses I got and you all made me feel like my decision to share my story was a safe one. Most importantly, thank you to those who shared your stories with me - as corny as it may sound, I felt honored that people who reached out felt comfortable enough to do so AND OH MY GOD THIS IS TURNING INTO AN OSCAR AWARD ACCEPTANCE SPEECH, MY APOLOGIES.  But seriously, the struggle with alcohol/partying/being hungover/not being able to get control is so real.  I'm still feeling really anxious about my overshare happy to have played a part in making it OK to openly discuss.

I have been exponentially better at not drunk texting staying away from the party circuit since my last post, aside from last weekend when I was reminded of why I hate hangovers more than I hate Michael Vick and non-recreational mushrooms. Again, the struggle: it's fucking real. BABY STEPS.

Anyway.  I've been experiencing major writer's block lately so today I've decided to share a compilation of random events that've occurred in the last few months:

April Fool's Day fell on a Saturday this year which kind of sucked as there's nothing better than pulling pranks in the office.  I managed to carry on my tradition of duping an unsuspecting coworker via text which was oddly satisfying - I also duped a close friend who sadly, I'm not sure really knows me at all.  Have a look:

I spotted a woman walk of shaming barefoot in FiDi which was next level savage.  I didn't judge, I've been there - just not in the most densely populated part of a metropolis.  Get yourself checked for Hep C, my friend! Again, no judgments, this comes from a place of relief that things could be way worse for me love.

I got my first period when I was eleventeen migraine which really sucked.  I have a high threshold for pain - one time I got a 4 inch shard of glass stuck in my foot and I didn't even wince as the doctor pulled it out (that's what she said?).  So when I woke up cold and alone last Thursday morning with a 22 year old bumble guy who wore boot leg jeans and had braces a debilitating headache I thought I could pop some advil and move on with my day.  But no, said headache continued on throughout the day and I felt like I was continually being slugged in the face by Tanya Harding. Fast forward to 2 hours and 50 bucks later in UrgentCare to a hot doctor (who I've likely crossed paths with on Bumble) probing my lymph nodes and sticking a needle in my ass after concluding I was likely experiencing a migraine or tension headache.  Thanks for the insightful prognosis, doc!  V helpful. AND JESUS THIS IS A BORING STORY, I THINK I JUST GAVE MYSELF ANOTHER MIGRAINE.

WHY DID RICHARD SIMMONS BECOME A RECLUSE.  I'm completely transfixed by this after staying up until 3am on a school night listening to the Missing Richard Simmons podcast.  You gotta listen.

I went home to Virginia to see my parents which was awesome - I got to see my dogs too, and dig through old family photos only to come across this gem - ahhh family is responsible for all of my deep-rooted emotional issues stemming from childhood everything.

nothing - truly, nothing has changed. my favorite is my mom yelling at my brother for flipping the bird.
I got my hair chopped off, which feels weird since I've had the same haircut since I was 13.

After some back and forth I decided last weekend I wanted to be on a Bravo reality show that I'd tried out for a few months back.  I was ready to put my John Hand-cock on a contract only to be informed by the producer that show was being filmed in NYC, not SF. Talk about blue balls - I even sent the below screenshot to all of my friends and family.  It was probably for the breast AND THIS WHOLE BULLET POINT FEELS LIKE A HUMBLEBRAG, BUT YOU WOULD TELL EVERYONE TOO!! Sorry for yelling and for projecting... :(

My nephew got to hang with his idol, RuPaul on Saturday which reignited my adoration for him and his resolve to be exactly who he is.  I'm referring to RuPaul, fyi. Just kidding.


My temporary lapse in color judgment at the nail place recently left me with nails that looked like dead teeth.

I started a podcast!  You can listen here!  It'll make you feel better about your life, promise.

Hmmm... that's all I have.  Happy dry hump day, friendos!  Get dim sum.

xo, Nige

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.