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

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 ('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 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, 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 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 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 -