Wednesday, February 27, 2013


There was a large snake.  Hanging from a tree.  Dangling ominously over my head.  It was dark.  I was alone.  In a forest.  And I was missing my 2 front teeth.  And several of these sentences are fragments.

This is what I remember from my dream yesterday.  I had come home from work early on account of an absolutely brutal cold that I am assuming I contracted from someone on the Muni.  I am still suffering from said cold and with each sneeze and cough that comes out of my head I vow to take up another daily mode of transportation.  A scooter, perhaps?  So yeah, back to that dream.  I had decided to take a nap seeing how there was nothing else to do at noon on a Tuesday besides watch the fucking Price is Right or a soap opera or whatever.

My dream was traumatizing and I've taken to google to try and decipher it's meaning.  I won't even go into detail about what I've found - let's just say, I'm glad Freud's dream theories have, for the most part, been deemed absurd.  I woke up from this twisted dream because I was falling off my bed, almost landing on my giant jug of orange juice.  Yesterday was not a good day for me and I can't remember a time when I've felt so awful.  Plus, I sound like Nasal Nancy and am currently lying in bed listening to John Mayer's "Your Body is a Wonderland" on Pandora.  What's worse, I can't taste any of the thousands of Haribo Gummi Bears that were given to me on Valentine's Day.  Times are tough.

Ok.  Enough complaining.  I figured since I have some free time, I would find a way to commemorate Toe Pick's 2nd birthday, which was 2 days ago.   I can remember exactly when, where and who I was with when the idea of starting Toe Pick came into fruition.  It was a sunny San Francisco Saturday, and my best friend Wilhelmina and I were sitting at our favorite Mexican Restaurant, Green Chile Kitchen.  I remember the exact day the idea was born because it was the same day as my dear friend, Shelleyathon's bday.

We were both bored, single and felt a bit unfulfilled.  "We need a project," Wilhelmina said.  We mulled over some options like opening a barrette store or starting a cab company in SF, (for those of you who live here, you'll agree that the cabs in SF suck), or inventing a vibrating tampon.  These ideas seemed too far-fetched.  "Let's start a blog," I suggested.  Blogs (as we know, I detest this word but am not sure what else to call it) seemed to be all the rage at the time and I'd always taken an interest in writing.  Wilhelmina would be in charge of writing about various clothing boutiques in the city and I'd be in charge of roaming the streets to find some of the city's biggest weirdos and interviewing them.  The blog would be all about San Francisco and the people and places in it.  It would be called TOE PICK after my favorite line from the breast 90's movie of all time: The Cutting Edge.  I knew that most importantly, I wanted it to make people laugh.

Welp.  Wilhelmina joined me for the first couple of entries and then bailed because she was in the process of finishing up business school and didn't want her name to be associated with a anything on the internet containing words like "shart" and "fuck".  Which is understandable.  I was a receptionist at the time so I couldn't have cared less about anyone finding Toe Pick.  I had nothing to lose.  Except my dignity.

I didn't realize then that writing Toe Pick would become such a big part of my life.  I also didn't realize I would have the balls to divulge so much information about myself to the pube-lic.  On that note, let's take a stroll down Toe Pick's memory lane, shall we?  Remember these?  (Click on grey text to read.  I know you know this but I'm only clarifying because I also know my Mom needs instructions)

my hair catastrophe
my trip to a nudist colony

an unhealthy obsession with DORITOS


the resurrection of my J. Lo butt

How to get through a Scary Sunday

the induction of the word "chafe" into TOE PICK

dealbreakers for HER
And who could forget my torrid affair with MACGRUBER?  Watch this video of our staring contest for a reminder.

Ok, that's enough strolling down memory lane.  I'm going to go continue to marinate in my DayQuil infused haze.   Happy Birthday to the only thing I have ever kept up with!  And thank you to those who have continued to read this ridiculous jargon for the past 2 years.  Here's to 2 more.

xo, Nige

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

It's Not Me, It's You: Featuring Nigel's Break-up Survival Guide

"You had better get used to it!  You're likely going to be supporting yourself for the rest of your life!"  my mom warned me through the phone after I'd complained to her about having to get up early to go to work.

"Oh and I saw that your next Toe Pick post is about how to get through a break up!  Because you sure know a lot on that subject.  You've never successfully gotten through one!  Love you bye."

And with that, let's get sharted on a subject that is very near and dear to my shart heart:
  BREAK UPs and the breast ways to navigate your way through 'em
A SCORNED SINGLE GURL IN BEAR HEAVEN.  Can you see the tearz of happiness
I’m a dramatic person.  I’ve always been that way, even before I was born.  One time, when I was about 8, one of my brothers punk friends pantsed me at a birthday party while I was blindfolded trying to hit a pinata. I cried and cried and cried and wouldn't leave my mother's side for about 5 years after the incident.  So yeah, I admit it – sometimes I can act like the ultimate girl.  I guess that’s because I am one.  For some reason God decided to slip a fuckload of time released hormones into my system when he created me.  I am so dramatic that for awhile I wanted to be an actress and even majored in theatre my freshman/sophomore year at Ole Miss and as you can imagine, they have a really good program which is why I stuck with it. (sarcasm font).  It goes without saying that my sometimes over-the-top antics and propensity to exaggerate my feelings do not bode well for me when it comes to being in a relationship.  That being said, I will go ahead and address the elephant in the room:  Muni Boy and I broke up. Gosh, if I had a nickel for every time I uttered those words then I'd be making money in a very strange way. It’s been a tough one.  As much as our senses of humor jived, we clashed in too many other areas for the relaysh to work.  He’s blunt; I’m sensitive. He’s independent; I am dependent. I am 30; He is 27. I liked Gummi Bears; He was more partial to Gummi worms. Sometimes he liked to take the muni at 8:05am; I always stuck with the 7:48am-er.  He’s a private person; I am WIDE OPEN, (um. in case you couldn’t tell).  It just wasn't gonna work.

This has been a tough one mostly because I really liked the guy but also because I've reached an Epiphany: Either I have to work on being less dramatic OR find a guy who is super fucking tolerant.  And I have a feeling that it's not the latter I should be focusing on.  Clearly I have some things to work on - I don't want my gmail inbox to look like this forever: (Just take a look at the contents: an e-mail to my friend Wilhelmina with the subject line proclaiming: I AM GOING TO BE SINGLE FOREVER, a message from Kraft Food recipes containing recipes for meatless and cheesy casseroles, a groupon notice for discounted diner food and an e-mail about a flat iron that will most likely destroy my hair and make it fall out.)  OH and Moira's coming to visit which is the only good thing going on in the below screenshot:

As I lay here on my sofa watching the Bachelor and eating chicken chow mein, I feel lonely and sad but also optimistic.  I like the fact that through my Muni relationship I've been able to get a better idea of what my strengths and weaknesses are (this may very well be one of the most absurd sentences I've ever written).  Some people come into our lives for a reason, or whatever.  (I am also fairly certain that this last sentence is some variation of a high school year book quote.) I am happy to say that I am at a point in my life where I could take a pen and paper and write down my strength (note that strength is singular) and weaknesses with clarity and confidence.  I never would have been able to do that 5 years ago.  So, I've got that going for me which is nice.

As much as I am trying to take away the positives from this experience, I'm not going to lie: a broken relationship sucks.  It's sad when someone who has been a fairly big part of your life suddenly isn't.  But what can I do, stay in bed with thousands of Haribo gummi bears and wallow in self-pity for the next year? (A girl can dream, can't she?)  No.  I can write, work out, prank text people, watch Jack Vale and pick my split ends til I’m blue in the face.  That’s the nice thing about being single: you can do whatever the fuck you want when you want.  This isn’t my first break-up rodeo and I’ve figured out some ways to make myself feel better in times of Boy Distress (moving forward: BD) that I’d like to share with you. So without further ado I’ll introduce you to a segment I like to call


1.  Let go of all hope that your broken relationship is fixable.  There is a reason the 'ship is dunzo and more often then not, once it's over it's not going to be repairable.

2.  Try not to use a word coined by Kristin Cavallari in the 2nd season of Laguna Beach.  Especially if you're 30. (word in question: DUNZO)

3.  Exercise.  It's no secret that booze, drugs and cigs are only a temporary escape from the pain you feel after a relationship has ended.  Endorphins are like Natural Ecstasy.  Get 'em up.  Which is what I'm trying to do - despite the fact that I run like a "special" duck.

4.  Look your breast.  Get your hair blown out, or get a pedicure.  Do something that makes you feel like the awkward goddess you are.

5. It’s fine to vent to friends about the break-up for the first couples days following the death of the relaysh but then move on.  The more you talk about it the more you think about it so just stop it.  Stop it right this minute.

6. Focus on other things.  Keep yourself busy.  Shart watching the news.  Read up on the ol’ fiscal cliff.

7. Smile and laugh like an asshole.  I am a recruiter so it’s my job to constantly smile, fake-laugh, be friendly and act like an all around jolly pig in shit.  It’s no secret that laughter is the breast medicine and if you don’t believe me then I guess that’s ok and there’s not much I can do about it.

8. Let yourself be sad.  Allow yourself to experience the MANY FACES OF A BREAK-UP:

there's a feeling I get when I look to the West

keep your head up and be proud but do remember to brush your hair
be a fighter, even when life gets a bit foggy: Retaliate.
find a distraction so you don't get upset, go rent Wet Hot American Summer and turn that frown upside down
in order to avoid getting too distraught just think of things you love, like egg rolls for instance.  or GNR back in the diz-zay.
It's ok to want some privacy during your break-up.  sometimes you just need to be alone with your thoughts.  
9. For me, the times when I feel the saddest are at night when I’m by myself about to go to bed.  It’s quiet and I’m alone with my thoughts.  Normally when I don’t know what to do I reach out to my readers for solace and direction.

Welp, the only reader who responded to my facebook post requesting break up advice was more forthright then I expected.  His suggestion?

“Bang everything.”

Ok.  This is me leaving.

xo, Nige

Monday, February 11, 2013

IHTM: My Parents Cut Me Off

Gosh, it's been awhile.  I'd like to say I've been busy doing charity work, running half marathons, swimming to Alcatraz and back, reading War and Peace, eating healthy berries and not blow drying or straightening my hair but I'd not not be lying to you.  And honesty is always the breast policy.  

So what have I been doing?  Welp, I'll tell you: I've been eating mounds of porridge and pinching my pennies. Why, you ask?  Because I've officially been CUT OFF from my parents.  And, as we all know, San Francisco is not a cheap place to live, so needless to say (err...write) times are tough for the Nigel Meister.  Now not only must I fully support myself (sidenote: I work mainly on commission) but I also just referred to myself as the Nigel Meister.  This can't be good.
I begged and pleaded with my mother to delay the CUT OFF for just a couple more months but there was no hope.  I figured since I work in sales I had a shot shart but NO.  Lady Di could not be swayed.  Her mind hath been madeth up.  Our conversation went a little something like this:

ME: Mom!  This is unfair.  I am going to be homeless AND hungry.
Lady Di: You deal!  You're 30 years old.  Here's an idea: why don't you stop going out and drinking alcohol?  That would save you a lot of money.
ME: I don't go out that much, mom.
Lady Di: YES YOU DO.  I see it on Facebook.
(i silently resolve to demote my mother to my limited profile collection)
ME: Do you understand how much RENT is in SF?! I was just reading an article in the paper about how SF is on par with NYC in terms of cost of living.
Lady Di: Oh come off it!  You don't read the paper.  And besides, you chose to live in San Francisco.  This is not my fault.  
ME: But Gwendalyn's parents still help her out and she's 32!  Not to mention Rhonda's*, Shirley's* and Persephone's* too!
Lady Di: I don't care about Gwendalyn, Rhonda, Shirley and Persephone!  I'm not their mom!
ME: FINE!  I will move to the Tenderloin and get murdered.
Lady Di: Fine!  Who is going to pay for that move!?  What you need to do is go to the store and buy beans and rice in bulk.  I always tell you: Beans and rice will last you months!
ME: I'm right on top of that rose!  I'll just eat beans and rice morning, noon and night!  That's not awkward at all.
Lady Di:  Sounds good.  I have to go.
ME: Wait, MOM!  Emily asked me to be in her wedding.  Where would I find a white bridesmaids dress?  Guess I'll have to check out Dress Barn or Forever 21.  Or just construct a makeshift dress out of toilet paper!  Never mind, actually - toilet paper is expensive.
Lady Di:  First of all, none of you girls should be wearing white!  It's not like any of you are virgins!
ME: OH MY GOD.  Good-bye, mother.

Moving on...clearly I've had to make some lifestyle changes in lieu of my recent financial independence.  I decided to share some of my tips with my beloved readers in a segment i like to call:


I normally go to Joseph Cozza salon to get my tresses touched up and cut.  Located on the ever so chic Maiden Lane, Joseph Cozza Salon is the finest hair salon in San Francisco.  (I may or may not be trying to endorse them in hopes that they offer me a free highlights and a couple bottles of Kerastase products. Please, Joseph?  Please?)  This place ain't cheap.  A cut and highlights can add up to $250.  As much as I love gossiping with my beloved hair dresser Anthony about his custody battle with his ex over their tea-cup Yorkie, I know I need to downgrade to SuperCuts, at least for now.  

I like to eat out (that's what he said) but doing so on a budget is difficult.  So I took my mom's advice-ish.  I bought a variety pack of oatmeal (moving forward: "porridge).  So yeah, now I eat a shit load of porridge.  I would feel like Goldy Locks but I can't afford to get my hair highlighted, remember?  Instead, I'm just a girl with painfully obvious roots eating porridge.  So I've got that going for me, which is nice.  SNACKS: It's no secret that I love Haribo Gummi Bears.  Like, it's unnatural how much i love them.   Unfortch, Haribo's come with hefty price tag.  They're the most pricey gummy bears on the market.  This doesn't bode well for my bank account.  I am now forced to eat Black Forest bears**, the cheaper, more ghetto version of Haribos.

Chowin down on some porridge 
tasteless  delicious porridge!

i loathe black forest bears

On most weeknights I leave work and head straight to my babysitting gig, which I don't really mind because I get to eat Flinestone gummi vitamins (is it possible to OD on those?) and hang with Dolce and complain to her about my boy problems.  Luckily she hasn't been in heat for quite some time.  Remember THIS post?  Babysitting is a great way to make extra cash and it doesn't really bother me that I am the same age as the mom which is a lie.

It's interesting that the word "transportation" has the word Tran in it, because let me tell you, the Muni is adorned with trannies after 9pm.  I've taken it at night 3 times in the past week as I am trying to cut down on cabs to save money.  I'm not going to complain though - the Muni is where i get some of my breast TPSF material which brings me to my next segment:


1. CORPORATE ELF IS BACK!  These kicks are HOT and practical.  I've been seeing a lot of them lately.

2. Showing your Britney seems to be all the rage on Muni these dayz:

the mushroom topeveryone is sporting this cut on Muni.  so hot right now!  I wonder if SuperCutz specializes in it - fingerz crossed!

In other news:

I saw a dog without a face the other day.

This little ball of fur seemed to be faceless, save for a random eye ball.
Sean V-Nex seems to have been sick the day ABC was shooting the opening for the Bachelor.  His stand-in?  Homer Simpson.

The worst fucking day ever  Valentines Day is almost upon us and once again, I am single.  Here's hoping that I don't end up sitting in the dark by myself listening to Coldplay's "Fix you" on repeat come February 14th AKA Doomsday.  Last year on Valentine's Day I got an almost-dead carnation from the corner store attendant across the street from my house.  That being said, anyone is welcome to send me pity roses (what color would those be?  Black?).  

Happy Monday!

xo, Nige

**this is false information.  i would never eat Black Forest Bears.