Wednesday, March 30, 2016

What's in My Bag?

"Will you write a review for The Preppie Connection on Toe Pick?  Oh wait, you're so self-absorbed you can only write about yourself, right?  Hahaha." 

I kicked my brother's foot under the table and glared desperately at my mom as if to say, "Do something! Scold him for being such a dick!"

"Charlie!" she squealed.  "Be nice to your sister.  And put $10 in the Critical jar for that comment." (Yes, my family has a Critical jar we use when we get together.  I'm fairly certain I could use the money it has amassed to pay my rent.)

A menacing, Cheshire Cat-esque smile spread across my face as I winked at my brother and said "Sure thing, asswipe.  Will do."  I left breakfast that morning 5 dollars poorer.  

Anyhoo, (ugh, really hate that expression, apologies) I'm in the process of writing a movie review on the Preppie Connection, a spectacular Indie film directed (by the amazing Joe Castelo) and produced by a bevy of exceedingly talented people (including my demeaning darling brother) and I'll admit, I'm kinda having a hard time with it.  Siskel or Ebert, I am not.  In fact, I've learned that I am about as good at writing movie reviews as Bill Cosby is at having consensual sex. 

So I took a break from writing my review to discuss something equally as important, What's in My Bag.  I realize by doing this I am only validating my brother's aforementioned (hurtful) allegation and that makes me feel tense.  (btw, the Preppie Connection is available on itunes - you gotta see it, it's reminiscent of Outside Providence - quite possibly one of the best movies ever made.)

Some of you might not have a life (like me)  have read Us Weekly's column called "What's in My Bag" wherein a celeb reveals what's in her purse.  I'm obviously not a celeb, but I am someone who is running dangerously low on writing material.

With that said, let's get sharted.

1. Headphones and a hat 
I've found these 2 items (along with #7) to be highly effective weapons in the battle against small talk. Oftentimes I'll wear my hat to the grocery store just in case I need to hide from a random acquaintance.  The grocery store is a terrible place to see someone you know when you're not feeling it and the likelihood of you running into that person multiple times is high given the amount of aisles you'll both potentially be perusing simultaneously.  You've been there, I'm sure.  And it's okay: sometimes you're just not in the mood to talk to Sharon (the lady who lives above you that you hear having sex on the reg) about Tabby, (her overweight cat suffering from ringworm) as you strain to avoid making eye contact with the family-sized tub of Vagisil poking out of her cart.  This hat conceals my signature Jheri curl, making me almost unrecognizable to the naked eye.

Oh, and I use my headphones when I don't feel like shooting the shit with a chatty Uber driver about his side jobs and the great mileage his Kia Spectra gets.  Sorry, Reginald, I'm tired and Michael Bolton's "When a Man Loves a Woman" just came on Pandora.  

2. Debit cards
I lose permanent debit cards faster than Jared Fogle lost his anal virginity in prison (too soon?  too much? too real? shit.).  But for whatever reason, I never lose my temporary cards.  This results in a mass quantity of temporary B of A debit cards swimming around in the bottom of my bag amongst empty Haribo gummi bear bags and loose Parliament Light tobacco.  I'm like Hansel + Gretal but with Debit Cards instead of breadcrumbs.  

3. Hair tie
My hair tie is multifunctional.  I use it to tie up my Jheri curl whenever it acts up in response to the thick San Francisco fog, and I snap it on my wrist each time I want to drunk text an ex and need a reminder not to. My hair tie is not really good at what it does, with regard to both scenarios.  I don't even know why I bother sometimes and GOOD GOD, YOU HAD 2 JOBS, HAIR TIE - 2 JOBS.

4. Tweezers
I keep these handy in the event that I need to tame my Jack Nicholson brows.  

5. Haribo Gummi Bear nightlight
One of my best friends gave this to me a couple years ago for my birthday.  I take it with me when I travel because I'm scared of the dark.  (See also: why I'm still single.)

6.  Self-help books
I take these out when I need some life guidance or when I'm on Muni and want to make people feel uncomfortable.  

7. Sunglasses 
See #1

8.  Uhh, yeah.
I added this in there for shock value because I'm getting paranoid that my readership is waning. Desperate times...  

9. Soy sauce + Mentos
Because I never know when someone will offer me an eggroll.  Or what if I get into some kind of bind and need Mentos to save the day, like in those commercials from the nineties?


10. My ID
Now I can't focus... #8 is going to haunt me, I know it.

11. Zzzquil.  
I buy this on occasion in anticipation of a sleepless, worrisome night stemming from a less than ideal event that occurred on a particular day.  Like today, for example - THE DAY I EXPOSED # 8 TO THE WORLD WIDE WEB.

12. Make-up
I carry makeup because sometimes I need it to cover up the circles under my eyes I acquire from staying up late worrying about things like if it was really necessary to overshare to the extent that I did re: #8.  And this is how spiralized anxiety works, my friends.

13. Keys. 
I lose keys almost as much as I lose debit cards.  So my friend gave me a gummi bear key chain that vibrates and lights up.  And, I normally keep my keys around my wrist thanks to my obnoxious pink bracelet key chain or whatever you call it.



Alright, that's all I got.  Happy dry hump day, friendos!

xo,
Nige



Monday, March 28, 2016

A Letter to my Teenage Self

Hi friends.  Hope you had a nice weekend celebrating Jesus and the fact that he hath risen-eth or whatever. I got really jealous and felt behind in life enjoyed looking at instagram and facebook pictures of young couples cradling their babies decked in bunny/lamb costumes as I cradled my burrito decked in tinfoil and sour cream.  Instead of going on an egg hunt yesterday I sat in my apartment and wondered when mine were going to expire as I watched Lifetime's the Pregnancy Pact and concluded that Tori Spelling has probably become good at storing acorns as a result of her botched boob job.  But that's neither here nor there.



A year ago today I made a list of things I would tell my 16-year-old self knowing what I don't know now. As I sat in my cube this morning and wished I was somewhere, anywhere else I got to thinking about what I would add to said list, given that I'm one year older and more confused wiser.  Here goes: 

Dear Alexandra,

1.  Remember that time you convinced yourself that the best way to french kiss was to spell out your name in cursive with your tongue (please take note: this is extremely tricky, especially given the X in your name, you dumbshit)? Well, it's not.  And guys don't like it. They really, really don’t. 

2.  Whippits do in fact kill brain cells, this is not an urban legend like your friend "Doobie" says.  

3.  You will always run like a duck, and that's okay.  Ducks are cute and like good bread and were once ducklings, which are super precious - especially when they waddle across the street in single file line behind their mom.  Focus on the positives!   
                       
                            

4. Start thinking about colleges now.  Be practical - go to an all women's college in upstate New York, learn about Virginia Woolf and have pillow fights with your dormmates. 

5.  Actually, fuck that - go to Ole Miss and headbang for 7 4 years.

6. Put the tweezers down.  Walking around looking surprised all the time is not your best look. 

barely-there-brows

7.  Beg your mother to get you braces now - tell her not to wait until your senior year of high school.  And I know getting the clear ones seems like a good idea in theory, but they are the chameleons of the orthodontic world and will change color based on what you drink.  This would not be good given that your favorite drink is orange soda.  Just get the metal ones and never open mouth smile the entire time you have them on embrace it!
                               
yellow clear braces. hi winston! 

8.  Embrace the things that make you different, like your Jack Nicholson eyebrows, lack of an inner monologue and remarkable ability to make a situation wildly more awkward than need be.  It's better to be unique than to blend in.  Some people won't like you, and that's not acceptable okay.  They're not entitled to their opinions and can go fuck themselves.

9. Rethink that black choker you wear all the time.  The illusion of having a neck tattoo is not as cool as you think it is and oh my fucking god, take that thing off right now.

10. I know you're obsessed with the OJ Simpson case.  Guess what?  You haven't seen the last of said obsession.  It's going to come back to bite you in the ass in 17 years when FX releases a show called The People VS OJ Simpson.  Your interest in the case will be reignited times 20.  It will become wildly annoying to everyone around you, including your mom who will decide she needs to take a break from talking to you for a little while and OH MY GOD JUST GET OVER THE FUCKING OJ SIMPSON CASE - he's guilty, he's a psychotic asshole, it's done...there's nothing else to it. Sorry for yelling.

11.  A messy room is disorienting, and can wreak havoc on your brain.  Pick up your shit. 

boarding school dorm room.  oh dear.  

12.  Hate to have to tell you this, but riding horses isn't for you, and if you don't stop you'll get bucked off and face plant into a pile of mud.  Never trust an animal that trots and shits at the same time.



13.  Not everything is about you. That rude girl in the grocery store whose cart is filled to the brim with cranberry juice?  She wasn't mean to you because she thinks you're the worst, she just has a UTI from banging her douchey ex-boyfriend with a rat tail too much and is extremely dissatisfied with her life.  

14.  Smoking pole cigarettes will make a hangover exponentially worse. 

15. You're going to have a really tough time keeping track of debit cards, keys and shoes - accept it.  It's who you are.  God obviously did not intend for you to have these things and it's all out of your control.


16.  Don't blame God for your carelessness.  

17.  The friend who is always there to hold your hair back when you puke in the bushes will likely be your maid of honor one day.



18. Be nice to your parents.  Send them flowers every couple of months to let them know you're thinking of them.  They took care of you/your siblings and put up with an awful lot of shit so now it's time for you to take care of them.
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I sent these to Si and Di last week and it made me feel happy to make them feel happy.  PS. Hallmark has the ways to say you caaaare. 
19. Every time you feel anxious or sad, try to remember: it's all funny and at least you're not a pigeon.  Life is finite, choose your battles wisely.  If something's bothering you try and ask yourself if the issue will matter in 6 month's time.  Chances are it won't.  Unless you're pregnant or something.

HAPPY MONDAY, my friends.  Smile at a stranger today.  Unless the stranger looks like an extra from To Catch a Predator.  In that case, run.

xo,
Nige

ps.  You might want to rethink those bangs.


Thursday, March 24, 2016

How I Finally Conquered my Biggest Fear

"S'cuse me!  Do I have time to use the restroom?"

I pleaded with a clearly irritated flight attendant as I reached my gate, clutching my Nalgene bottle of booze carry-on bag much like an armed soldier heading into battle.

"Ma'am, no.  We're waiting on you.  You must board now, please...ma'am."

She bore an uncanny resemblance to the principal from Uncle Buck and I felt like a 2nd grader who'd just been reprimanded for forging her mom's signature on a failed arithmetic quiz.  It was like she had sand in her underwear, and I was the sand.  I scowled as I reluctantly handed over my boarding pass and marched to my imminent death onto the crowded tube of terror (aka TOT).


"Pull it the fuck together, lady," I thought to myself as I exasperatedly made the poverty march past first class and toward seat 547 Z, systematically smacking people in the face with my oversized bag in the process.

I was scared.  Flying is my number 1 fear, followed by snakes and first dates.  If anyone has truly suffered from this bitch of a phobia you understand.  Every time someone asserts that a plane is safer than a car (which is often the first response I get any time I mention my fear of flying) you want to tell that person to eat a dick...a whole bag of them.  All rationale flies out the window. Statistics don't mean shit. You're still aboard a man-made metal tube soaring at lightning speed high through the sky and it's terrifying.  My in-air demons terrorize me so much that there have been times I've wished I could have Mike Ty-thon as a travel companion so I could ask him to knock me out every time we had to fly.

There was something different about this trip, though.  This time my fear was matched by exuberance.  In 6 hours (provided the plane didn't spontaneously combust causing me to perish) I'd be in New York, with my family and oldest friends.  I thought about them and the exciting days ahead and all of the sudden a remarkable calm swept over me after I'd taken a Xanax.  I had a minor revelation: love is so much more powerful than fear.

In that moment I decided to stop scolding myself for being the George Costanza of flying and instead opted to coddle my overactive mind.

"Shhh...you're okay.  This is okay.  Everything's going to be okay."

Then I laughed when I realized that my inner monologue had transformed from Ms. Hannigan's voice to Bob Ross's voice in mere minutes.


I took my seat and basked in the glow of Virgin's signature purple mood lighting. The man next to me smiled reassuringly and I pulled my headphones down, put on "Comfortably Numb," shut my eyes and again, envisioned my family, my friends and the sheer cool that is New York City.  I slept through most of the flight, which I never do - waking up only occasionally to find my face firmly pressed into the shoulder of that reassuring guy from earlier.  He was like a human tempurpedic pillow.  Bless his tolerant heart.

in-air art

I felt accomplished when we landed.  One would have thought I'd flown the fucking plane myself.  It was a huge moment for me.  I skipped through JFK, smiling like an asshole, eager to retrieve my baggage.  I was so happy to be in the city.  My thoughts on New York are so cliche they could be made into an Onion article entitled "Area Woman Just Really Likes Energy of New York" or "Area Woman Loves New York to Visit but Could Never Live There."  Yeah, I am one of those assholes.

I loved my weekend. I wanted time to stand still.  I got to go to a movie premier with my family which is the coolest thing I've done since I learned how to speak gibberish.

me + my people

I spent some of Saturday laying on the sofa, eating strawberry shortcake and prosciutto sandwiches, drinking Coca-Cola in those old-skewl glass bottles and listening to November Rain with my crush of 25 years (who has been aware of said crush for the entirety of those 25 years) who also happens to be a close friend. "I wish this day wouldn't end," I told him.

I flew back to a rainy, cold San Francisco on Sunday evening.  When I landed at SFO I promptly set up shop at a restaurant in Terminal 2 and had dinner in an attempt to avoid getting back to reality.  I  was sad. Really sad.  Sad to be on the other side of the country - 3000 miles from the people I wish I could carry in my pocket.  Sad to commence a job I'm not altogether crazy about but have to endure because being an adult means sometimes, most of the time - we don't have a choice; sometimes - most of the time, life isn't listening to November Rain with your favorite person, sipping Coca-Cola from a glass bottle and eating strawberry shortcake in an apartment that looks like it's from the movie Big.

I thought about making this post about something silly like: "How to not act around your crush of 25 years," but I'm not feeling funny.  And, that's okay.  I'm tired, and I miss my family and friends.  Oftentimes I think I try and make hard life things into one big fucking joke: when in actuality, staring them in the face and letting them marinate is a much better approach.

I got home that night, and collapsed onto my bed.  I felt alone and despondent as I listened to the rain beating down onto my windowpane.  I needed someone, anyone.  I foolishly attempted to seek attention in the wrong places via several texts to guys people from my past who are there for a reason.  I scolded myself for it.  "Pull yourself the fuck together, lady."  Then, I had a thought: how lucky I am to have people and moments in my life that make me so heartbroken every time they're taken away.  And, like on the plane - I decided to calm myself down via my inner Bob Ross voice:

"Shhh.  You are okay.  This is okay.  Everything is going to be okay."








Friday, March 11, 2016

Toe Pick's Do's and Don'ts of Instagram

I do it on my way to work.  I do it while I'm on the phone with my boss.  I do it on the plane.  I do it in between gchatting and facebooking in my cube client meetings.  I do it in bed before I go to sleep.  I do it when I wake up. I think I've even done it in my sleep.  I do it before a date.  I do it during a date.  I do it after a date.  I did it 5 minutes ago under my desk.

If your mind is in the gutter right now, get it out of there.  And by the way, I like the way you think and we could probably be close friends.

I am talking about instragramming of course.  It's like crack wrapped up in a Fruit by the Foot with Dorito crumbs on top.  My thumbs have gotten noticeably more muscular since I discovered Instagram 3 years ago.  The likelihood of me ending up with Carpal Tunnel Syndrome on account of my rampant Instagram scrolling is high to quite high. I've been a 'grammar for almost three years now and OH MY GOD that might be the douchiest thing I've ever written.

I know what you're thinking - me giving you Instagram advice is about as ridiculous as Jerry Sandusky applying for a nannying position.  But hear me out: I post a lot of pictures because I live in San Francisco, and there are a myriad of sunsets, homeless people shaving their foreheads, and dogs wearing raincoats just begging to be photographed.  I try and accompany my photos with funny captions - sometimes I try too hard BUT GOOD GOD WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME.  Sorry for the outburst.  I have outlined a list of Instagram DOs and Don'ts below for your viewing pleasure.




DON'T post inspirational quotes too much.
Look in the mirror.  Are you Ghandi?  Ekhart Tolle?  the Dalai Lama?  If what you see in the reflection isn't one of these people please refrain from posting inspirational quotes on Instagram everyday.  One or 2 every now and then is fine but over posting douche-spirational quotes can make it seem like you think you're a Shaman with endless wisdom to impart on us mere mortals.  If I wanted to feel all nostalgic, introspective and fuzzy I'd pick up a paperback copy of Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul. Plus, I read somewhere that 60% of Instagram users scroll through their feed while they're on the toilet.  An inspirational quote can take on a whole new meaning to someone when they're going to the bathroom.  SORRY.  Sick.

(please be aware that your cousin could be reading your inspirational quote from the men's room after just having ingested a Chipotle super burrito and therefore your quote can come off wildly different than you intended)
DO post pictures of babies, within reason.
Some of you might not agree with me on this one but I actually don't mind a lot of baby pictures on Instagram.  Babies are insane, trippy miracles.  Think about it: an actual human with eyes, hair, a heart and knee caps was created when a teeny tiny microscopic sperm and a random egg collaborated.  If you played a part in this process then by all means, show the finished product off.  You're a creator, which makes you kind of God-like and WTF, I'm taking this too far.  I plan to watch my follower count recede faster than Donald Trump's hairline when I have a baby because I imagine I'll be so obsessed I'll want to document every moment of his or her life. As long as you're not keeping everyone abreast of your unborn child's development via weekly sonogram pics then have at it - show that little tyke off whenever the F you want.

DON'T over-post selfies...
...especially bathroom selfies.  I've said it many times before and I'll say it again: if you think posting a bathroom selfie is acceptable, urine in the wrong place.  You seriously look like a puckered-face narcissist surrounded by germs.  Too many selfies in general are obnoxious... unless you're at a cool spot and want to show off the Leaning Tower of Pisa or a gorilla dry-humping a giraffe in the background or if you just finished a marathon or whatever.  The ironic selfie can also be funny if it's accompanied by a witty caption. But generally speaking, I'd rather see a rhino get a pap smear than your car selfie.  We all know you're just pretending to be surprised and caught off guard by the fact that you're taking a picture of yourself. Which is an extremely absurd notion, stop it.


COULD. I. NOT. DO. THAT.
DON'T post too many food pics
Are you about to ingest a sexy, colorful meal?  Think twice before you post a photo of it to instagram.  As much as your followers want to be made aware of what you're about to shovel into your mouth, break down with saliva, swallow so it travels from your pharynx to your trachea and into your stomach where acids will proceed to breakdown the peptide bonds in proteins where it is then transported by the pyloric sphincter to the small intestine and churned into shit, most of us will be okay if we don't get a visual of your meal of food.  Unless you're a chef, food blogger, @katzgottaeat or if you're eating the Hope Diamond for dinner, try and keep the grub pics to a minimum.

In the same vein: a note to all you cleansers out there - we get it: you're disciplined and healthy and can afford an expensive juice cleanse.  A pic or 2 documenting your revolutionary journey is sufficient.  We don't need to constantly be reminded that you're peeing 9 times a day kThanksBye! 

Hi Jessica.  We all know those bottles likely belong to your roommate, Daryl
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 DO follow more than 4 people.
It's mildly annoying when people who have like 900 followers only follow 7 people.  I wonder what they do with their spare time, seeing how only like 2 pics hit their feed every 8 hours.  Oftentimes their intent is transparent: they want to appear celebrity-ish and important by following a teeeeeeny tiny amount of people while basking in their plentiful follower count.  To all the people who do this who aren't Beyonce: we are all onto you...

I really hope I didn't piss anyone off.  And if I did: please remember: this advice is coming from a girl who goes to Bank of America thrice a day to steal lolipops, has flossed with her hair once or thrice and who up until last week thought Dow Jone was a presidential candidate. The majority of this commentary is hyperbolic and satirical.  Obviously I love you and want you to post whatever makes you happy.

SF SPCA Dog of the day - click HERE to find out more about this precious baby named Wiggles.



Happy Friday, friends!
xo,
Nige

Wednesday, March 9, 2016

11 Things they Didn't tell You About Adulting


adulting

When I was a ungrateful little shit kid I longed to marry Charles Barkley be an adult.  I thought of how curfews would be obsolete and about how I wouldn't have to sneak cigarettes.  I figured I'd be able to do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, however I wanted.  Little did I know, adulthood would not be the pristine piece of cake I so envisioned and desired but instead a semi-delicious yet crumbly, flaky croissant with some soggy parts.

my mom likely warning me about the perils of adulthood. 
Last month I was set to go on a blind date with a guy who worked in finance and I called my mom to tell her about it.  Dude seemed to really have his shit together and appeared to be quite mature.  My mother became uber concerned and asked me if I knew how to use a knife and fork properly.  Then she proceeded to ask me what I planned to talk about on said date and I hastily responded: "I don't know... whatever adults like to talk about l-l-like... Dow Jones, or Ross Perot or Fiscal Cliff (apparently only one of these is a person) or you know, stocks and the economy and stuff." She ignored my feeble attempts at proposing potential adult-esque topics and proceeded to inform me that she was removing me from her phone plan because "GOD DAMNIT, YOU'RE THIRTY-THREE YEARS OLD, ALEXANDRA" and I subsequently crumbled to the ground as I begged and pleaded for her to reconsider, to no avail.

There are quite a few components of adulthood that people don't tell you about when you're growing up.  It's not all white picket fences, centerpieces, emerging from a nice house in a silk bathrobe at dawn to fetch the paper, freshly baked blueberry muffins, brief cases, diaphragms, expensive eye creams, chic dinner parties, and Volvos.   Here are some aspects of being adult human I wish I was aware of as a kid:

1.  You're not allowed to cut up your pasta at fancy restaurants.  If you do, people will look at you as if you just committed adultery with the president in the Oral Oval Office.  Seriously, it's the equivalent of eating those baby corns like Tom Hanks in Big.  I learned this the hard way.


2.  Taxes must be paid once a year, 5 days before 4/20.  You can't pay them one year and assume you're set for the next couple years.  No one teaches you how pay your taxes in school, or maybe they do - I could have just missed the memo because I went to Ole Miss and the only memos I got were about football, shacking at the SAE house, partying, losing brain cells and not caring about anything other than having the most fun possible.  Like a lamb in a slaughterhouse I was suddenly thrust into the working world and was expected to innately know how to pay taxes.  WTF. (PS: the number to TurboTax is 1-866-888-2402.  No one told me that, either - I had to look it up myself.)

3. Keeping up appearances is a big part of being an adult especially in formal social settings, like cocktail parties.  If someone asks you how you are you're expected to respond with a resounding "I'm fine...things are going well," even if you loathe your job, just found a curly black hair in your frittata, have a horribly painful UTI on account of hooking up with that douche named Shane you met on Tinder, and have $5.16 in your bank account.

4.  You will have $5.16 in your bank account at some point.  It will be scary as shit.  FYI: you can buy a variety pack of Ramen for just under 4 dollars, and this will last you approximately 3.5 days.  Your face will look like a swollen basketball on account of all the sodium, but hey - it's food.


cool struggle food.

5.  Some of you will reach a point where all of your friends start having babies before you do.  Suddenly your once delinquent friend will stop contemplating how to score Molly, and instead start considering it as a baby name.  You'll hang with your "mommy-friends" and listen to them talk about placenta pills and their huge purple, lactating nipples while you make a mental note to pick up your credit card you left at Balboa the night before because you were wasted and left the bar early with a guy named Daryl who is 9 years your junior and has tapestries and a Blind Melon poster hanging in his studio apartment.  Years ago I figured I'd have 3 kids by now, because that's what I thought naturally came with being an adult.  But various life things happen to different people at different times, doesn't make anyone better or worse than anyone else.*

*You'll be reminded of your biological clock a lot, especially in your 30's... it's best to make like Taylor Swift and shake it off when this happens.


6.  You'll likely spend 60% of your young adult life in a cubicle, hovering over a keyboard and answering emails you must pretend to give a fuck about because if you don't give a fuck you'll lose your job and that's the most frightening thing you could ever experience as an adult.  I've been there.  My advice when it comes to your job: Give a fuck - even a little one, lest you want to wake up each morning with an omnipresent, thick cloud of uncertainty and doom looming overhead.  It's no fun to bounce around from temp job to temp job like a temp fairy sprinkling your lack of corporate know-how throughout various offices.  Being told to do things like refill the tampon basket in the ladies bathroom by a micromanaging HR lady named Dorris Cankles is humbling but brutal and foul.  So yeah, avoid that if you can.




7.  Everyone will tell you to join LinkedIn.  They'll tell you it's an important networking tool.  What they won't tell you is that people can see if you've stalked their profiles.  So if you'd like to see what your ex-boyfriend's ex-girlfriend's current boyfriend's dog walker is up to I suggest you stick to Facebook.

8.  Adults can be just as immature, mean, cruel, blunt, catty and bratty as teenagers.  Human decency and tact don't come with age.

9.  You know those people in #8?  Fuck them.  Not enough people told me this when I was growing up and I wasted time I wish I could get back worrying about people who didn't worry about me or my feelings.  Do not let anyone who makes you feel unworthy, sad, small, stupid or irrelevant take up any space in your head.  This is absolutely the most important adult lesson I've learned and it will continue to be until the day I expire.

10. Dow Jones is not a presidential candidate, nor has he ever been.  In fact, Dow Jone isn't even a person.  That's all I can tell you about the D-Jones.  Seriously, that's all I know.  If you want to know more, do some research and explain it to me!  For whatever reason I find the Dow Jones to be synonymous with adulthood.

11.  Adulthood can bring massive anxiety.  At some point or another you'll find yourself thinking to yourself: Where am I going?  What am I doing?  Will I ever be happy?  Am I where I am supposed to be?

At the risk of sounding like the Dalai Lama, after years of uncertainty and contemplation, I can answer the last aforementioned question for you - and I've found that this answer can be applied to any stage in life:

Yes.  You are right where you are supposed to be. 

I have decided that at the end of each entry I will feature a dog from the San Francisco SPCA in need of a home on the off-chance that a San Franciscan reading Toe Pick will be interested in adopting him or her or know someone who is.

Click on Shelby's name for all of her adoption information, and please forward along to anyone you think might be interested.

Meet SHELBY (drink your juice)

Hoping you're having a happy day, friends.

xo,
Nige

PS. People have asked me how the whole "giving up OJ Simpson for Lent" is going.  Well - I will tell you: it's not (as evidenced by what happened the other weekend).


PMS. People don't use diaphragms anymore.  Just FYI.