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.