Category Archives: let’s just talk from our hearts

Boobs.

keyboard catMy cat Obo 

So I’m watching Whitney (yeah, so what, I watch Whitney sometimes, the parts with Whitney are funny, the part with her friends not so much) and the episode is about her wearing fake boobs and how her boyfriend reacts. The episode is also about her friends being annoying and stupid but again, the interesting part is about Whitney. So Whitney wears this bra that makes her A cup a double D. And considering that Whitney is already so thin and tall and pretty, this makes her look like even more of a model, but I don’t think we’re supposed to think that way. I think we’re supposed to see Whitney as an avergae modern day gal, like a foul mouthed Mary Tyler Moore for the twitter era.

P.S. Whitney.

So anyway Whitney now has big fake boobs and this intrigues her boyfriend. And Whitney is insulted because he says that when she wears them, it’s like he “gets to be with someone else.” Our dear heroine Whitney says something like, “Why can’t you accept me for who I am?” and “Admit it, you wish I had bigger boobs” and earlier in the episode when she first gets the bra she says, “Why does everyone hate women?” which I thought was a really great line. Her boyfriend retaliates that she wishes he were different too, like why can’t he be more like Don Draper? Because she likes Mad Men and talks about Jon Hamm a lot.

The point of the episode was, if we could change our partners, would we? Or do we like them for who they are, flawed and all? And also, do women need to have big boobs?

I’m at the point where I’m happy with my boobs, even though they’re Whitney sized. It’s all about the quest for abs anyway. I’ve heard from lots of guys (and not from me asking, just from life) that they don’t really care about the size of the boobs they just care about boobs in general. Boobs are great!

P.S. Boobs.

Anyway, using this show as an example, at what point did Whitney’s boyfriend realize, “Oh wait, my girlfriend has small boobs” and decide it wasn’t a big deal? In between the time when you started dating your sig other and the time when you became a long term item, when do you come to terms with something and accept it or decide that it needs to be changed or you’re done?

And no, this isn’t based on me or anything going on in my life. This is all Whitney.

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Life is weird.

Oh hay just posing at a fast food BBQ joint, no big deal. Instagram @apocalypstick

This going to sound like the musings of an incredibly stoned person, who is in bed eating Trader Joe’s snack mix while watching “Breaking Bad” but having to constantly rewind because they’re ironically too high to understand it, but I swear I am not stoned. Currently.

Life is so very weird. For example, I now both drink and enjoy iced coffee. You get what I’m saying? Big news. Life is weird, it’s like, one minute you’re the hottest bestest newest thing and the next minute you’re fat and bald and starring in a remake of The Taking of Pelham 1 2 3. You know? The weird thing about life is that things don’t seem to change day by day. You wake up and think, I have to do this same stuff again. But when you think really far back, there was a time when you weren’t doing that stuff. Somehow everything changed. And look at your friends, what are they up to? One minute they’re there, the next minute they’re gone, or sick, or incredibly famous. Usually all three, if you live in LA. Life is weird.

A lot has changed for me within the past year. A complete turn around. I even look different physically, in that I have never looked more like Mick Jagger in my life. And my stomach is constantly upset. I think it’s because beneath my skin is a fine layer of stress. Someone suggested I meditate. Sit in a chair and set a timer for 10 minutes and just sit there and breathe. I’m sorry, sir, but no. I can’t sit in a chair for 10 minutes and do nothing. I’ll just be thinking about the timer going off. I’ll start with one minute. Even that seems really hard. Heating up Hot Pockets in the microwaves seems to take hours.

I should eat less Hot Pockets.

I just want to know what’s going to happen. Where will I be next year? Actually, no, that’s too far ahead. Where will I be next month? Can someone spoiler alert my life? I don’t have time for this shit. I don’t want the journey, I want the destination. Fuck the journey, the journey sucks. No one on the Oregon Trail was like, “This is so awesome how we’re running out of food and dying of dysentery, it’s all gonna go downhill once we get there.”

Kids, help.

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Well, how did I get here?

pinterest quote

I am so sorry I haven’t updated in a while. A week ago I asked you to submit suggestions on what I should blog about next. Then based on those suggestions I asked you to vote on your favorite.

You assholes voted for me to discuss my thoughts on the movie Twins. I haven’t seen Twins and I haven’t gotten around to it yet. So this post will not be about the movie Twins.

P.S. Twins.

More P.S. I say “assholes” lovingly.

I haven’t gotten around to watching Twins or updating my blog because I have been busy and overwhelmed. It’s mostly great that I’m so busy but it’s also a little frightening. I’m trying to get used to an entirely new schedule and squeezing myself into it. By the time I get home from work (after sitting in traffic for two hours, no lies no fries) I am exhausted. I eat (poorly), exercise (sometimes) and basically go to bed. I want to do so much more! But my body and my brain check out. Sometimes I am able to cook dinner when I get home. Sometimes I shove a hot pocket into my mouth instead. But I do microwave it first, I am classy with limits.

I love my job. I love my blog. I love the other blogs and magazine I write for. I really do! But sometimes I just want to run away and don’t ever look back, don’t ever look back. I asked my boyfriend to come with me and he said he was too lazy. I asked my friend Josh and he said he couldn’t because his skin tight jeans were at the cleaner’s. Then I basically ran out of people to ask.

How do people do it? How do they balance everything? How did I get here? This is not my beautiful house. This is not my beautiful wife. It’s more like, this is a shed and this is an ugly, ugly woman who wears leggings as pants. And I am letting the days go by. Same as it ever was. Same as it ever was. Same. As. It. Ever was. I guess what I’m trying to say, is, it’s the same as it ever was. But it also isn’t.

And why the hell do I have an ad for paper towels on my blog? (Anyone with a cute Etsy store want to advertise on my blog?)

Please. Help me. What do you do when you get overwhelmed?

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We’re adults. When did that happen? And how do we make it stop?

Picture of me taken 600 years ago at MoMA by Julia Gazdag.

I wrote something for Hello Giggles that will be out tomorrow/in a few days called “Top ten ways to tell you’re an adult.” (Oh hay in the mean time check out the other things I’ve written for Hello Giggles, and it will open in a window so you can read it right after this, don’t even worry about it, friend.) It made me think a lot. I don’t usually think a lot, it’s easier to just do stuff and then apologize. (<– just tweeted the fuck out of this.) I had to really think about how I’ve changed in the last few years and the whole process was so meaningful and inspiring, like a tampon commercial. It wasn’t as sad as I thought it would be. I say sad because recently I turned into someone who cares about their age and I hate it. I blame everything and everyone but myself. So sometimes looking back can be a little frightening.

Do adults feel like adults, ever? Will I reach a point where I look down and think, “I just balanced the shit out of that checkbook.” I really don’t want to. I like buying things and occasionally checking what’s up with my money, and hoping it all works out. I like to do stupid guff that makes me feel like a kid.

Guys I am Tom Hanksing the fuck out of this situation. You know, Big. I don’t mean that I am a little kid named Josh trapped in a boyishly good looking 30 something man. But close! I am little Uncle Almie with her long messy tangled fringed hair under a Mickey Mouse cap stuck in grown Almie’s body. Unfortunately, it’s not cute for me to act like this. I’ve reached the age where it is not acceptable to act like I don’t know how to act like an adult. Indoor voices. And I’m too old to pretend that I don’t know better.

And that’s how I know I’m an adult.

When and how did you realize you were an adult?

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What is love? (Baby don’t hurt me.)

Magnificent t-shirt given to me by Moody Twin. I love this shirt. There’s nothing blatantly sexy about it, as in, there’s no nudity but I would never wear this to work.

How is everybody doing with their resolutions to be better selves? Remember, you can start NOW. Feel healthy and good on New Year’s Eve, not the week after! I am failing sort of miserably. I’m gonna go all Gwyneth next week and juice fast my life. My diet has been candy, cookies, and melted cheese. Totally delicious but my body is really mad at me. I’m tired all the time, even after a good night’s sleep.

I have to treat my stupid body better. Be better at being better. Is good? Yes, is good.

Love is treating yourself well. It’s about more than accepting who you are. It’s about embracing it and celebrating it. That’s real love. Then when you can do that you can love other people. If you can’t love other people, try cats first. Cats are great because they’re like little people but they can’t argue with you and they’re nice and soft.

Love IS having to say you’re sorry.

LOVE IS MAKING A NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTION AND ACTUALLY STICKING TO IT.

People love to ask, “How do you know if you’re in love?” If you have to ask, then you’re not. It’s not like, “do I have to sneeze?” where the answer is uncertain. There is an actual clear answer here.

And I just realized that while I have categories on this blog for “relationships” and “dating” and even “sex” I don’t have one for love. Does that mean something?

~~What is love to you, you guys? ~~ ***~~***

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How I met my boyfriend on Google+.

This isn’t me and my boyfriend but you can totally pretend it is, I’m fine with that.

Google+ is great for posting stuff that you’re too embarrassed to post on twitter and facebook, since no one uses it. What is the sound of one hand clapping? Google+. Where do good statuses go to die? Google+. Where’s the best place to hide a dead body? Google+. And so forth.

So who would have ever thought that Google+ would help me find my boyfriend? Most people don’t even know what Google+ is. I explain that it’s like Facebook if no one used Facebook. You connect with people, post statuses, and you would use it to procrastinate if it weren’t so horribly boring.

But that’s not important right now.

My friend posted a status of a ridiculous iphone cover that looked like real sushi. I wrote about it on Hello Giggles, but that’s not what this story is about. And now I’m hungry. Why does everything bad happen to me? Anyway. He posted this photo of this sushi phone and I commented on how awesome it was and then found other awesome things on that website and posted those on his Google…circle…wall…whatever, as well.

Then a message from someone else popped up. Because Google+ is as dead as any graveyard, the bones of interactions past still remain. Here is exactly what I saw:

“Is this the Almie that went to Emerson for a little while back in ’03? I think I may know you.”

Rather than say something like, “No you must be thinking of another Almie who went to Emerson in ’03” I decided not to be a sarcastic jerk for once and responded that yes, it is the same Almie:

“You’l [sic] have to forgive me, my time at Emerson is a blur. Did we have the same classes or something?

 Fucking suave, Uncle Almie.

I want to add that my time at Emerson was very brief and very blurry. I was going through a serious depression at the time. We’re talking Kirsten Dunst, can’t bathe for herself, “It tastes like ashes” Melancholia depressed. I was there for one semester. I did manage to be pretty involved in the community. I auditioned for and got one of the two newscaster roles for the SNL Weekend Update type show EVVY Update to be aired on the Emerson school channel. We would report on what students were doing for the EVVYs which was some kind of student run award show for students and I don’t remember what EVVYs stand for or what we actually did but I do remember that Chloe’s dad was kind enough to film a “Congrats to the EVVY winners!” clip for the show, that I’m wondering if they ever used, and Chloe’s dad has a secret bathroom in his office, where the bathroom door looks like a wall and you don’t know it’s a door until he presses it in and then you’re like, “Holy shit, Chloe’s dad is Batman.”

But that’s not important right now.

I also managed to get on the writing staff of the comedy magazine. It was here that I met my friend Dave Horwitz — but I don’t remember us being friends at all. Years later we connected back in LA (via MySpace, MY LIFE IS THE INTERNET) and he told me, “Don’t you remember me? We were on the comedy magazine together.”

I blinked.

“…We sat next to each other every week.”

Blink.

“I saw you doodling pigs wearing top hats.”

“Oh yeah!! I remember those!”

My point is, I sat next to this guy every week for months and I didn’t remember him at all. This is important to the story. The story of how I met my boyfriend on Google+ not how I met Dave Horwitz on MySpace. That’s a good story too, but I kind of just told it. Oops.

So. My future boyfriend just told me that he remembered me from Emerson and I told him, basically, “Who the fuck are you?” [“Did we have classes together?”] He said:

“I don’t think so, actually. I think it was even vaguer than that. Like we were both commuter students and met at a commuter event or something maybe…”

I wasn’t a commuter student. Like, not even close. I decided it was time to kick this shit into full gear. It was time to take this to Facebook.

I contacted him on facebook and we exchanged flirty messages back and forth, the kind where I would be giddy to see that little “1” in my inbox and I would ask my friend Katie, “How should I respond??” and she would say something and I would ignore it and then do whatever I wanted.

So we arranged to meet. We met at a trendy wine bar on the border of Los Feliz/Silver Lake/Narnia where the bartenders had old timey barbershop quartet mustaches and the patrons were loud and recorded themselves having fun on their iphones. We had a wonderful first date, and I will tell this story at some point, if anyone cares.

A few dates later, he confessed that we had indeed met before. We’ve since determined that it was likely outside a showing of “Lost In Translation” near my dorm. Apparently, we stopped to chat and we even exchanged numbers. And I don’t remember this. By the time he called me, I had already dropped out and moved back to LA, which I told him on a message I left him. And again, I don’t remember any of this. But through the magic of the internet, we found each other again.

Aw you guys, right??

So without Google+ I never would have (re?) met this great guy. Thus, I can never leave Google+. I will go down with this ship.

How did you meet your sig other? Do you believe in fate?

Boom.

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WORST DATES EVER.

finger monster toyphoto by me.

I asked you for your best dates, now I have your worst. I made the list a lot shorter this time, because I want you to add your own worst date story in the comments! So tell me: what’s your worst date? I posted some here that really tickled my fancy:

“He said he hadn’t showered in a week and wore a Blockbuster uniform. He worked there over 3 years before and this shirt was still in his wardrobe. Clearly he did not care about me or this date. I told him to drive me home.” — Anon

“I met him on OKCupid, and he seemed normal enough. We decided to meet for coffee at the cafe where I work. Ten minutes in, he tells me that he recently bought a fleshlight and his parents are afraid he doesn’t respect women.” — Sarah.

 “I brought a girl home to meet my parents at Thanksgiving. She wore an all-red outfit, including elbow length red gloves and bright red lipstick, drank too many whiskey sours, then hit on my father in front of my entire family.” — Anon.

“Accidental date with this dude. It was so awful and pathetic that I 911’d the BFF. She showed up at the restaurant having a full blown anxiety attack over getting TAN HANDS from the spray-tan booth. She also ate the rest of his food. Best ending to worst date ever.” — “camahaffey”

These made me giggle stupendously. Your turn!

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