Due to my mom’s hatred for wild and ruthless confrontation, she never exposed me to the toothless sport of hockey. The one time I attempted to watch it, I experienced so much trouble following the puck on our 32” rounded screen TV, I gave up instantly and turned on another competitive activity, Iron Chef.
. . . → Read More: One Girl, One Cup
My rocket scientist father and my social worker mother produced me, a rocket brain social idiot. People could blame it on “middle child” syndrome or the fact that I ride on the cusp of Leo/Virgo, but judging on predisposed factors isn’t fair, right? Until a quick Google search . . . → Read More: Once Upon a Dangerous Mind
Four of my friends planned their owns deaths. Two of which acted as my mentors, encouraging me to be the best I can be, to follow my dreams and to live to my fullest potential. The irony alone could kill me.
The certainty of death has slapped me across the face and the gross . . . → Read More: Til Death Do I Part…
When famous people croak, we unite and praise the person’s life. When normal people croak, we do the same thing, but it’s not a worldwide congregation of condolences, because why would it be? The world doesn’t know about Joe Shmoe. The world, however, knows about famous people. They entertain our lives and inspire us . . . → Read More: So Emotional
I am a lady, a lovely lady. I wear makeup, get pedicures, own a closet full of heels, cook, clean, giggle, flip my hair and sit with my legs crossed and my posture poised and dignified. Here’s a real life picture of me:
My mother grew up in a family full of sports . . . → Read More: Shush!! The Game is On..
Six months ago, I became entangled with Twitter because my line of work demanded it. Prior to immersing myself in the reckless cascade of mandatorily concise zingers, I’d stalked the world for 2,000-word story ideas, hoping to appease minds with my self-deprecating tales. Now, thanks to Twitter, I diligently observe every human flaw, pop . . . → Read More: Twitter’s for the Birds
My life as a single lady has reached the 3 1/2 year mark and I am currently not putting forth any effort to change that. You won’t find me on dating websites (Twitter exempt). I live and work in West Hollywood (I’m straight). And I spend most of my free time inside my apartment . . . → Read More: Literary Matchmakers
One year has passed since the declaration that I am a shadow boxer who frequents a corner bar named Jones, wondering if the man who after sending me drinks from across the way will politely follow through on a promise to take me to Mozza for dinner after wistfully discussing football and my talent . . . → Read More: Young at Heart…still
A large group of friends wines and dines in merriment for a birthday, new job, a recent break up (let’s face it, most of them deserve celebrating), or a night of karaoke. Everyone in jolly demeanor begins ordering, and two hours later, the booze is guzzled and every crumb served to the table . . . → Read More: Whine and Dine
I used to kiss five posters of JTT (Jonathon Taylor Thomas) every night before flicking the light switch on and off ten times, blinking 20 times at the clock before praying, wiggling my toes, toe-by-toe, until each one had its turn, and then finally closing my eyes and dreaming about him.
This . . . → Read More: Thank you, Thank you, Thank you, Blink