Dear Joe...

I'm done with the LOL. It's dead to me. The LOL is the biggest lie ever created on the internet. A bigger lie than those emails from your "cousin" in Africa who happens to be a king,and passed away and would like to send you a million dollars, if you kindly send your SS # and bank account information naturally..so the money can be deposited. Bigger lie than eHarmony claiming they can find your true love in 6 months (they couldn't even find one match for me lol). Bigger lie than all those penis enlargement ads, free diet pill gimmicks, and real estate schemes to buy acres of land in the Florida swamplands. LOL sucks for two reasons. 1. Nobody laughs that fucking much. I dont care if you're Tom fucking Cruise. And you're all smiles and grins and high off of those Scientology Cosmo's laced with coke. You don't laugh out loud ALL DAY LONG. After EVERY sentence. I'm the biggest abuser of the "lol" so I'm saying this, while also yelling...

This is a public service announcement. Brought to you by the makers of Christina, and Christina's heart. Supplying the world with pure joy since 1981. When I get ready to go out there are a few things that happen. Step One is usually digging through my closet, desperately trying to find an outfit that makes me look: smart, skinny yet big-bootied, sexy but not slutty, stylish but not trendy, approachable but not accessible. It's too much. THen comes the hair. 180 degree heat to straighten it. Resulting in horrible burns when the iron slips. Dry split ends. Bathroom smellin like burnt hair. Perfume..make-up... drinks. drinks drinks drinks. Because everything looks better in my mirror after at least 3 grey goose and cranberrys. i go out. I see everyone else who went through the same exact steps. Looking fabulous. Putting their best foot forward. It's easy to be amazing for one night. It's easy to be that girl who's happy. Who flirts just enough, smiles just enough. Lau...

Halloween is fast approaching. Once again I'm stuck in the same dilemma. What costume to buy. I don't understand why every costume for women has to be "hooker." Instead of the actual word "hooker" they use "sexy". "sexy nurse." "sexy french maid" "sexy firefighter." "sexy police woman" Have you seen NYPD uniforms? There is NOTHING fucking sexy about them. They do not include fishnets. And the handcuffs and gun and riot sticks are not pink and furry and covered in lace. So then you go to a club in your hooker schoolgirl/milkmaid/devil costume, and the mayhem begins. First of all, [and not just on Halloween but in general] what is up with white women getting all bi-sexual when they get drunk? I'll never get that. In order to get a man's attention are you really willing to resort to grinding up on your best friends ass. Do you really think said man, will appreciate a long lasting meaningful relationship...

I've been having these ridiculously scary dreams lately. I wake up in a cold sweat, usually around 3 am, and immediately race to consult my "dream book"...which is this torn up ancient ass book I stole from my grandma years ago. It's so old that the type on the pages are starting to smudge together. All the dreams have the same theme. They're all about "loosing my identity". Or "battling against falsehood." Lots of masks, robberies, and beheadings. It's really fascinating stuff. I consulted my doctor. I thought for sure I'd be able to get some prescription sleeping pills out of the deal at least. He advised me that the nightmares are coming from stress and anxiety, and that the pills would only add to that. And to not drink alcohol before bed. And to meditate and exercise and shit. Which to me is the biggest Catch-22 i ever heard of. I'm stressed, so I drink and worry. I get nightmares from the stress. So I can't sleep. So I...

I fell asleep after ingesting: 36 chicken nuggets, 2.5 liters of white wine that was consumed out of a box,with a nifty little keg spout, one random blue pill, and the amount of tar used to pave small roads in New Hampshire via Newports. I awoke, ingested some caffine to coat my stomach and hit the road to visit my brother up at UConn. No make up. Plaid shirt. Ponytail. Huge hungover sunglasses, (because a fabulous pair of sunglasses makes up for all other wardrobe failures) and hit the road with my best friend (in heels and D&G of course) and my daughter. In a matching plaid shirt and leggings. Because in my mind we're the same age. Both 16 lol. (I averaged her 5 with my eternal 26) We arrive in Storrs Connecticut in a whirlwind of culture shock. My ever blackening lungs almost collapsed under the weight of fresh farm air, and healthy cow poop aromas. My brother, aka "The Golden Boy" (who, amongst other things, is on the boxing team, the anchor of the campus news sta...

So I'm at a family BBQ. End of summer. Sitting with my aunts and uncles. No one under the age of 70. And I look around in amazement at the lives that are around me. Just the pure LIFE. I mean, these are people who have lived through wars. Plural. Depressions, endless political administrations. Decades upon decades of music, fashion, technology, and of course love. Endless love. Love affairs, unrequited love, lost love, regretful love, all the kinds of love on this earth. And in the corner of the balcony stood my Aunt Brownie. 78 years old. Never married. Lives in Vegas. She was wearing leopard print heels, and taking swigs of some kind of ginger brandy out of a flask. And yes I know it sounds like a character in a novel, but this is a real life person. And me, somewhat buzzed off of the 86 miller lites my family mistakenly thinks is the grand puba of all beers, I ask her the question I've been meaning to ask her my whole life. "Why were you never married. Aren't you lo...