Dear Joe...

Do: Wear very festive “holiday” gear. From some reason all company execs LOVE ugly green and red sweaters with bedazzled reindeers and corny little elves. It makes you look “safe” and “nice.” Matching X-mas tree earrings optional. Don’t: Wear your “I’ve been a naughty girl this year…spank me hard” tee shirt with ripped up fishnets and red leather hooker boots. For some reason, this makes you look like a “whore.” Go figure. Do: Enjoy a nice holiday toast with upper management. A nice classy glass of wine will do. But just one. No need to fuel the already rampant rumors about your budding alcohol addiction. [Remember that time you came in drunk with the same clothes on as the day before…yes yes…and so do they.] Don’t: Take multiple “lemon drop” shots at the free bar. Don’t shout out “one more…what the fuck its free isn’t it!!!!!” as you down yet 2 more straight shots of vodka. And if you do “over do it” DO NOT throw up in front of the CEO before dinner even arrives. Make sure you can AT ...

I'm tired of all this fuck ass advice on men that keeps getting forwarded, and posted and tagged. Bunch of single women commenting with their "mmmmhmm that's right" church fan amen blessings. In real life. In real relationships. These cliche's don't matter. In real love, all the rules are broken, re-written, revised. "Boundaries" and "non-negotiables" are mixed up, crossed and ignored every day. Because real love is insane. You accept things you never thought you would. You do things you'd never thought you'd do. You think with your heart. For good, bad, or indifferent. And if you're playing by a set of rules, or if you have any "strategies" on how to get, keep, or make a man love you, then you're not using your heart in full. Love is random, wild and pure. Stop over thinking shit and just go with it. With all that being said, here is my list on what men do if they really want you. Jokingly of course. This is all a...

I lost my virginity my senior year of high school. In my mind, it was to my cute little quarterback boyfriend after prom. It was awkward and sweet and funny and we went on to go to college together and get married and have kids. In my mind. In reality I was about 180lbs, had probably 4 actual friends and a newly found obsession with the internet. I never went to my prom. I didn’t have a boyfriend. I didn’t get married or go to college. I guess, this is where it all began. Not to say I was a loser all of my high school career. I was pretty popular up until junior year. And then it just came all crashing down. Depression. Weight gain. Puberty hit me hard. I suppose in retrospect I was always very pretty. But there were two things I wasn’t. White and skinny. And those were the only two things I ever wanted to be. So in a sense, I spent most of my senior year hating myself, just for being myself. Twisted. It wasn’t just being white and skinny. It was the whole lifestyle that went with it...

Im writing todays post from the little refugee camp I've built for myself on my boyfriends bed. Using a shitty lap top, while my brand new computer sits at home untouched. Staring at pictures of his family and his clothes and his life, as my living room goes unlived in. Untouched. My life, seemingly frozen in time. Drinking Miller Lite, and eating a Veggie Burger. To watch my weight of course, which is escalating at dangerous levels. Like an obese woman ordering a Big Mac with a Diet Coke. I play these little mind games with myself. I used to get so much confidence from my work. Negotiating deals. Traveling. Meetings. Even when I had a bad day, and I would bitch, and go home and drink wine and lay on my couch, I still felt proud. Now I just lay on the couch and drink wine. The pride I get now comes from cooking a good dinner. Having good sex. Keeping a clean house. Spending hours and hours, doing my hair, make-up, buying new clothes. Just so I can trick myself into believing I'...

"Don't it always seem to go That you don't know what you've got ‘Til it's gone" - Joni Mitchell: Big Yellow Taxi "But I’ve been drinking so much That I’ma call her anyway and say “F-ck that nigga that you love so bad I know you still think about the times we had” - Drake: Marvin's Room So you've made it. Survived a horrible breakup. Fought your way through countless nights of vodka and tears, only to wake up and wash it down with greasy egg sandwiches and advil the next morning. Deep club mixes provide the soundtrack to your life. Empty flirtations and expensive cab rides of regret. You got over it. Made your girlfriends go out on endless "girl power" trips. Began dating again. Date after date after date. Always some fancy place, with some guy in a suit, talking about his careers and goals. You sitting there, figiting with your dress, trying to remember if you left your curling iron on before you left the house. You then vow...

"Pandora had a jar which she was not to open under any circumstance. Impelled by her natural curiosity, Pandora opened the jar, and all evil contained escaped and spread over the earth. She hastened to close the lid, but the whole contents of the jar had escaped, except for one thing which lay at the bottom, and that was Hope. " "What is done cannot be undone." Macbeth: Shakespeare Since the beginning of time, women have gotten a bad rap. From Adam blaming Eve for "forcing" him to bite the apple, to Pandora being blamed for all of the evil in the world, women have constantly been taking the rap for "the downfall of man." Me, being a total expert at spinning issues like a Fox News anchor, would like to pose the question: Who is more at fault? The men who create the evil, or the women who expose it? In 2011 the struggle continues. Pandora's box still exists, only now it is in the form of a handheld electrical device made by some ass...

July 4th, 2011. Independence Day. So America was all “fuck the British, we wanna do our own shit.” And they had wars and slavery and diseases and corruption and a pretty fucked up 200 or so years. So Christina was all “fuck men get money, I wanna do my own shit.” And she had evictions and restraining orders and illnesses and a pretty fucked up 30 years. When you’re young, everyone tells you, you can do whatever you want. That you don’t need anybody. You feel like you can take over the world. Or, if the world is already occupied, you can just steal it, and claim it as yours. (Word to the colonists) Because YOU ARE THE SHIT. You go through your life like this. This whole “the world is mine” attitude. Take no prisoners. You never need to actually “work out” relationship problems, because behind every Ciroc bottle being served in a dark club at 3am, there’s 50 new dudes waiting in line. You never actually need to “over-achieve” at work, because, shit, life is SHORT! Work hard, but player...

"I think you're perfect. I love everything about you." - C.S., June 21, 2011 I guess thats what every woman wants to hear right? And, I guess everyone's gonna go ahead and say the following things: A. How can you say you want love, and this guy is willing to love you,and you push it away, or B. He's such a nice guy, why can't you just give him a shot and try it out or C. You're getting too old to be picky. If this guy likes you then go for it. To which I reply to everyone, "lalalalala I can't hear you" while covering my ears and running away lol. See, thats the thing about attraction. Its like, 864% chemistry, and maybe 5% actual conscience decision. Do you know how many super nice guys I'm friends with? That would be the BEST fathers, BEST husbands,BEST partners in life? - 86. Do you know how many of them I could actually have sex with? -0 And it has nothing to do with physical appearance. Lord knows that's never been high on my list...

In my newly found "free time", I've begun going to the gym. Like regularly. And I must say, with my whole entire soul, I hate it. You walk in, with your little exercise gear on. iPod all ready to go with some fantastic playlist. Sneakers laced. Boobs being suffocated by the most inhumane contraption on Earth known as a "sports bra" (which, always, ALWAYS gives you uni-boob) and you just look around and shake your head. At any given minute, on any given day, you can find the following people at your local gym. I. Annie Anorexia: She weighs in as soon as she arrives. All 86 lbs of her. She goes super crazy Sonic the Hedgehodge speeds on the elliptical. To the point where you want to give her a hug, and tell her to slow down. Life will be ok. The machine didn't kill your mother. You don't have to punish it so. And then she jumps off and weighs herself again. And works out. And weighs herself again. And on and on ad nauseum. Until her, and her bony ass final...

dis⋅so⋅lu⋅tion [dis-uh-loo-shuhn] –noun 1. the act or process of resolving or dissolving into parts or elements. 2. the resulting state. 3. the undoing or breaking of a bond, tie, union, partnership, etc. There has been a lot of dissolution this year. A lot of loose ends being tied up. A lot of things ending,and the resulting states it leaves behind. You tend to reflect a lot when something tragic happens...In this case losing my job right after my 30th birthday. A double whammy. Ive been reflecting about the past year. Which of course, leads to the past few years, which in turn,becomes basically a rundown of your whole life. if you are like i am (which you're probably not, you're probably fucking normal) you overthink everything. You think about it so much that you have it figured out. Down to its very core matter. Until it looses all meaning. Like a scientist. Who can look at a flower and tell you its exact genus and species. Tell you why its red. ...

Sometimes you find yourself at work, and you're having a particularly bad day. Your boss may be taking out some personal issue on you. You might be having some back-stabbing co-worker trying to come after your position. Maybe some slanderous office gossip. Or maybe just that all too familiar feeling of your life and soul wasting away as you stare blankly at an Excel spreadsheet on your screen. Whatever it is,we all have that "when I leave this place" fantasy in our head. You know,that day when you finally walk around the office,tell your boss EXACTLY what's been on your mind the past few years. Perhaps give a few co-workers the finger. Or a few notes on personal hygenie or whatever you've been DYING to say. My "last day" fantasy went a little bit like this: Me walking around the office. Two Middle Fingers in the air. Doing the whole "you're cool, you're cool,you're cool, fuck you I'm out." from Half Baked. Then I would pack up m...

•More than once this week Ive heard (from men) the following: “Man, you need somebody to get him off your mind.” Or any other variation of that. I.E. -- “you just need some dick” Or, -- “ma, come hang out tonight. I’ll make you forget all about that dude.” I’m not sure why men think their penis is magical. Or somehow has healing powers that Native American Shaman would be envious of. Like my girl Tori Amos puts it, “So you can make me cum. That doesn’t make you Jesus.” Even my female friends have become extreme activists of the “Best way to get over someone, is to get under someone new” campaign. I just can’t possibly do it. Oh. I mean. I’ve done it. And done it well might I add. You dump me, and I can not ONLY rebound with someone richer, smarter, better looking, better sex, better life. BUT because I’m all angsty and bitter and anti-men, I’m usually at my BEST during these rebound relationships….if THE REBOUND was the second act of a play, I’d steal the spotlight. All in an e...

There I stood. Lost in a sea of button down shirts, with bedazzled crosses on the back, and dresses that I swear my 6 year old couldn’t even smuggle her goodies into. I was in the heart of Jersey. The deep down dirty beat thumping dance floor at Mur Mur in Atlantic City. My vision was blurry from the fog machine and the blinking “hey lets fuck with the high people” strobe lights. My nose irritated from the smell of Axe body spray and that unmistakable stench of attention whoreness. To the left of me was a very inebriated man, with an iphone, and a screen shot of him with The Situation. Apparently he was on one of the episodes of the Jersey Shore. This was his pick up line by the way. There was no “can I buy you a drink.” No, “my name is John. Or Mikey. Or whatever.” No. His line was “Hey do you watch the Jersey Shore?” (thrusts screen shot in my face) “Boom!! That’s me and The Situation.” This is your greatest achievement in life? This is what you’re leading with? Sir. Sir. Sir. Sit do...

Relationships are like a novel by your favorite author. You know their writing style. You like them. You’re instantly attracted to the cover. To the story. You start out fresh on the crisp first page…all with interest and intrigue and your 100% undivided attention. Glass of wine. Even turning off the TV to sit down and read. Just you and your book. You carry it around in your purse with love and honor. And then around page…26ish…you start to get a little bored. Your attention begins to drift. You sometimes forget to even pick the book up. It just lays neglected on the coffee table while you watch some brainless reality show. So then you loose your page. You try to figure out where you left off…skipping boring passages…skipping whole chapters altogether…just to “hurry up and get to the end.” You get to read all about your characters action packed adventures. All the fluffy sex scenes. All the violent fights. All the drama. But you never really connected with who that character was….bec...

Inspired by a recent trip to the park, where I ran across a woman named Pam, I thought to myself…how much of our names really define who we become in life? For example. Quintessential trailer park names. ::I always felt sorry for women named Pam. They all seem to have that hard living struggle face. All worn out and dried up by Marlboros and domestic violence. See Also: Carol. Loretta. Leann. Beth. Maggie. Eats a Big Mac in a parking lot and washes it down with a Diet Coke names. ::Claire. Dorris. Donna. Shelby. Brenda. Lois. But mainly Nancy. I have never met anyone named Nancy that was less 345lbs. Anyone named Nancy looks like they can push Ford Explorers down pot-hole streets with one hand, and washes down Ham and Cheese sandwiches with a water bottle full of melted butter. Will have sex with your boyfriend in the bathroom while you’re all out to dinner names: ::Ashley. Lindsay. Becca. Angel. Nikki. Tasha. Lexi. Anyone named after a car, or a liquor. Extra points if its spelled “in...

People who need to be waterboarded I. The overly happy co-worker who asks “how you weekend was” with a huge grin first thing Monday morning, as you stumble towards the coffee maker. B*tch is my cup empty? Is it 8am? Fall all the way back. How are these people waking up so happy? Sex? Burbon? Anti-depressants? I need answers white America. II. People who answer the phone “yellow” without being the least bit ironic. Like, they seriously answer the phone that way. Because, that’s how they talk. III. People who pull out in front of you, and then proceed to go 36 mph. Are you kidding me Tokyo Drift? You were all in a hurry to cut me off and now you’re not even GOING the speed limit? IV. Keeping on the subject of asshole drivers, people that pass you by going 186 mph only to have to slam on their brakes at the SAME red light you are at. Again, I ask, really sir? This is not the Indy 500. This is a small highway in a suburbs with red lights. Calm it down. V. People named Mercedes. Porcha. ...

Theres no such thing as a dumb question. Only annoying, pointless, usually slurred next to me while standing at a bar waiting for a drink questions. So. I thought I’d go ahead and answer them now. Please bookmark this blog in case you ever meet me one day and I walk away from you smiling with none of your questions answered. 1. What are you? A woman. Pretty complicated. Some daddy issues I would imagine. Music enthusiast. Obsessed with fashion. Oh? You meant my RACE? Well if you want to know my RACE then ask me what my ethnic background is. Or just my ethnicity. Or something creative, like “you have a very exotic look, I cant quite figure out what race you are.” NOT “yo what are you.” See Also: “you whatchu mixed wit cuz I know you aint white.” 2. What do you do for fun? Spelunking. Dumpster diving. Drive-bys. I mean really? Could that question be any broader? Ole generic just sayin shit to hear yourself speak ass. Put some creativity into it! 3. Why are you still single? Im appar...

I thought id blog today in honor of Steak and a Blow Job day. The official “men’s” holiday. Well, let me rephrase that, I “thought” id be participating in the festivities of today, but since I am not, I’m blogging. There’s much talk as to how all you need to do to keep a man happy is to keep him “full and fucked”. My mother and father have been married 30 years, and every single night he comes home to a hot meal (yes my mom works). I imagine its been that way since they met. They also still enjoy an active sex life (don’t ask. Lets just say, the day you find out your mom is a “screamer” is a day you’ll spend the rest of your life drinking to try and forget) From friends, to family members, to relationship “experts”, to men themselves, theres a big emphasis put on being skilled in the bedroom and kitchen. Since I was 18 years old I’ve been trying to excel at both. Consistently going into each new relationship with an arsenal of recipe’s and porn, I am bright eyed and willing to please t...

So. I’m watching Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. On a very large high def television. It was the scariest thing I’ve ever witnessed in my life. It was just truly frightening. A horror of which Amityville could never imagine. It was also one of the saddest things I’ve ever been subjected to. Each and every line on their face, covered in about 86 lbs of foundation. Liver spots highlighted and on display. Scars. Bumps. Wrinkly hands decorated with big cocktail rings and fake nails perfectly polished. Every single botox injection point. The years and years of nips and tucks and pulling and stretching and injecting. Until they barely looked human. Until the one housewives lips, literally looked like they were going to fall right off of her face. Right there. On the floor. On live t.v. I was on pins and needles waiting for it. Once I tried to burn all my Barbie’s in my “feminists of the world united” bon fire in my backyard. The result was pretty much what I saw on tv last night. Synthetic...

I miss the simple days of love. Where you met. You married. You had children. There were still the same problems. Alcoholism. Infidelity. Domestic Abuse. Recession. Death. Taxes. But it was all veiled behind fabulous elbow length gloves, and low-tipped fedoras. No one really knew what was going on in your home. No one dared question you about your husband. Or your children. Those were private intimate things. For better or worse that’s just how it was. Today we have the absolute extreme opposite. And just as damaging as it is to live behind veils and lies, its equally damaging to be too open. Too exposed. Too naked. This is the struggle I have within myself constantly. How to keep pieces of myself private and protected. But also allow myself the comfort and personal freedom that comes with being totally open and honest about my life. Its very easy to “put it all out there.” Between twitter and facebook. Foursquare. .Tagged photos. Comments. Replies. Innuendos. You can pretty much expos...