Dear Joe...

It's not so much that I'm heartbroken. Let's end that dramatic phrase right now. "oh God my heart has broken. Poor me." No sweetness. My heart started cracking in like '99...when my boyfriend got us evicted and I had to live in a motel. And eat from the hot dog cart outside everyday. And pretend my life was normal. And go to work like I didnt just shower in front of 3 weird Russian immigrants who were staying on the same floor as us. My heart continued to crack in the following years. Through domestic abuse. An abortion. (funny story actually. i got kicked out the abortion clinic after the "procedure" was over, because my boyfriend at the time decided that he would pee in the garbage can in the waiting room because they wouldn't let him use the bathroom. Yes. These were the type of men I surrounded myself with.) Breaking breaking, through the years of living in Brooklyn. Getting involved with "producers","rappers", "hustl...

Let me just preface this by saying, I don't want to wear a burka. Especially seeing how summer has kicked off with a nice humid sweaty swamp ass of a day today. I appreciate my freedom to wear a dress, and have a little cleavage. But, as I look at other women walking in to work today, I am beginning to start to sympathize with the concept of the burka a little bit more. I remember reading a story about how Joe DiMaggio was completely enraged when Marilyn's infamous "skirt blowing up" scene was being filmed. How he kept storming off the set, because over 2,000 fans came to watch the scene. He hated that so many other people were seeing her body. In fact, her consistent roles of just the "sex pot" is one of the major reasons they divorced. Today walking down 52nd and Lexington where that exact scene was filmed, you could literally see someone wearing nothing but a halter top and booty shorts, and no one would look twice. All kinds of stretch marks, faded ...

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...