A Year of Luvin' and a Lot of Kiwi!

2010...What can I say about the year?

I decided if I was going to wake up and smell the roses, I might as well see the joy I'd be smelling so I went under the laser and corrected my batty blindness for good. I ran my first marathon and figured out I can seriously do whatever the heck I put my mind too. I grabbed a groovy guy named Jersey and got my very first real big kid relationship. I finished a significant edit on my book and walked the plank--submitting my baby to literary agents around the country in hopes of getting a bite. I got two nibbles and I'm now waiting for one of those two precious people to take a big ole bite out of it and say welcome home Tishy Pooh.

I traveled to Chicago for a Fit Bottomed Girl/Nike event and met even more lovely people who inspire, educate and entertain the stuffins out of me. To meet men and women who travel the world writing what they're passionate about...well it's enough to keep stars in my eyes and push my pen even further. Jersey and I hosted our first adult party which we so eloquently named "The Living in Sin Party" and officially announced to the world we're loony...living in luuuv.

I became a Spartan and gained a sister in a gal who was willing to stay behind and keep me from collapsing into a pool of fowl smelling ice cold water. I met Jay Leno, too!

...And of course I came up with two lovely characters for my blog that brought a new umph to my level of goofiness and crass. Luv and Kiwi are my children and make blogging even more delightful.

Basically, I had a darn tootin' good year!

I have mad beautifully crazy plans for 2011...I shall call it my top seven in 2011:
  1. I want to read books that captivate--and toss the ones that bore. No more fighting it until the end of the last dismal page!
  2. I will remember to have fun while working out. I spent a good part of 2010 pushing my body to its limits...which explains why I've had a terrible cold for over a month now. 
  3. I will keep pushing on with my book. I know in my heart I've written something special and I can't WAIT to see my baby chillin on a Barnes and Noble bookshelf.  
  4. I will visit my kid sis in S. Korea and see some of the world.  
  5. I plan to shimmy up some hype for my blog...More readers is the name of the 2011 game! I also plan to continue writing for the FBGs. Yeah for raises and lovely bosses!  
  6. I will try to be more active on the acting front--starting with a photo shoot for new commercial head shots on January 22nd.
  7. I'm going to do a better job at finding art for the apartment, too. It makes me happy. I really should either create the darn stuff or start keeping an eye open for the visual pitter pats.
The rest of the stuff...being good to myself, making sure to do something sweet for myself, yadda yadda well I know right now I'll forget that ish and you'll find me whining about something so I'm not gonna go there. NOPE! Not gonna do it!

I'm the most pessimistically optimistic person you'll ever meet.

Can't wait to see what's in store for 2011...


Favorite moments of Christmas:

Opening up the gift J sent me. There was a perfect little silver box with a note that read, "May the words off of this pen be inspirational, poignant-and crass!"...Then I opened the perfect little silver box and there sat a perfect silver pen...Author Tish Merritt engraved on the lid. I swooned.

Watching Jersey freak out over the pimpalicious bounty he received.

Hearing my dad burst out into tears from laughing too hard...Play the game Bananagrams. It's a hoot.

The first time I put my lovely cinnamon bag around my shoulder. I have named it Marc after its maker.

Getting twisted the night before Christmas off of Goldschlager shots...At one point I almost put laundry detergent in the dishwasher. Sad...

Having my mom in the kitchen with me helping me with the feast I mostly prepared (wink)

It was a deliciously naughty Christmas filled with crass, hilarious conversations and lots and lots of fam bam time. Thank goodness I have the rest of the week (basically) off to recover from the debauchery!

Our First Christmas Sentiments

For our first Christmas together Jersey and I decided to do what we do best...well what I do best--we went buck buck naughty on the Christmas card.

Only a select few with strong stomachs received this beautiful card, made possible by a delightful designer pal of mine, Queen B Designs. This chick has won awards for her totally awesome, clean and oh-so-fresh designs and so it was only right that I approach her and ask her to partake in my naughty visions. (That sounded so wrong.)

She was a dear and totally found something based off of my weird directions for her. I told her to read my blog to get a good sense of my crass, sometimes inappropriate ish...incorporate my our gangsta charm and VOILÁ! she gave us this:

hee hee...

Christmas 2010

Christmas kicked my butt this year...

I seriously have new found respect for my darling little mom...

Cooking breaks down the human body into lumps of pain...

I got so tipsy Christmas eve night, I almost put laundry detergent in my dishwasher. Sigh...

If my mom wouldn't have checked the turkey for me, we would have all died of food poisoning...

I woke up on Christmas morning, cleaned my little heart out, flipped my brining turkey named Big Bird and began prepping food and planning oven/stove times. For something like six hours I cooked and slaved in that kitchen. I'm pretty sure I was humming slaves' hymns by the time the stuffing was done.

I didn't have matching dishes...The turkey wasn't ready so we had wasabi mashed potatoes, apple pecan stuffing, green beans and meatloaf. (A Jesus birthday banana dessert pie later). It wasn't traditional needless to say.

I'm one of those weirdlings who try to be the hostest with the mostest, but I failed miserably. Luckily my family and boo rock so everything was still lovely. We opened up gifts, laughing and screaming over all the thoughtfulness floating around in the room. It 'twas cool.

I did NOT get to watch A Christmas Story because we don't have the dang station anymore. (Definitely reminded this Christmas that we don't have much money and we're really like that cute little quintessential 'struggling' couple.) We're kind of like Claire and Frank from Scrooged...Charlie Brown tree...a million wishes and dreams...yadda yadda yadda.

My favorite part of the day? Watching the guy open his gifts...his face lit up like a Christmas tree.

It ain't over yet, though! My parents are still in town. I plan to do some more holiday damage with them. Still have friend's gifts to give and all. Don't you hate it when Christmas day ends and people just stop? You see nothing of that lovely spirit left...I REFUSE to let it go!

Merry Christmas luvs!

This Year it's the USPS...

Last year I was punished by the UPS gods...This year the United States Postal Service has committed the most heinous crimes against my heart. They have lost one of my bestie's gifts and allowed someone to steal the other bestie's gift from my front door.

So now the two besties both are missing their gifts that I carefully and meticulously picked out. Sigh...

My heart hurts. I take such pride in my gift giving abilities. It's seriously my favorite part of Christmas. Watching someone get something wonderful that makes them light up like a friggin' Christmas tree.

If I could, I'd stick a tree topper off the post office dingledork's ass that messed up this part of my Christmas joy.

Let us hope and pray I eat my mean words and in the end J is calling me on Christmas day to tell me she's opened my gift. As for B...I already know hers will be late because they have to resend it...This time I demanded they make sure the gift is in my hands when it's delivered.

Live and learn...

Black Swan

No spoiler alert necessary folks...You can calm down...drop the red hot pokers that you were about to jab in your eyeballs. Jeez, mon!

Without giving away a darn lick of this movie I can honestly say that was THE most disturbing, yet captivating, visceral, emotional, crazy movie I have ever watched in my life. I realize it's intense and brilliant and great because you seriously are glued to the screen the entire time, but the audience as a whole was screaming, moaning, and shielding our poor sensibilities from that awful world the main character creates for herself.

My sister's head was permanently embedded into Jersey's chest. B's into mine...It was just a hot Oscar mess...That's all I can say.

Oh! And Natalie P. and Mila are both hot as heck.

...And probably Natalie's best work to date! I wanted to hug her after her last scene and then force her into working with me on some amazing next film.

The Gifts Speak...

A month or so ago I posted a simple question on a community chat board...That question (What are you asking Santa to bring for Christmas) had oodles of folks replying with vigor.

What one wants for Christmas speaks volumes about a person. Like for instance, I have a friend who wants nail polish. At face value this seems like a basic simple gift, but if you were to dig a little deeper you'd find out that she stopped biting her nails...something she's done for years...and she was able to stop because she's probably not stressing herself to pieces like she once did. She's coming into some new peace of mind.

I asked for two extraordinary gifts that cost more than I'm used to asking folks for, but I've finally found someone who I can be honest with. No more people pleasing and down playing my heart's little joy builders. If he doesn't get it, I won't be sad by any means, but the fact I could put diamond earrings on a list is a BFD! (Word to your mother!)

I think it's a fun thing to go over before the holiday hits us. Look back at what you asked for this Christmas and see what it says about sweet little you...

PS. If you're asking for a knife to stab his stupid ass I shall pray for you.

A Gentlewoman

The other day I was perusing my daily blog list and found the most delightful post concerning women rocking bowties. I love androgenous wear. (Julia Roberts wore a tie to an awards ceremony once...Ellen is my ultimate girl crush...I mean come on, the coolest of the cool do it!)

So I plucked a purple lovely from my guy's closet and voila!

There's just something about rocking a bowtie that makes me even more quirky and zany than usual. I could make this a habit really...

I've rocked crazy socks for years to improve my outlook on nasty fowl days, but this my  friends takes the kiwi cake.

Little Cindy Lou Who

Today one of my kid sisters comes to play with me in La La Land! Nina is the middle child, which means I picked on her a great deal, but there were definitely stretches of time when I adored that little towhead with all the adoration one older sister could muster. She was tiny and blond, with big blue eyes and a perfect little cherub face. The little wanker looked JUST like Cindy Lou Who when she was a young buck. It went as far as my mom getting her a tiny little Cindy red dress.

Every Christmas, the green lover (AKA moi) takes a moment to let my heart grow three sizes bigger and remember the little one who loved to pop the heads off my barbie dolls and puke on me during road trips.

You Could Win!!!

Hey Ya'll!

I swear I feel like a failure. I KNOW you all have read story after story about my bodily functions. I was hoping it would some day lead to a more free and open world...a world where women and men alike could discuss bathroom behavior with ease and confidence.

There's a contest the FBGs are duking out with the help of Quilted Northern. You should totally give it a try! One year of free toilet paper and a $50 Visa card...Are you joshing me?!

Read, watch, enter, WIN!

Dearest Awesome Literary Agent

Attn. Awesome Literary Agent,

Hollywhat?! Somewhere Between a Dream Deferred and Giving the Bird, tells the nitty gritty of one gal’s journey through Hollywood and the pursuit of the American dream.

Tish Merritt gave up a lot of things when she up and moved from the Midwest to the magical land of Hollywood: family, friends, money—pimp repellent. The years that followed have been filled with countless instances of proof that successful actors torture the dreamers of the world with tales of overnight success and small chapters of struggle. Still, Tish managed to keep on truckin’ only to endure oops after oops in Tinsel Town. She wrote about her bad auditions, casting couch nightmares and day-job zombie moments daily in a blog that kept her from a dramatic jump off the Hollywood Hills. In Hollywhat?!, Tish tells, with gangster charm, the honest story of what it’s really like going after one’s dream and how to maintain something close to sanity in the process.

I am an American blogger and wanna-be actor who resides in Los Angeles. When I'm not auditioning or complaining about my lack of auditions, I'm writing for FitBottomedGirls.com and hoarding cheese for my whine and playing tiny sad violins for my unfortunate acting adventures. I hold a degree in Journalism from the University of Kansas.

If interested, I will gladly send you the 36,000 word memoir (AKA work in progress). Thank you for your time and consideration.


Your Million Dolla Honey

Holiday Hoo Doo in the Hills

I have just returned from a glorious holiday shindig hosted by my new fambalina, D-licious. Jersey unfortunately couldn't make it so I begged, pleaded and threatened my gal pal with a heart of gold, Baltimore Barbie if she would stand in his place as my hot date. She said yes of course, because she's one of those good eggs and it was settled.

We dolled ourselves up in holiday sparkle and off we went up, up into the hills to have some figgy pudding with a side of good cheer.

Parties like that are the stuff dreams are made of. I sat and chatted with the most fascinating people including a young lady of tween age who has the brain and soul of a 40-year old woman. I happen to love old souls because I was an old soul as a kiddo so I sat and spoke to Mr. & Mrs. Awesome's oldest child (we'll call her Atlee Awesome) for a couple of hours. She is THAT fascinating. The girl will be a crazy awesome designer one day...Mark the words I type to you right now!

I met a lot of other hilarious characters including a saucy man named Malik. He immediately singled Baltimore Barbie and I out upon arrival and spent the rest of the evening cracking us up with his lovely English bawdy humor. Everyone was so happy and beautiful. Actresses mixed with directors who mixed with producers who mixed with the PR lady for Dolce & Gabbana who mixed with beautiful french women who mixed with my date and me and had us wide-eyed and laughing all night long.

Adorable children snuck into the party room for gingerbread men and grown folk swirled divine champagne and cognacs. Overall it was almost 7 hours of Christmas that I was so very glad to share with my newly transplanted date. (She's only been in LA for eight months.)

I will say I missed my guy a bunch, though. There's just something about holidays that makes me turn into a sentimental sap. I drove myself home in the rain, plopped my stuff on the couch, kissed the sleeping one on the forehead, put on some KU sweats, grabbed the leftover pizza in the fridge, and plopped myself down for some "Yes, Virginia" cartoon happiness. (I turned on the Christmas lights for that...It was only right.)

It's always nice when you figure out you love sweats and frozen pizza more than heels and expensive champagne, but find the same heart-warming friends in all walks of life spreading holiday cheer.

Apartment Therapy


Something about this darn bouquet of splendid luuuv makes me giggle and swoon every time I come home and see them sitting there. The boy has skills people...mad skills...

Ghosts of Girlfriends Past

This post is a long time coming...

Warning: The following is a rant. It is not a PMS rant, but a rant, nonetheless. This means your testicles will be fine men. Your hair will not be ripped from your head ladies. You can all rest assured my verbal leash has been snapped on firmly.

So here's the deal. Unless you were lucky enough to find your boo straight out of elementary school, you'll more than likely have to deal with the dreaded ex girlfriend's memory. And even then...he might have crushed on Mrs. "She let me eat glue...Sigh" so whatever. There will be baggage of some sort. There will be stories, slight comparisons, friend's banter about the ex etc. etc. that sneak their way into your relationship...like slimy little inch worms.

You'd think I could deal with this. I mean I am the queen of bad dates, first time dates, weird dates, sorry dates, and jacked up dates. Not only that, but I'm also the guru of eve's dropping on my homie's conversations about women...So I know the ex talk happens...And I love the human story immensely. I love knowing about people's lives ESPECIALLY my guy's life. He's pretty snazzy, but that doesn't mean I want to know what shampoo ole girl used!

He's a twin. He's from that weird little world called Jersey...There are just oodles of juicy nuggets to learn about. About him...not the exes, yo! Yeah, I know I wanted to know if it was an amicable split. I realize I asked if he was respectful. That's it, though! That's all my butt needs to know! I don't need to walk down memory lane...I want to strut down a new path, with mi amor only!

The whole jacked up thing reminds me of an episode of SATC when Carrie finds out Big was married before and all she sees is his ex wife after that...literally, she sees her everywhere.

Here's the deal...This is why I cringe telling ya'll this cuz I hate the "I" word. (Insecure) It's not that comparisons are taking me down...I just think it's odd that everyone is still riding the Ex Girlfriend's Train. My mom used to jock an ex of mine hardcore...Michael "The Architect" was her pride and joy...She adored that dude..and would let new boyfriends know she did if they came over to visit...Can you say awkward? I finally had to pull her aside...OK, so I had to pull her aside multiple times and let her know it wasn't cool.... she had to let her dream son-in-law go. She may still email his ass, but at least she doesn't tell me.

The point is, once that relationship is over, you make room for the new one. I felt so bad for those guys when they'd hear the Michael speech and now years later I'm right in those darn dudes' shoes. Mr. Karma gets confused apparently. I'm supposed to be rewarded for having their back, not knocked down to fall on my own!

So there's not really much a gal can do other than allow my butt to keep on twitching. I know there are others out there just like me dealing with the same ghosts, but women never really talk about this nonsense so I'm at a loss. It's not like you can tell everyone in your dude's world there's a new bad mama jama in town. I wonder if I'm some guys' annoying/not forgotten ex. This is all so interesting and yet, so painfully crowded!

Jersey Shore Christmas

I was on the boob tube last night! I'm not gonna fake the funk. I'm trying to be an actress so TV time is sort of, kind of a HUGE frickin' deal for me. I get a little tingly in my toes when I see cameras. When these little events happen, I cross my fingers and toes and wish for someone to see it and say, "Man! I need that girl in my next movie! How do I find her?!"

Waiting for the call...

Jersey Shore Christmas

You'll be looking for the party Jay goes to...

Stop the Rocking!

Oh my...I am not a good sick person and I'm a really heinous ass when it's Christmas time and I'm sick. I'm currently dealing with a gnarly viral infectious thing that has left me with the gift of asthma. No clue if it the wheezing will stick or not. Hoping it skedaddles once my meds kick in...Being a runner and all with a halfie marathon coming up soon, I'm quite perplexed by this lingering shat in my body. Plus, I don't look like a Wheezy!

I watch Oprah with blankies and a pout. I can't write clever, cute things when my brain goes mush. Heck, I can barely put my butt on the toilet seat correctly right now. (Almost fell this morning...tragic.)

It's hump day. (little yeah)

Sick days and vacation days should really always be separate at your place of employment. I apologize to all those in germ range of me...It's The Man's fault.

People Ask Why I Do It...

I do it for this reason...

Bruises and scrapes are included in that...

I have to admit, my girl Celina was THE reason I skipped along that finish line path. When my face turned grey, when my breathing went shallow, when I lost my footing on rocky paths, that girl was there. There's this weird bond you form when racing with someone. I experienced it before with my bestie J when we ran the marathon together so you'd think I wouldn't have been surprised to catch myself falling in love all over again, but I did. Love that girl to pieces.

As far as I'm concerned the girl gets three wishes. I'll protect her like Morgan Freeman protected Kevin Costner in Robin Hood...

My life is one random ball of WTF?! And I love it.


I wish I could give you more my sweet kiwis, but mama ran a very hard race yesterday and then had to write about said race to make deadline, which means you're left with short and sweet...Which technically isn't bad considering kiwis ARE indeed short and sweet so heyyy.

I spent the rest of the day and night watching girly classics to erase the Spartan brute out of my system. Bridget Jones will always have my heart...There's just something about her fuck ups (Sorry E...There's just no other word like that one) that make my heart melt.

Blue soup, open diaries and the bad-man bounce back...sigh. Well, it's enough to make me stop stroking my bruised and shattered elbow for an hour or so and appreciate my weird girlishness. Heck, I deserve some self love...I did just become a Spartan woman after all!

"No, I like you very much. Just as you are."

An LA Christmas Party

The story I am about to tell you is as real as my iddy biddy little chest...

Once upon a time, in La La Land, there lived a jovial blokette named Tish. She was goofy and crazy and lived a life of utter randomness and fun.

The end.


So last night was TOTALLY WICKED! So wicked that Dash from The Incredibles would have more than likely screamed that and then passed out from the extreme awesomely wickedness. So here's the deal...

I have these friends that are so flipping cool and they do all this flipping cool stuff. They live an amazingly cool life and they share that amazingly cool life with their friends and fam bam on a regular basis. The other day Mrs. Awesome sent an email to her buds telling them that Jay Leno's peeps had contacted her about possibly crashing a Christmas party...Would she be down...She left it up to us to decide. Did we want to party on a school night with Jay Leno and special guest? Um....HELL YES!

So yesterday I moseyed on over to their beautiful home just in time to help set up h'ordeuvres and meet guests as they piled in, kids in tow. This is when my eyes and ears started to bleed. ALL of these dang people are awesome (sadly I can't call them all Mr. and Mrs. Awesome because you'd get really confused in this post.) and beautiful to boot. When I say beautiful, I'm not exxagerating either, my friends...I'm talking gorgeous, tall model-like goddesses, women with impeccably chic swagger and style...I was so very glad I went with the regular clothes and not the Christmas Story shirt I almost wore!

I'm the token girl struggling with acting/writing/being a mature adult in the lot so I just stood back with my eyes bulging as people chatted about being disappointed with the billionaire's secret club in such and such foreign romantic city...I about queefed when I saw not one, not two, not even five designer bags (including a Birken bag) sitting next to my sad little tote I've had since college. A really snazzy new friend discussed her amazing career in fashion...She dropped fashion names I have never heard of...nor could pronounce, but then would laugh with me and reveal that t shirts and jeans were here staple of choice.

While some will be on holiday in Aspen, others will travel overseas...These conversations are conversations I've only heard in the movies. My Simple Simon little heart was bursting with intrigue. Worlds I have never been privy to were just casually being shared. It took everything not to go hill billy on their asses. I gave them the "Oh yeah? Aspen? Divine dawwwling" face and then moved on before my eye twitch gave me away.

Then Jay Leno rang the doorbell and had his way with us. His crew of cameras and lights piled in and for the next hour we laughed and watched on as the man invaded Christmas...Who does that happen to? Who has Jay Leno come to their house?! Mr. and Mrs. Awesome, that's who! They were geeking just as hard as I...along with the rest of the guests and that totally made me settle down and unclench my sphincter muscles.
(That hurts after awhile you know.) It doesn't matter how much money you have...How many 5 star (plus 10 secret stars that only reveal themselves once you show your credit score) hotels you stay in...How many diamonds you can fit on that well-manicured hand...If you geek with me over a celebrity, you're just one of the homies in my book.

I stayed and played with Mr. and Mrs. Awesome after the Leno explosion. She made me a drink she had fallen in love with on one of her crazy lovely vacations...It involved apple cider and tequila...Plus glass after glass of the bubbly. I"m thanking my lucky Christmas tree toppers that I woke up hangover free this morning!

One woman, who I will refer to as D-licious, was all that and a bag of some organic chips. Ms. Hip & Hot mamacita was my party bud for the night. She's this energetic, sweet and feisty little thing with a darn good heart. Within minutes of meeting me, she was already trying to find away to get me into the world of acting. Gotta love her gumption.

Sometimes I live in LA and it feels like I could be in anywhere land doing the same ole job, day in and day out...Then something crazy randomly delicious happens like last night's little event and I'm reminded that I flipping live in La La Land....The craziest cool place in my iddy biddy world.

PS. You can catch the Jay Leno episode we'll be featured on Tuesday, December 14th.

Horatio Alger

I have lost...

I entered this contest and I really REALLY wanted to win. I went through my shutterfly account and picked goofy fun pictures and arranged them to the best of my feable little ability. I put all the love and kiwi I could into that damn project and then I said a sweet little prayer when I hit the submit button.

Apparently love and kiwi isn't enough...Apparently we live in an unfair world. Apparently it's a world where the rich just keep on getting richer and the talented just keep on getting more talented. Wouldn't it have made more sense to look for photographic potential? Shouldn't the person whose work would improve if given the gift get the prize? Sniff...The dude who won obviously has a snazzy eye and a snazzy background in photography and design. He'll probably stack that camera right along side his two other really expensive cameras. Then he'll tuck the expensive lens in the drawer that has 14 other awesome lens. He'll smile with greedy contentment, snuggle in his uber expensive bed that has 1300 thread count sheets, and thank his lucky stars he was born into privilege.

Horatio...You got some 'splainin to do!

My Version of Pretty

I've said before I believe in past lives...There are just too many weird little Tishisms that can't be explained. The fact that I'm scared to death of stairs. I mean deathly afraid! My hands start to clam up, my breathing quickens and my voice gets shaky and high pitched. My past life explanation? I was pushed down a flight of stairs and died...(dramatic music)

There are many other lives that lead to weird little things I do in this life...There's always Billy Bob Russy. Do you remember Billy? I remember Billy.

The other day I had a mini meltdown with my girls. I told them that when I dress like a schlep and see people dressed to the T, I want to throw my poorly dressed body over a cliff. J, one of those besties I like to mention, had an epiphany. She said I was more than likely a rich and elegant woman at one time...And that makes sense to me.

Since I was a little one, I've had this uncanny pull towards objects and places that I had no earthly business knowing about. I sometimes crave smells, pearls and sounds. Do you ever stare at pretty kept women? The ones who look like they wake up like Snow White with small animals taking down the sheets and helping them dress...I see those women and the pull begins.

Then I come home from where ever I've been, take off my version of pretty, throw on some sweats, scratch, burp, toot...whatever and the lady with pearls fades away.

Christmas Recipe

In order for me to start feeling the Christmas spirit, certain things must happen:

  1. I have to smell cinnamon and drink some sort of cinnamon drink...If I were an extreme lady, I'd probably have to snort it.
  2. I have to watch It's a Wonderful Life and Miracle on 34th Street. Jersey has already watched the first flick with me. It's only a matter of time before I get him to sit down with me and watch the movie that made me believe...
  3. I have to sip hot cocoa. (Not to be confused with hot chocolate.) It must have marshmallows and it must have milky foam on the top.
  4. I have to listen to specific Christmas songs...Do You Hear What I Hear, All I Want For Christmas is You, Silent Night, FrostyLet it Snow...OK, so I have to hear all of them. Whatever.
  5. I have to smell Christmas tree. My nostrils should sing green.
  6.  And I have to do this...a couple of times:

Merry Christmas!
Happy Holidays!
Tis the season to brighten the days of those around us.

A Half Full Glass for Two, Please

My guy and I walked around an endearing neighborhood in Santa Monica and gawked at the beautiful picture-perfect homes sitting quietly along the sidewalks one weekend.

We took turns telling each other about how our dream lives would play out if we lived in the green house or  the house with the perfect porch swing...all the while swinging our arms and juggling our dreams.

Our breakfast that morning was a bit bittersweet. While Santa Monica, overall, is a peaceful place to be, there are definite areas where people's noses are a bit too high. It's a place where their eyes are a little too sharp. It's like they can smell the lack of money on you. Long story short, a restaurant was snooty to us so we left in a huff and found another spot where we dropped our frustrations and disappointment down. No one likes to feel like they're somehow less...

Breakfast was silent, but on the way home we both grew vocal, asking each other how we were going to do it...How we'd make it out of the apartment life into a real home...A financial peace that would allow us to consider a family...a dog...vacations and dream life we both share.

The rest of the day was spent working. He was left to his studies; I worked on my writing. I know that while we were in different areas of the apartment, our minds were fixated on the same question...How do we become the big kids we need to be in order to get what we want?

Wish I could say we had some epiphany...We didn't, but we did put on Love by Matt White and dance in our living room a bit. I hope to remember sweet moments like that when we're chilling in our future dream life...

A gal can hope any how.



At this moment I have over 2.4 BILLION little bacteria homies swimming vigorously towards my stomach. They are out to attack the bad bacteria and replace those despicable specimens with more suitable germs.

For weeks and weeks I had these funky stomach issues that would leave me in fetal position crying out for death. It was a hot mess. Trust...So I finally broke down and went to my incompetent doctor who loves to run expensive tests that never tell me one darn thing. This time he put me through the useless tests, but as soon as he heard me say I was taking algae he came up with the brilliant idea to try a homeopathic route. He put me on some expensive hippy pills that seem to be working. No fetal position and way less toot explosions. TMI? Naaa....

The pills have to stay in the fridge and THAT just reeks of coolness to me. Whenever I open the refrigerator I look at my pills and smile like a proud scientist...Grow my little minions...Grow and prosper. Fight the good fight! Let's keep the tummy happy and void of bloat.

When the City Speaks

Although the city never slept
She found she often wept

A narcissistic complication
A beautiful simplification

She just wanted to be praised
For the buildings that she raised

A people unfazed by the City living all around them.

I noticed something as I walked along the sometimes bustling, sometimes quiet, sometimes quaint streets of New York City...people never look up, never look around, never take a moment to pause and acknowledge the unique awesomeness around them. Yeah, I know about the whole well only tourists look up hogwash that city dwellers spit at you, but it's a load of stinky if you ask me.

The architecture, the people, the art bursting out of windows, french pasta signs hanging from doors of restaurants, nifty little shops filled with trinkets you never knew you needed...well it was all a bit enchanting if you ask me. It broke my heart to see the dwellers walking passed without truly seeing the neighborhoods She's given to them...gifted them with. Every day something changes, every day something stirs...and there's an energy there like no other. My heart warmed and grew as I walked that brisk West Village path. I looked up at the sky and asked God if the city is OK with her lot in life. Her story reminds me of another...A story about a  new pair of white shoes that some little rich kid has gotten. The kid starts to scuff up the shoe and the mother asks why. The kid tells the mom that buying something expensive and then showing the world that he's rich enough to destroy it and not care is a common story the obnoxiously privileged bragged about in my hometown.

I wonder if that glorious city realized how much She moved me on that one November day...She deserves to be seen...truly seen.

Enchanting she was.

routines and hubastankiness

Oh, how good it is to be back on the West Coast! How I missed you Santa Monica! How I missed you bed, and dressers, and bathroom, and smells...I missed you all and I am oh-so-sorry that I took you for granted and wanted to flee from your midst. You can slap my hand gingerly tonight when I return from work.

Jersey was delightful and New York brought the butta...That post will come soon enough. For now I must share my totally cool bean news.

It all started in the West Village...

I was walking along with my gal pal Crisa and the guy. I busted out with a philosophical, "I don't write to live. I live to write," which made them both chuckle and roll their eyes at me, but I just felt like a writer in that place. Words and paragraphs were filling up in my head and I couldn't stop it. I followed that with a mini tantrum in the bus station. I saw a bookstore and whined to Jersey that I just couldn't wait until one of my books was in a store like that...He stroked my fro and said my time would come.

We then raced like mad men to the bus and huffed and puffed our ways to empty seats. I grabbed my sad little neglected cell phone from my bag and started checking my messages...It was at that moment, on that dark Jersey-bound bus, that I saw the most beautiful email in the world...It said "Tish, we liked your query letter and we'd like to take a look at your manuscript. Kindly send us a copy at your earliest convenience."


AHHHHHHHHHH*#$#(@$&(!&$(@&*!(!)&%)@(*$)@)!* !)!*%@+)(*#!@

I said that all in my head because I was suffering from a gnarly sore throat, but you all know...You've been there as I've whined and complained...as I've threatened to crush my pen and scrunch up my notes into little basketball pieces of paper...This is the moment I had waited for. A literary agent had peaked some interest. My first non-snarky letter concerning my blood, sweat and tears...The book that had been cooking since 2005 was actually peaking someone's attention? I celebrated HAWD...just quietly. I couldn't speak so I just gave the phone to Jersey and let him read. He looked at me, smiled and gave me a huge bear hug. It is now one of my favorite moments. With the New York skyline dancing all around me, my guy and I celebrated a glimmer of hope for my dreams.

It don't get much betta folks.

Technology Twat

So...I have this really snazzy post that I've been dying to publish, but alas Blogger is experiencing a case of the Stupids so I can't. My clever drawings won't post and that's a no no. That's like leaving the house without pants. You just don't do it unless you want to get hit by the weird little old lady who lives in apartment 8 and talks to her dog like it's her deceased ex husband.

Tomorrow Jersey and I shall leave for the great land of Jersey to celebrate Turkey Day with his peeps. We're opting in for the porn scan (Good times!) because I'd rather someone see a quick flash of my hoo hoo rather than touch me for a good four minutes. Anyone else wondering how Mr. Pervy McPervington got this job with TSA?

Anywho, I'll be gone for a couple of days. No posts during that stay. I plan to boycott any and all technology that requires me to use my brain and typing sensibilities. Hello Nurse!

Don't miss me too much. Pray for me and my Cali ways...Everytime I come back from Jersey I develop a need to self tan and scowl at people who don't look weathered and toe up from the floor up.

Hopefully Blogger gets its act together for next week. You'll be so delighted by the post that should have gone. Freud is probably somewhere up in heaven shaking his head at me screaming, "She is the reason I wrote that damn book!"

Great Expectations

As a kid I was kind of the shiznit. Teachers were always telling my mother I'd be this snazzy leader some day. They'd send me to conferences and events around the United States to prep me for my obvious role in politics or world domination.

Duke University asked me if I'd like to take advanced summer classes...I mean I was that cool nerdy chick who had the world at her neurological synapses.

It felt good being a brain back then...I felt like the world was mine. No limits to what I could do or be or achieve. With teachers over there prepping me for Washington and others prepping me to be a leader of some sort, I knew I had it going on in the potential department. A high school guidance counselor told me once she saw me being an Oprah of sorts when I grew up.

So I went to college with stars in my eyes. I joined mad organizations and made sure to study my arse off. I made the Dean's List almost every semester...I graduated from the William Allen White School of Journalism...Sounds sweet, right?

...This is what I did with all that potential.

Gift Whisperer

I take great pride in my gift giving abilities. To this day foks from my past will call me up and ask what they should give folks for different events. It's an art really...

First they have to tell me the event the gift is for: Are they moving away? Is it Christmas lovey dovey time or friendship time. Do you have to be cheap, but wanna remain thoughtful, yadda yadda yadda. I'll find out about the person...Figure out if they're cheasy cool. If they're materialist bafoons or if they prefer this to that. Food allergies are always helpful...

Anywho, a gift idea usually will pop into my head pretty darn quick. Someday I shall start a business where I help whisper good ideas into the ears of those who are challenged in the giving department. For now, I'm giving that ish out for free. Here are some of the recent ideas I've given folks for the gals in their lives. Lovers, friends...It matters not. All can tickle the heart with the proper wording, packaging or intent.

  1. I'm so a fan of art. It's the gift that keeps on giving. Doing the homegrown art thang is always a lovely idea. Capturing your inner shutterbug and then framing and matting that mess is a bomb idea. You might even try including a poem that either you or someone famous and clever has written that pertains to your photo. Personally I think haikus rock... Boston City
  2. Oh, how I luv nail polish. My first bottle of Chanel was called Night Sky or something equally enchanting and it made me giddy every time I looked down at my hands. There's just something about sitting quietly and doing something nice for yourself. Giving someone the gift of sanity, if you ask me...Chanel
  3. Everybody needs to read a funny arse book. One year I made the mistake of getting my best bud the Bell Jar...Big mistake. Never give someone a slit your wrists novel for Christmas. Tsk, tsk...Amy Sedaris is just as funny and cute as her dark and broading bro, David.
  4. Whoopi! Who doesn't love Whoopi!? I loved her last book so I assume this one will be a hoot too. The woman has talent ya'll. She brings soul to her comedy that I love to soak myself in until I'm pruny and sweet. Is It Just Me?: Or is it nuts out there?
  5. Removing the ashy from classy is necessary. L'Occitane is hoity toity splendor. I'm a product whore. I live for this type of stuff. I like the fancy good stuff that actually works on my crusty hands and has subtle scents that don't make me want to run to the bathroom and vomit.
  6. It's a rule that folks love mittens...It was in the Favorite Things song from Sound of Music for Pete's sake!
  7. This is one of those gifts that demands a card with an explanation. A necklace full of wishes...The wording can be changed and fit/molded around the receiver. One time I found a little necklace with an egg pendant. I so wanted someone to give that little gem to their significant other with a note stating, "You're a good egg." It's adorable I say!
  8. If you don't have egg necklaces available, simple jewelry will keep ya safe. It can be worn with anything and everything...Plus it's classy. Stay away from gawdy jewelry.
  9. Chucklicious! OK I have to admit this is one for me. Your person doesn't have to be a dog owner in order to recieve one of these bad boys. Chuck rocks. I have a picture of him in my cublicle because of how hard he actually rocks. The caption reads, "Has not yet had his prozac this morning." LOVE IT! 

One Step Closer to Cracking the Code...


...So I'm not completely quite close yet, but I think I've unlocked parts of a man's DNA that may soon help me understand that gender that makes my ass twitch most days.

In previous posts I probably told you (in a naive manner) that I knew boys...I'm kind of/sort of a boybian. I like hanging with dudes. Talking about farting and burping...hot chicks. I can do this. I can do it with ease...I've always been this way. I was so very thankful when I read something of Virginia Woolf's A Room of One's Own. When I read that everybody has a female and male brain I yelled to the world "HALLELUJAH YES!" and felt complete and whole for the first time. (The fact that I loved rocking men's ties in high school, yet didn't really want to be a boy per say...with like a penis...and didn't really care to date women...Well that was just weird and confusing for me. If I wasn't Ru Paul, who was I?)

Fiddly dee, I digress. So I thought I knew dudes because I've been friends with the little martians all my life, but then I shacked up with my main squeeze Jersey and figured out I don't know SHAT about them.

I will translate all Jersey's actions with the *Webster's Internal Female Dictionary and Decoder and I will get it wrong EVERY.SINGLE.TIME. I don't speak martian and even if you have spies on the inside, that ish won't make sense unless you have a penis. The penis is a magical cryptex that holds the man code. Because I'll never possess that damn code stuff gets muddled. For instance, I don't understand why telling him I'll cut off his penis and tie his balls in a nice neat bow with the extra room is weird. I don't understand why a man must chill out with his hand down his pants. Not too sure I know why feminine products make them quiver in corners, and definitely not sure why ESPN has to be in the mix. I swear the man believes something bad will happen to him if it's not on. Like the testes police will come in and take away his man card.

So I was speaking to my twinkie twin, Nicole, the other day...I was telling her my guy isn't the best grocery shopper in the world. She told me that her dude isn't allowed to shop for food because he'll come back with an 80-piece value pack of chicken and twizzlers. My jaw dropped. Could this be a coincidence or do all men share this lack of grocery store knowledge?!

My guy will actually call me while he's in the store and ask me where things are. Like the signs and employees aren't as wise as I am..."Hey Hun, where's the peanut butter located?" That's a question I know is coming when he goes at it alone. So there ya go! One tiny part of a guy's nucleotides uncovered.

I mean this is the reason that women were the hunters and gatherers back in the day. Men have some genetic challenge to getting the proper food. Maybe because women can make food appear magically from their boobs...I don't know but this is something significant! If lionesses could talk, what would they tell us about their duties as the main hunter while the King sits around purring. It's something, SOMETHING I SAY!

While I may never be able to decipher Jersey's brain, I will get close to figuring out what truly makes this man tick. Fascinating experiment...

A typical conversation

*I made that shit up. Please do not go to barnesandnoble.com and search for that...Please.

A Rumble With the Line Nazi

Last night I had the pleasure of seeing The Kids Are All Right with my lovely new found friend of glory and short cuteness, Chanda. I love this time of the year because it's Oscar buzz time and Oscar buzz time means I get invited to all of these glorious film showings where the audience meets the cast and usually a director or producer.

This event almost didn't happen for us, though. When we arrived at the theater we went and stood in line with all the other guild members and I overhead this mean woman tell the person ahead of me, "Your card has expired. Please move to the non-guild raffle ticket line." 

I gulped and slowly looked down at my card. Just as I had suspected. My card had expired on 9/24/10. I had used it two weeks ago and no one had said a word so I held my breath and handed over the WIF card. The evil Line Nazi looked at my card for what seemed like hours. She looked up at me slowly, evil eyes burning into my soul and said, "Expired. Move to the non-guild line."

AHHHH! The agony of it all! I was mortified! Sent to the line of shame...Served humble pie with evil Line Nazi poison sprinkled over the top with loving hatred.

I was scared. I'm not gonna lie. Chanda had driven an hour in traffic and battled a crackhead/meth dude so I felt I needed to deliver on this one. Luckily we still got in (jerks there were so many seats available! It was like when you wait in line at a club for hours only to get in and find it's empty) and still got free beer, beverages and popcorn. SCORE!

...And the movie was great! We laughed. We cried. We loved it...Then we got to listen to the cast talk about the film...IN PERSON! It's so surreal being THAT close to someone living your dream. (I don't know how many times I've written and/or said that in my lifetime.)

Annette Bening was a vision I say. That woman's got some amazing acting chops. You find yourself hanging on her every word. She's that Hollywood we all love and admire. Mark Ruffolo on the other hand...Not impressed. He's a bit odd...In not a cute awkward kind of way either. Pity...I so loved him. 

Evil Line Nazi...Someone teased her in high school. She enjoyed her job a little too much.

We're number 45 and 46. It's not looking good at this point...
I finally break down. I can't take the pressure and humiliation.

Ope! But we get in! And we get to sit this close to them!

This is my attempt at stalking: This cougar lady chick looked JUST like Kid Rock. She winked at me.

And the Winner Is...

I have an obsession with entering contests. For years I've smugly told people I'm not a true Pisces Queen because I don't have an addictive personality, but the other day I entered not one, not two, but three contests in less than five minutes and it finally dawned on me that maybe, just maybe, I have a subtle addiction to winning ish.

I'm a classy addict, though. I refuse to do stupid things like enter those car drawings at malls or anything absurd like that. I stick to good ole fashion blogger contests and web site sweepstakes. I'm currently in the running to win a fabulous ring with a red stone, $10,000 bones from Hallmark, a trip to be on the Oprah show (before she frickin abandons me), and couple hundred more. I already know I didn't win the stupid iPad contest going on at my job, but I could still win free groceries for a month from my grocery store. Drat balls of fire! I could be the luckiest woman on the face of the Earth all because of my charming persistance.

It's sad, I know ,but you just never know when you're luck will turn around and decide you're not so bad afterall, quick hugs and a little winny win win.


How I obsess love me some Annie Leibovitz. If you've ever read background info on the lady you'd learn she pretty much rocked the 70s and beyond. When color photography became the bee's new knees, she went into self-teaching mode and rocked the pages of Rolling Stone and other equally cool publications. Her and Gordon are my two of my shutterbug heroes.

She has a new book out documenting her work over her creative work span. I want it...Once Christmas shopping is over and done with I can go back to being selfish and get this ish for my snazzy eyeballs to devour. CAN'T WAIT!!!


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