trust fund kid

when i was 18 i inherited a GRIP of a grip. like you hold it in your hands and it's so many dolla bills you look like a member of one of those japanese sticky money competitions. i digress. let's just say it's more money than an 18 year old should legally be allowed to have...i sooo didn't appreciate the ish like i should have. i mean i might as well have wiped my arse with it, the way i treated my darling green stuff. yeah, yeah i paid for college and what i thought to be a practical car, but i also got to shop for whatever i wanted whenever...

i once bought a $478 leather backpack cuz i needed something new for my books on campus...

i bought a jcrew coat cuz it was cute. who buys a dang coat for the heck of it?! trust fund kid!

whoever said mo money, mo problems probably got bumped one too many times in their wonky eyeball. green stuff is nice. it just sits there and it allows you to trade it in for stuff and it doesn't even whine or kick or cry that it's leaving your wallet. so the money. luuuuuv the money!

mo money, mo problems... ha! i laugh at the wonky-eyed rapper! i was happy and then some traveling and visiting friends, not worrying about how i'd pay for a semester of college, and i was definitely happy having the freedom to work jobs i liked and didn't need. what a concept...this is the moment i'm realizing i'm moving backwards in life. my face sort of looks like someone popped my balloon.

i want to reach back into time and pull my former self's hair really hard. maybe kick her in the arse. totally jealous of her stank behind for not realizing how unbeliavably lucky she was EVERY.SINGLE.DAY. especially now since i can't even afford halloween this year. how expensive could it be to dress up as a sweet potato?! anything more than free is too much for me, i'm afraid.

as christmas bills pile up into pyramid fashion and shout out cheers (you broke! yeah, broke!) money slips out of my hands i'll remember the good ole days and how awesome money is. money didn't bring me more problems. money brought me trips and peace of mind and a degree...shoo. lack of money brought me holey socks (and i'm not talking about the ones blessed by the big Guy upstairs).

anyone feel like donating to the tish needs someone to throw her a bone cause? second time's a tiffany's charm :)

a lover's gaze


me: (i look at jersey glass in hand, about to speak when cut off by jersey)

jersey: what? did you fart?

me: NO! i was about to tell you i love you fool!

jersey: well that was the face you shoot me when i'm supposed to figure out you've just farted.

who says romance is dead...

i've decided adoration for the great luvs in your life never really dies. you just start to adore different things...

while you may adore your beloved's hair or the way they flub a certain word, those things lose their shininess and you move on to other bright least i do. call it A.D.D LUV.

like for instance, i personally adore the crap out of my guy's ability to walk out of a bathroom and tell me proudly he's destroyed that room. i find his assessments concerning my cleanliness hilarious (i've never met anyone that can out clean me!) i think his folding abilities should alone put him in the running for saintliest boy toy.

i will admit though, i still have a thing for his magical hair. it defies gravity that asian hair of his...and i've always dug it. that will probably never get old...there's nothing like a grown ass man trying to be serious with you in the're trying your hardest to take him seriously and keep looking him in the eye, but the dennis the menace callic yearns for my cooing.

just so my cynical lovey dovey friends don't die from throwing up in their mouth too much i will point out that adoration doesn't crowd out the annoyances...there are a couple of things that make my ass twitch so hard it looks like i'm break dancing back there:  he can bring up exes with the quickness...

me: man i love the great outdoors! smelling the fresh air...

jersey: my ex breathed air.

me: (slowly pulls out knife to shank him in the belly button)

he thinks it's perfectly normal that we don't have an anniversary date, too. yep, that's right...i have no idea what to tell you if you ask me how long we've been dating. we were friends for a really long time...then we casually dated without sans title for a really long time and then we kinda gradually fell in to titles...i'd like to think he did this so that our love will seem eternal, but deep down i know he pulled that ish so that he doesn't have to buy another gift or go away on some trip of my choice. (what were those things that made me adore him again?!)

i kid! i kid! he's cool. his positive attributes far out weigh the ass twitch-causing tendencies. (where's my knife, again?)

one day i will value other abilities but for now i swoon when he tells me he's put lemons down the garbage disposal (cleans garbage disposal and makes it smell nice and fresh in your kitchen) it when that boy talks dirty.



the weekend consisted of seeing a play at the note in downtown "hollywoodya get a room". saturday was a crazy day of fitness with my new rachel mcadams doppelganger bud followed by random fun. sunday was all about writing homework, groceries and worshipping that hunk-of-burning love of mine, jersey.

THE big humdinger occurred on saturday evening, though. in riddler fashion, it involved neil patrick harris, a chanel bag, a missing starlet, and a guido with hair that looked like pepe le pew had styled it. i participated in a scavenger hunt!!! (i so get cool points for that...)

so doogie pretty much rocked my world as a kid...

he would hit those keys with the quickness...the first blogger now that i think about it...and my little prepubescent heart would thump harder. he was seriously one of the main reasons i took up journaling as a kid. i just new my IQ would go up a notch somehow...

now that he's older, and eats at jinky's, and sings, and is still cute as a button, and was in that harold and kumar flick; i worship him on a WHOLE NUTHA LEVEL.

my worship-ness just reached new important levels because i've now experienced neil patrick harris stuff. stuff being this scavenger hunt he set up called accomplice.

jersey and i have some really dope arse friends who happened to have two extra tickets. with only minutes to spare we were asked to join them on a journey of wit...a journey of reading fast...a journey of beer...a journey of friendship laced with unicorn remnants.we accepted the challenge and before we knew it we were swept up in the most hilarious hunt i've ever done. ok, so that was the only hunt i've ever done. let us not focus on the minuscule.

if you've got a need for speed, i suggest you watch top gun or she-ra. if you have a need to do something totally random, different and fun then i say scavenge and hunt. we met some really nifty people and trained our brains to jedi mind trick people into giving us the answers to life. i was so impressed. not only was i impressed, but i was in fabulous people heaven! there were four of us and then 5 scrumptiously fierce strangers who quickly became our favorite peeps. i knew i loved them when a clue person asked who in our group liked to be tied up and one of our new guys yelled "matt does! where's matt?" i luv people who say inappropriate things at the appropriate moment.

not bad for a saturday evening...

thanks to L dawgs for the adventure!!! one day we shall reward you with pennies, pocket lint and free boot camp classes.

diseased rhinoceros pizzle


mmmm....tishy got in trouble. tishy got scolded for using four letter fun words.

some of you loyal citizens of zamunda (aka blog readers) may have noticed my crassness coming out more and more. no i didn't stop taking my nice pills...i just happened to get blogger access at work which means now i can cuss to the high heavens cuz i don't have my annoying work filter telling me i can't send words like twat, balls, shit and paris hilton. KNOW you're cool when you're name gets censored from corporate america! ( said tish...i'm telling...)

while i know foul mouths tend to bring the hand of vengeance pimp slapping down upon their heads, i still manage to get out an expletive. i don't feel like i'm losing i.q. points when dropping eff bombs. i belong to a group on facebook called "intelligent, classy, well-educated women who say f*ck". if it's on facebook it's totally cool man...and besides i think it's totally dumb and double standard-ish that boys get to have all the fun without the shuns & gasps.

i don't see myself curbing the motor mouth all that much BUT i know i'll think twice and choose my curse words carefully and creatively : ) ten times more fun to read any who! (don't beat me e!)

it's rainin' rejection!

literary laziness makes my butt twitch...these bloody wankers (aka literary agents) and the silence they bring to my life have reduced me to a pile of pathetic pooh. i now do dispicable things like stalk the mail best believe i threaten them with wedgies if they don't hand me over a letter with some good news. i suppose that's why they come at different times in the day now. (they've learned my work schedule...those sneaky bastards!)
the other day i received two lazy letters. the first--ole boy didn't even have the energy to use his own damn paper. he took the agent inquiry letter me, myself, and i wrote and scribbled a quick "not the right project for me, sorry." at the top.  what the $@#! is that $#@*% ?!?!!?

the second letter was a small cut out piece of paper. you can tell they printed the same statement out and then took a paper cutter to it....10 little powerful strips--able to shred someone's hopes in a single read.

so far i've received 34 rejections and 3 wrong addresses...i realize that's not a whole lot considering some very awesome writers were rejected 50 or so times before they hit the agent/publisher jackpot, but it still hurts. i still feel like the stinky girl standing by herself on the playground while everyone else chucked balls at her.

writing a book and seeking represenation is just as hard and taxing as acting i've decided. you're still always waiting for that special magician to scoop you up off of the streets of mediocrity and swoosh you switftly to the land of "ya done good pig."

patience is still a virtue i've heard...still trying that crap out, hoping that someone finds me interesting enough to pick up a damn phone and call. "tish i'd LOVE to read your manuscript! i'd love to pimp you out like a trick with a magical hoo hoo! can you sign today? will you accept this advance to help you finish tweaking your baby?"

i'll keep writing, hoping and dreaming and pray that those three "ings" aren't the only ones i achieve in this lifetime. (writing, publishing, cherishing, buying (a house), being, living) all of those can happen, too. i'd be fine with that...

creative recycling...

don't blame me! blame eve!

when i was a kid i used to think women were full of horse shit when they said that pms made them do it....that "it" stood for every nasty act of behavior gals could throw at the world from setting their dude's big toe on fire to crying in public...

horse shit, right? i mean control yourself before you wreck yourself!!! i think i jinxed the shit out of myself the minute i uttered that hip hop slang credo...

it's like when i used to wonder why we needed a BET network...why did black folks even need that?! after being racially outed by a cop circa the college years i promptly stuck my foot in my mouth and mumbled "not so tasty". i had to stick that foot back in my mouth the first time i experienced torrential displays of horrendous premenstual wrath that unexpectantly unleashed upon  the happy world.

my pms is a monster i've named monstrucia. she's sick with it...

i know she's lurking about when a simple misunderstanding between i and another leads me to believe they're the most stupid organism on the planet and need to be destroyed. (i apologize to the little old woman who asked if i had accidentally printed to her printer at work the other day.)

i also apologize to the man i threatened at work who kept me from going pee pee. i kind of, sort of told him i'd cut his balls off if he didn't stop talking and let me go. what...?! holding one's bladder is not healthy. EFF PROFESSIONALISM!!! (that's monstrucia talking.)

i can feel myself getting upset over something, but then there's this flood of hormones that drip down from my head like blood and take the hell over and a small annoyance turns into the biggest let down on the face of the muther truckin' planet. at that point it's really no use talking to me or reasoning with me because i'll either slap you in the face, burst out crying then promptly use your shirt as a snot rag, or snap my neck off trying to tear off your face's flesh with my words.

how i miss the days of simple cramps, bloating and occasionally zit outbreaks.

feeling warts


i know i have issues. hell, my issues have issues...but that's why friends are so important. don't know if you follow that drama of a show grey's anatomy, but recently the writers brought on a dude with tree-like limbs. apparently old dude had a really low immune low he couldn't fight off a simple wart...the warts spread to his entire body...warts on top of warts and that's where my psychotic tendencies blossomed like the warts i saw.

i came to work the next morning and began to google the show...i wanted to find out if someone really could wart up and low and behold, i found a true case of a wart man. i immediately began to itch. i could feel the warts growing underneath my skin and i just knew...i just knew i had only days before i too was chicken pecking my keyboard with tree-like limbs. OH THE AGONY! i'm feeling faint.

i had to immediately call my bestie...i knew she'd be able to calm me down and convince me i wasn't coming down with leprosy on crack. you think i'm being funny but i am THE biggest hypochondriac known to ants and small kittens. if i get enough information about a certain ailment, you can best believe my ass will contract it. my ability to blend and acclimate doesn't stay put in the land of cultural chit chat. oh no...i acclimate to sicknesses as well. you start talking about scabies and i'm itching for days. empathy has an ugly side.

of course j is able to talk me out of going to my doctor for preemptive wart prevention...but apparently she wasn't confident in her powers. i called back 10 minutes later to ask a question about a fit bottomed girl post...before i could even get out the question she was yelling into the phone, "you are not growing tree limbs out of your body, tish!!!"

i couldn't help but laugh...yes, i have issues. yes, my friends know this and have dealt with it for years upon years...this does not mean they've gotten used to it. heck...there are way too many creative ailments in the world for me and the crew to find peace.

put some baby cologne on it


dude! do you remember the father from my big fat greek wedding? do you remember his hilarious spiel about the greek root of any word "give me any word and i'll give you the greek root to that word..."
well there's a filipino guy--the jersey meister.

this dude loves his people so much...he's an infinite filipino encyclopedia of knowledge. he can turn on the rain man with the quickness and tell you who is filipino, who's half filipino...who is an eighth filipino...

this morning he sent me an email to tell me pharrel is half filipino. did ya'll know that?! my guy knew that. my guy can sniff out the filipino blood of someone from a thousand miles away, twice removed.

i swear if he starts spraying inappropriate cleaning products on my skin i'm gonna hit him upside the head with lumpia.

tragic mulatta snags a pinoy

the other night i was watching glee with jersey. they've got all these new stars on the show and this week's gleek just happened to be the filipina sensation, charise. jersey got all crazy-like when he figured out the filipinos were reppin' his show. (i've never seen him gleek quite that hard.) at one point he said he needed a filipino flag and i hurriedly said, " i can be your flag!!!" then i paused and got real confused like. is this what happens when you dive into an interracial relationship? do you start thinking you're the other race?! or is this just a mixed girl thing? (i tend to blend in, wear different hats, and identify with a plethora of minority issues.)

i wondered, was i losing my sista girl-ness? i had to act fast. i turned on some miles davis and waited for my appreciation for the sound to kick in. i had to turn off my colbie caillat in order to find him. ahhh! my butt began to twitch. i know i had received some of my dad's earth, wind and fire tapes as a kid and that definitely didn't work. why would miles (even though i do love that man!) work now? i had to get serious. how did i begin the process of identifying myself as straight up sista girl back in college? it was my first ticket! aha! when the cop stopped me, scolded me, ripped the ticket off the pad and handed it to me, there was a huge bold "B" for blackitude. that's when i knew i wasn't just a white girl with a good tan...

eureka! i just needed someone to call me black...remind me that i am and voila! my identity crisis would be over.

luckily, my girl b asked if i'd like to join her for a business lunch with some some fellas from her department. bruthas would be there?! bet! so i was off and boy was it swell! we talked about lord of the rings, glee, and other fun topics that people of all crayon colors talk about BUT i was doing it with my bruthas (and one filipino dude...they roll deep in cali!) and they were using lots of "we's" to describe stuff! and there came that identity of mine. smiles all around.

i wonder...after being around someone of a different race for a period of time, do they become the color of water (raceless), or do we just start seeing them as we see ourselves? if it's the latter, then i have a lot of bebot lessons and boba tea in my future...

what your friends never told you about living with a sig...

...they rob you of your unique weirdness.

i've never been ordinary...

never been, what you'd call normal and i dug that about me. i'm known amongst my those in my special circle of trust for keeping people on their toes. i'm 5 feet and10 inches of ginormous kid. i question everything. i goof up whatever i can get my hands on. this makes life fun in my opinion...

when you move in with someone though, routine finds its sneaky little beastly way in. it creeps and crawls and before you know it, you stop hearing "you're weird". you stop seeing the surprised look on your significant other's face when you do that one weird thing that used to make his/her jaw drop. i miss the jaw drop. i like keeping him on his toes...improves my chances of feeling small and petite.

do you remember that one scene in garden state when natalie portman's character stands up and does this weird wiggle dance while making weird mumble sounds? well that's me. i'm the kind of person that has resorted to desperate measures. i strive to do something freshly weird. i'm running out of material.

i never thought labels suited me until i started writing this post...then i figured out i'm a label whore and then some. i like weird, goofy, zany, carefree...those labels make me smile coyly and queef a little.

please give my regards to the fruits

i want to know how it's many people are out of work, yet my job is able to hire some of THE most crazy nuts i have ever met in my entire lifetime.

i'm seriously pacing the floors at my place of employment wondering how in the heck i've managed to surround myself with such nut jobs and how the hell i can get myself out of it. every day i'm one butt twitch away from snapping. seriously. i shall list a small dose of the stupidity i ingest on a daily basis...

i give you a list of the crazy shit people do and say at my job:

the pen is mightier than the sword
i was lucky enough to gain the supply ordering responsibility (we won't discuss the fact that i possess a degree) for a group of folks in my department. i get an email requesting a specific pen. the pen must be sans grips because heaven forbid a wiley grip could destroy the planet. i order the damn pen. it comes in a box of 12. when the shipment comes i give it to the spazoid...spazoid freaks the hell out because he only wanted one pen...there's no room on his huge bare desk for 11 extra pens that may come in handy... say when the other pen runs out...

dude spazzed and marched over to my desk and slammed down the pens...stating no PENS!!! NO ROOM! i read a study recently that said one can become dangerously supplied if they have more than one pen at a time. i need a moment to collect my damn mind.

cat nip surprise
i asked a woman from my floor if she'd help me out by joining our company gym (20 referrals and you win a wii) she took one look at the address section and screamed that it was too personal. heaven forbid the gym that belongs to our company have the same information that HR has. i like to think she secretly used to work for the KGB and knew if the gym were to get a hold of her information the united states government might just come after her and her million cats and feed them all (including her) poisonous cat nip. i just don't want to believe that she's crazy...that would merit a good slap upside the head and i kind of need my 401k right now.

the gays are coming!!!
lady at work came up to me one morning to shoot the shit...usually this is cool. usually she'll ask how i've been...i'll say swell and the earth will begin to rotate once again. one morning she got a bit brave though and kept talking to me...apparently me turning around shortly after my swell comment didn't seal the deal. somehow the crazy coot decided it was share time at tishy's cube. she started in on religion and how fabulous the mormon church is. before i could say "jesus pajamas are magical" she was whispering how the gays were responsible for trying to bring down the that moment i giggled a bit inside imagining a mob of fierce homosexual deviants storming temples asking for worshipers inside to release every pair of  pink jesus pajamas available; water guns loaded with the devil's caffeine...why is it that when people experience horrific tragedies in their life they flock to the extreme fringes of religion. "i got in a bad wreck therefore i need a snake biting group of people to make me feel whole again..."

...i live in an office space hell.

nike adventures in chicago


 "non domenticar" is playing on my ipod as i sit in a beautiful hotel room in chicago writing in my journal and unpacking my meager little suitcase i brought for this weekend event.

last week nike asked the fit bottom girls if they'd like to come out and view the spring running collection. it's fabulous so far. ( i've gotten a small taste of nike's newest toys already.) they had a goody bag, chock-a-block full of stuff i'm supposed to wear for events they're holding tomorrow and sunday. the sneaky beast in me won't mention what i get to play in... the fit bottomed girls have taught me well.

all i can say right now is i sooo needed this weekend. i needed a beautiful hotel with textured flower carpet that my feet snuggle into...i needed a zebra robe,  the chicago view i'm looking at, and i definitely needed a weekend of indulgence followed by a kick ass workout so that i won't fly home with any guilt. (the nike goddess used to chill in the sky, rewarding those in battle with flames and other stuff. basically, these nike folks know how to treat their friends.)

"we're gonna make our dreams come true, doing it our way!" is now blasting out of oscar junior. "i'm gonna make it!" coincidence? i think not.

while i may be fiscally challenged at the current moment...while i may not be able to do a grip of things due to those challenges i still manage to live a semi-charmed life. i love writing for the's opened a whole other world up for me...a world where i feel empowered and when you're a crazy spasmatic girl trying to find her way in the world you need a healthy dose of that to keep you from knocking your mother truckin' head against the mother truckin' wall.


me: damn, i'm sick of my fat ass!

jersey: um, you're not fat. where does this crazy talk come from?!

me: it comes from my mother fuckin' gut that's bulging out of my jeans. that's where it comes from.

jersey: ...


cutie patootie friend: how's living with jersey going?

me: it's actually weird how normal and fun it is. i thought he'd demolish me by now.

cutie patootie friend: awww, well how could he when he's got your hot ass in bed with him?!

me: cuz that hot ass explodes with hot gas now!

oprah, you are the wind beneath my wings


i had a dream that my fit bottomed girl's trip to chi town was a farce. instead my brilliant best friend, j, had figured out a way to get me to the land of oprah by telling me i had to go to a nike summit. (i, in fact, will be on my way to chicago via plane to go to the actual nike summit as you read this.)

cruel dream.

in the dream...i heard oprah do the famous name call and i broke out into tears. i can still remember what her hug felt like. she smelled of some beautiful sandalwood smell, too. that dream was so beautiful. i almost cried when my alarm woke me up and took me away from the one i obsess and stalk over legally.  

meeting oprah...well that, my friends, would be the quintessential "god, please throw me a bone" wish.

i really do luv that woman. i'll think of her while i'm checking out nike's latest and greatest. be on the lookout for an fbg post on that...i write that but i'm seriously still partially (just a little bit) hanging on to the dream...

queen me

twinkie: every time i see a post that involves a beach, it feels like you're picking up a handful of sand and throwing it right in my face. curse you and your beaches! i'm so jealous.

me:  every time you post about your healthy wonderful garden i develop a stomach roll.

twinkie:  ha! my garden isn't healthy. well, every time you mention how warm it is in california a puppy dies and a kitten is born. why tish! why! 

me:  well every time you mention music stuff a bee stings an orphan in the eye!

twinkie: every time you mention another dog besides your god-dog, a baby dolphin drowns and that ugly creature that we both loved from madagascar commits suicide.

me:  WELL every time you mention liking light beer an innocent small child is given a pink sock...urban dictionary that!

twinkie:  please. you know urban dictionary is blocked here. i will just assume that a pink sock is a sock that when put on little children, it turns them fiercely gay. yeah, that's what it is.

me: (sends definition)

twinkie:  oh my holy jesus. now i'm sad. lol.

me:  don't mess with me SISTA!

everything but the burden


let's get one thing straight. for a very short period of my life i did in fact, live in a neighborhood that was vandalized by gang members. they were more like the gang members from the book white boy shuffle (read: psycho loco, the bow and arrow gangsta) BUT gang members, nonetheless.

the day they threw up some graffiti on a fence near our home my mom was done. (too much 20/20) she promptly removed my k swiss from my feet and moved us away from liberty, missouri...the whitest white town in the whole wide world. it was here that i developed an uncanny infatuation with being gangster...maybe i overhead a nice little old lady saying "oh my gosh she's brown. she must be a gangster" or i unconsciously loved watching my mom's fear play out in public...i don't know. what i DO know is i started throwing up west sides at a tender sweet age.

now i keep it gangsta everywhere i go...even my place of employment. i like to end important emails to VPs and directors with "word to your mother". it's empowering.

have you ever wondered where your weirdness comes from? when did you turn? was it that one time when that one weird particle that you inhaled at that moment that one weird person was saying something weird shot up your nose and lodged itself in your brain? well, i do. (and that was totally a misplaced modifier...but i'm leaving it cuz it makes me giggle.)

keyword analysis


there's this nifty tool you can use for blog monitoring. it allows you to see how people get to your site. i should totally be judging myself and the posts i create that inspire these findings BUT i'm totally gonna take the mean road paved with immaturity and hypocritical sparkles instead.

i really need to laugh at the person who googled "no ass disease". i love that! i wonder if that person went to my page and expected my blogaroo to give sound medical facts pertaining to that dreadful disease otherwise known as "conehead butt syndrome. i tried to find a picture of a conehead butt, but alas i failed. watch the movie. say ew. come back to this blog and tell me i'm a writing genius for my vivid descriptions.

my butt twitched @ hermes kiwi. i'm not fancy schmancy chumps! don't hermes me...ick ack uck!

yeah for annie! she's a writing mentor/bud/someone i cyber stalk intensely. if we were from a comic strip annie would be the good guy--protector of the paragraph, champion for the comma...i'd be that bad naughty nemesis trying to destroy the craft of writing with my bad grammar and crass stories and fart jokes. basically, she coo.

that jersey dreaming bit is a LIE I SAY! jersey never lets me dream. he's too busy twitching in his sleep, taking my beautiful covers and cocooning himself in them, or watching some weird testosterone show that captivates me. i mean watching bear drink his own piss is pretty spectacular! it stops being spectacular when i start to drift and i'm the one drinking the pee. asparagus should not be eaten before bed.

will i forever be known as the girl who wrote about meat burps? this always appears on the list... people are nasty cooter twat heads...but i love them. maybe i'll become the world renowned expert on meat burps...i may not be the doctor of meat burpington-itis, but i am pretty good at smelling that foulness quickly. i can pass out and collapse quicker than a starving actress going down on a director.

question: if you were googled, what words would someone use to find you? not quite sure if the quote "i sing you to me" from australia encompasses me...but it does encompass what i write about...i'll save that problematic pickle for a rainy day.
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