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 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 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!!!


After a Word From Our Sponsor

With the onset of DVR came the fall of the commercial. I breeze right on through those bad boys most days (my Journalism professors are shatting their pants right now), but sometimes I get suckered into live telly and the immaturity starts flowing...

All kidults from the 80s, do you see any similarities between the new movie, Due Date and Trains, Planes and Automobiles? It's recycled hoo haw, but I'll still watch that ish because it features my dream dog..a french bulldog complete with cone of shame. Damn those enticing movie trailers...

People who eat the McRib are sick masochists. A mutant glob of fake meat is currently making sweet passionate love to your organs in hopes of making diseased babies of ick. Shame on McDonald's for using Matt White's Love song to get the baby making shenanigans going. Bow chicka ew ew...

Speaking of panty droppers...The new Dentyne commercial is dangerous. Some special kind of idiot is really gonna think gum is the safe way to get down. The proper way to practice safe shenanigans is to NOT chew gum...Keep the halitosis and you'll never have to worry about the consequences of getting busy.

I now need diamonds, LOTS and LOTS of diamonds yo! The holiday season is chock-a-block full of this crap. A kiss begins with Kay, he went to Jared's!, blah blah blah. Some poor innocent, yet dumb dude is going to give his girlfriend a small tea flower in a ring-sized box for Christmas. She will immediately start blubbering thinking it's a big phat ass engagement ring only to find out it's a flippin' flavored flower. He'll find the box shoved where the sun refuses to shine and wonder why.

I've learned putting a little bit of love in your home can only be accomplished by going to Target and putting big named brands in. And here I thought family, laughter and pumpkin bread was the way to go. Dumb Dumb McGee Tishy...You silly wanker.

a bowl of la flakes

Yesterday wasn't a snazzy day snuggle bears. A flood of emotions came bursting out of me like old faithful when I was stood up for some evening plans. Normally I'd chalk it up to LA flakers...A brand of people located in the remote region of Southern California who come up with the most whack ways of flaking on your butt. It happens so often that people around here will ask me to do something and then ask me two, three, a hundred times if I'm going to flake on them. I get offended...Of course I'm not from this silly land, so I would.

Anyways...I got stood up and I was sad and then people who did not come to my party for whatever reasons started asking me questions about it. Was it fun, what happened, blah blah blah. Here's the deal-e-o...It's cemented in my DNA that being a loyal and good friend is a character builder like a mutha trucker. I take great pride in being there for my friends. Whether it be helping someone de-clutter their home for HOURS just because, or attending some event so they don't have to go at it alone, I'll be there, because that my friends is what you're supposed to do.

I seriously put so much into my friendships. I try so hard and I do so much...I had my first party...My first hostessing party EVER. I planned that thing for two whole months. I created a menu, I asked an event planner for advice, I got a fever blister from the stress for Pete's sake and still some people who knew I was doing all that still managed to ditch my day and act like it was nothing. I may never have a wedding...I'm cheap and I stress about the tiniest details. (I don't think I could handle something as important as a wedding!) and I know now after that party, I won't be throwing any more any time soon. It was hella expensive and left me exhausted and wiped at the end. (Two days later I've just now finished cleaning.)

I'm just so disappointed in friendship philosophy nowadays. Whatever happened to some one's word meaning something? Whatever happened to supporting your loved ones? Whatever happened to being there?

Don't get me wrong, I had some wonderful people show up and make that night a lot of stankin' good fun. Like I said, I didn't break down crying until the flakers started asking how the party went on Monday morning.

I had to run five miles yesterday for my half marathon training. As soon as I started running I could feel the anger and hurt pulsing through my body and pumping my heart like it's never pumped before. I just kept asking the Universe how much more I have to give of myself to get something back. I'm so willing to bend over backwards for my guy, my friends and my family...Is it wrong to want the same in return? I never did those things intending reciprocity, but now that I'm looking back...Now that I'm sitting here writing thank you cards alone I'm wondering if it's worth it to give so much of one's self for free...Isn't the fundamental center of karma cause and effect? You get what you give? If one sows goodness, one will reap goodness...

Not my typical goofy post... Gotta step out of the box every now and then to remind you I may be goofy, but I'm still a sensitive soul. Apparently a sensitive soul contemplating if bitch really is the new black.

dream state

Have you ever had a dream so real your heart refuses to let it go even though your mind has since moved on?

I've forgotten the dream, but as I've looked at different images on the NY Times today something keeps flickering in my heart...telling me to keep going...keep searching... almost there...

I have no idea what I'm looking for. I have no idea what I'm supposed to remember, but something keeps pulling/pushing me on.

I swear my 29th year has brought out the most surreal, the most vivid, the most sticky dreams I've ever had. They have the ability to shift my whole day from good to bad and vice versa.

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,

And Nod is a little head,

And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies

Is a wee one's trundle-bed.

So shut your eyes while mother sings

Of wonderful sights that be,

And you shall see the beautiful things

As you rock in the misty sea,

Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three:



And Nod.

Living in Sin

I swear this year has been all about knocking the kidult out of me and shoving me into the land of big kids. I found Jersey and had to actually admit I had an adult relationship. Then we moved in together and big, HUGE, big kid questions started flooding in like when are ya'll getting hitched and are you thinking of babies and your joint checking accounts...Huh, baking powder? Come again as I delicately file my inner child in my fireproof safe lock box...

I figured it was time that I stopped fighting Father Time and Uncle Maturity and accepted a growing up compromise. Jersey and I would throw a housewarming party, but with our own twist. (And by our I mean me. Jersey accepted his adulthood when he turned five.) I named it a "Living in Sin" party and made sure to  invite people we love to laugh with to ease me us into this new phase of life.

margaret thatcher on a cold day!

someone recently commented on one of my facebook photos and told me at a glance i resemble lil wayne.

let us take a moment to process that heinous observation...

ok now that i've found my self respect living on the streets, pretending to be a sad mime holding a single droopy tulip meant to represent one's joy dying, i can continue.

...lil wayne...really? the guy with the nasty gold teeth, locs and gremlin like face.

dude said i looked like a gremlin.

not good for my ego that's for darn skippy. when it's that time of the month...when i'm feeling bloated, zitty and overall a hot tranny mess of fugly, it's not a good idea to bring up the fact that i look like THE ugliest man on the planet.

i'm the margaret thatcher on a cold day chick basically. i really wish their was a comeback for men in regards to looking broke the hell up. sadly, men can look like ron jeremy and still have a productive and lovely dating life...

i know one thing for sure...i will NEVER complain when someone says i look like julia roberts...accept those compliments. they could be worse...much worse.

b*tch is the new black

Dear Aunt Flow,

It's your beloved Tish. You know, the one you love to visit every month like clockwork? I know you're totally obsessed with me and like to stalk my life forever (like Pauly D so eloquently said on Jersey Shore)...I know you like to linger for more days than you should, all the while leaving little gifts like zits and bloated bellies, but it's time I told you the truth. I can't stand your punk ass. You have this uncanny knack for reaching far down deep into my soul and pulling out every negative, insecure piece of me, and it's so not the bee's knees. Goof is better than gore. Funny is better than fits of rage and being bloated makes my jean buttons shoot off so...

Recently I've been stressed and sad over things I can not control. I realize that if you weren't around I wouldn't be in this pickle. I get sad that I'm not allowed to hit people that make me angry. I bawl when I see perfect little Pottery Barn families complete with worry free brows. And of course I also get sad when I pop the lower button off of my jeans. In a world of fashion bloggers, jet setters and cute friends, it's hard to be a girl who can shop maybe once a year and can't afford to dream about trips out of the country.
I'm feeling not so fresh about my career path and whether or not I'll ever be able to afford a life like my parents had at my age. The idea of owning something sounds so far off. Stripping is sounding pretty darn promising. Whoa, who said that?
This is how I see my life happening...

I somehow missed my window of opportunity...

And ended up going down the dark path....

I will live in an apartment near China the ex wrestling wench for the rest of my life.

I will be that friend who still writes a blog that only 17 people read a day.

It will take me 27 years to pay off my debt and then I will finally have enough money to visit Florida because my adventurous heart will be too pooped to see Europe...Florida-where the aged go to warm their bones.

My tombstone will read had cool hair. cool hopes. cool dreams...but didn't get that cool window of mutha truckin opportunity. Small font, large tombstone.

Bow chicka wow wow or the lottery...Sad, my little options, but that's my ticket unless I want the depends in Florida existence. (chills!) Cruel, cruel stalkin' Aunt Flow...

bag bimbo

lately i've been feasting upon blogs because my nosy rosy factor is off the charts and that's where the truly nosy can go and be free without ridicule from the general public (and violated ones).

i notice that fashionista bloggers LOVE to tell readers what's in their closet, what's in their bag, what's in their laced "vitamins". i kid! i kid! any who i thought i'd take a little girly stroll down feminine lane and share what a goof/non-prissy girl/plain jane chickaroo puts in her bag and why. i have to say it was fun. passed the time, that's for sure...

1. the bag. what can i say about the bag? well it's super duper heavy on most days. i sometimes feel like i should be luggin' around two small children. a bag should never be that heavy unless wipes and diapers are in the mix. my shoulder cries negro spirituals...held down by the bag. mmm, mmm, MMM!
2. my keys, complete with library card-a bookworm's black american express card. have you ever noticed no one ever displays their keys? maybe it's because they don't rep their toyotas quite as hard as i do. (shout out to the flying tomato!!!) maybe they have personal drivers. must be frickin nice...
3. i'm a lip gloss hoochie mama. can't ever have enough. lately i haven't been in the mood for heavy duty makeup so i've been keeping the nudes handy. usually i'm not a fan of mac makeup, but this is seriously the only gloss that doesn't look 80s hot pink on can ask b, my lips have the weirdest color issues.
4. yes even non-prissy people wear jewelry thank you very much. i tend to go to the gym directly after work so i end up shoving my goods in my purse's side pocket. this actually comes in handy on days i'm scatterbrained and don't leave the house with makes it look like i'm one of those fashion savvy girls that always prepares. bling is important for a wanna be pimp like myself. ps: i'm still waiting on that PINKY RANG!

5. my green sunglasses! i love it when people question my luv of green. "you don't wear that much green. what gives?" then i start whipping out all my green ish and they hush their dang mouths. MWAHAHA! these glasses are special because i bought them to celebrate my lasik eye surgery. i went in trying to buy some hipster-like shades and the dude working at the store about had a hissy fit. in so many words he told me not to be a lemming. so i decided not to be a lemming. instead i'm now a bug...with a green thing between my eyeballs.
6. my glorious wallet... my original holder of plastic was stolen last year at a baseball game i attended at dodger stadium. i have to point out the stadium because that's the hoodlum stadium...that's where green wallet thieves go to get their shits and giggles off. i didn't sport a wallet for months because i was mourning my beloved gift, but then this kenneth cole piece of heaven came along and whispered to me "buy me goddess of taste". so i did.
7. lotion for my ashy hands. sephora. guava passion fruit. smells so good you want to eat it, but don't. you'll have the runs for days. don't ask me how i know this.
8. stain slammers RULE! i'm kind of messy. i drink coffee. i wear white occasionally. the end.
9. a woman should ALWAYS be prepared :) hee hee. have you ever noticed women never show their unmentionables? now folks know i'm the gal to go to when aunt flow calls. stay fresh...always.
10. i keep legal, over the counter drugs in my purse in order to feel like a semi-bad ass. i'm that much closer to being a neurotic pill-popping american. not really...the real reason? people at work give me headaches. that bottle is my savior.
11. O.J. the ipod (or Oscar Junior if you're new to the group) is my work salvation. there are two things that get pulled out of the bag when i first get to work each day. the cell phone and O.J.  i plugged that bad boy in yesterday and let paula abdul's "rush, rush" play four times before allowing him to move on to the next jam. i know my neighbors enjoy O.J. just as much as me. :)

what's up doc?

I have had the weirdest stomach issues as of late. I have no idea what's wrong with my body, but I'm totally void of energy. A gal can't get enough sleep. Everything makes my tummy hurt. It's a big hot tranny mess...Enough of a mess to force my behind to go to the doctor's office, which is something I hate doing because I'm mad cheap. I did it though, and found out something glorious:  Doctors will ask you about your pooh!!!

He comes in all perplexed and confused (I mean what are you supposed to think when a gal tells you EVERYTHING makes her stomach hurt) and THAT'S when he makes the cardinal mistake...He asks me to discuss my pooh...IN DETAIL!

Big mistake doc...

I start telling him, in graphic detail, about that glorious stuff that I talk about on a daily basis at work. The difference is, he asked for that ish while my poor work associates don't. To give him an accurate picture, I compared my stuff to McDonalds' french fries...At that moment he busted out laughing with nervous discomfort. I'm so unique and fly. Even my pooh descriptions can't be matched! He stopped writing and told me to get downstairs for blood tests. I, Tish, was able to single-handedly throw my doc for a loop. That was a very proud moment for me...very proud moment.

I think that was my crowning glory moment...

A memorable comparison...

oh,happy day

Mondays aren't really my bag so this is my attempt at throwing snazzy into the mix to beat the blues away. Nothing like a little trip of daytime bliss to remind you how sucktastic corporate American cubicles are. Nothing like some clouds to remind you not to look up at the ceiling with your mouth open...A roach may drop down and give you some unnecessary morning protein. Nothing like a seagull to remind you of the mutant squirrels that sit outside quietly in the bushes waiting to attack. Nothing like fond memories of that glorious Guinness to remind your pathetically sad behind that you have to endure this all sober.

tears of joy. these are tears of joy...

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