Ocean Side

A moment of truth: I'm still taking happy pills to keep the chemicals balanced, but that doesn't stop the world from overwhelming me until I'm huddled in a corner counting imaginary scabs and screaming at lint floating in the air. Just saying...

I catch myself wondering if the pills are working or if life is just beating me down...I was wondering that last week and then my lovely boyfriend told me what he wanted to do for his birthday (finally!) and I knew it wasn't a lack of pill power because I immediately lit up. We're taking holiday, dearest chaps!

We're driving up the coast later today. We're staying in this beautiful sanctuary and we're gonna enjoy the sheer beauty of doing absolutely nothing together. You heard me right. We plan to throw blankets on the beach, pop open a bottle of wine and sit there quietly listening to the ocean...and we're going to do this for more than 5 minutes!

I'm going to read damn it! He's going to let the silence be his friend and we're going to breath in and out with something we haven't known for quite some time--inner calm.

Ain't that a hoot!?

I'm also gonna squeeze a much needed massage into those plans. I can't wait, oh I can't WAIT! I just know time's gonna be on crack today JUST because my body, soul and sheer will needs this damn trip. Whatever. It'll all be worth it in the end.

Picture me ocean side gangstas!

I Spy with My Groovy Eye...


Can you guess why I loved this picture so very much?

I'm sorry, but my arse twitches a tiny bit when I tell someone what I'm reading and they groan, snarl, or roll their eyes in pretentious disgust because I'm not reading some classic collecting dust on my shelf.

I will not apologize for loving fiction. I need to be entertained. Shoot me with a pistol from one of your oh-so-important books.
Yes, a good memoir/biography/non-fiction bookaroo makes its way onto my shelf from time to time, BUT it's usually followed by three or more whimsical delights to balance that ish out. What's the big deal anyways? I swear my Nook is the best invention ever, because it takes away that whole annoying scenario of someone seeing what you're reading and deciding they have the right to comment. Uh uh...Don't comment. This is me and the book's time. There's no room for you. This isn't magic circle... No need to express your opinions. Nope...I'm good. 

I judge books by their covers...not people by their books so when peeps do that to me, my arse begins to twitch. The minute I saw this picture from an Apartment Therapy shelf my heart glowed. Bring on the Twilight love damn it!

ReadingAn Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination

On Bookshelf: The Glass Castle, Decoded, Little Bee

What will never be on the shelf: Boring arse shat that people say is brilliant because they're supposed to think it's brilliant...in order to appear smart and fancy.

J's Manifesto

My bestie turns 30 today. That is sooo weird! When I think of her, she's forever the 14 year-old girl telling me what I should be doing in gym class. (Why am I just now realizing the snazzy-isms in that memory of her?)

She's not 30! Na....We're not big kids yet. No way!

Age may be just a number, but ole girl is packing some serious wisdom lately. Think that adage may need to retire because she's proving SOMETHING happens as you grow. She wrote THIS and boy was I proud. If that's what 30 brings, I'm down! Come on Cletus! Come on!

Very proud to call her a friend. I like to pretend some of her greatness crumbs fall off into the world...she's who you can thank for the awesome-ness that is. She's an English Sun Goddess, entrepreneur, FBG, dog lovin' married ginger with sass to boot and I love her.


This lovely lady friend of mine is constantly showering me with positive little trinkets of love and good energy. That felt so hippie-ish to write...

Gina's the one who makes sure an evil eye is protecting my ish at all times because you just never know what evil wanker is lurking around the corner trying to steal your lunch money.

Sometimes I am forced to interact with folks who make my arse twitch uncontrollably. I've caught myself actually frantically looking down at my wrist to make sure the bracelet's still there...because I KNOW that thing is about to break or explode if the evil is too strong. 

Gangsta Hippie don't play!

are you singing the song?

Attempting a Come Back...of Sorts


This weekend I found my amazing grace. You know, the I once was lost...but now I'm found moment. Last week the idea of my acting dream could send my heart into spasmatic land...All I'd see were images of me crying over some missed audition...the endless butt twitch-inducing stories I've written about in my book. Funny on paper...not so much in real life. It's not about the thin skin stuff. I can take rejection lol. Trust...

What I can't handle is the fact that Hollywood is about who you know...who's willing to stretch out a hand. It's tiring trying to be genuinely eager about a land of fake ass-kissing. Just saying...

I was going through all of these painful emotions...have been for the last year and while I'm dealing, my agent calls me up and tells me I need to get my ish together or the agency is dropping my arse.

So I booked a photographer, a shoot day, a make-up artist and asked B to style me up perdy. I've been dreading the shoot for weeks. I just didn't see the point in posing pretty, spending wayyy too much money (that I don't have) just to find myself in the same rat race box I've been in for the last five years. The shoot was MAD different, though!
I had THE best time. I had full control over what I wanted...the looks I wanted to put out there in the world and the locations. Commercial shots are all about personality...all the other photographers I've ever worked with have spoken to me for a couple of minutes, sized me up, and bullied me into what they assumed would be my personality schtick I could use for auditions. Boo. David, the photographer, gave me full control. Before I knew it, I could feel my groove coming back. When given the opportunity I can rock some big kid decisions. I know...shocking.

I felt so light and free. I had good people around me. Jersey asked to come and I almost had a cow, but B scolded me for being a wuss so I told him he could hang...I warned him though that laughing at me while working could result in penis punches. (Threats help. Trust.) It was a lovely day and I have lovely pictures to show for it. I'll be sending a disc to my agent today. Cross your fingers...and toes. Try your eyes too. I need all the help I can get!

Apartment Therapy

Apartment Therapy is the newer, cooler Better Homes and Gardens...

Fly on the Wall...

I'm absolutely, positively obsessed with looking at other's peoples' spots and seeing how they organize, decorate and chill in the space they call their own. I've never really possessed any kind of personal point of view when it comes to living space aesthetic, but I'm quick to point out I can spot good taste quickly. That's got to count for something, right?

Spot the books on wall paint job?



I swoon when someone figures out what rug 'goes'. colors perplex me...textures bamboozle me so hard I end up wanting to wind my butt and scratch my watch. That's OK though...virtual stalking is more fun anyhow...one can get bored looking at the same living room day in and day out. That's what I tell myself to sleep at night anways.

Man By the Sea

"But the old man always thought of her as feminine and as something that gave or withheld great favors, and if she did wild or wicked things it was because she could not help them. The moon affects her as it does a woman, he thought." ~ The Old Man and the Sea

Sometimes...when I'm home chilling and notice Jersey doing his own thing (this usually involves football, ball scratching, or Jodeci music time) I think about how I gave him my heart...that one stubborn organ I've broken and mended over the years...i gave it all on my own accord.

...I think about how effortlessly this heart dump occured...and the fact that a dude who ball scratches to Jodeci beats controls such an important aspect of me and I think, "HOLY SHIT!"

A Friend's Artwork


Love her sense of humor. She's so honest..so brutally honest!!! Note the exclamation marks after the second die. It brings a tear to my eye. I think the title of this piece should be "Single Women in the Cities: How They Really Feel About Sexual Freedom".

MLK Day: Where the Day Took Me


i need to know their names

those women i would have walked with

jauntily the way men go in groups

swinging their arms, and the ones

those sweating women whom i would have joined

after a hard game to chew the fat

what would we have called each other laughing

joking into our beer? where are my gangs,

my teams, my mislaid sisters?

all the women who could have known me,

where in the world are their names?

~Lucille Clifton

Blue Valentine (no spoilers)

I saw Ryan Gosling & Michelle Williams' flick, Blue Valentine, last night...My thoughts? It's a cross between Revolutionary Road and 500 Days of may not be the movie for you.Summer.

Some movies are just begging to expose every insecure thought you could possibly be having about the relationships in your life. I could feel different parts of the movie absorbing different thoughts of the people sitting around me. The minute someone squirmed I knew the movie was doing a number on them. The sick part was NO ONE got up to leave once the credits started. It was as if they're ability to walk had left them when their souls had been ripped from their chests.

It was even-paced...slow...deliberately sweet so that later it could be deliberately painful to watch. I left the theater needing a hug and a new brain-mine was completely used and abused.

Would I recommend it? Only to those I think could handle it for its artistic merit. If you're like me...if you lose yourself the minute the film starts rolling...immerse yourself into the characters and forget who just slapped who because your face and hand both hurt...well this may not be the one movie I'd chose over all others to watch this month.

One Response to Philosophical Farts

THIS had me giggling in my tights. Keep walking fashion forward and no one gets hurt...


Just to be clear, Petunia (the French bulldog I've wanted for YEARS...at least 10...) is imaginary...She hasn't yet been born, which Jersey, the Terd Face Killah, says is a good thing. He seems to think we don't have room/money/time/enough love for a puppy. Did I mention I like to kick boys in the balls?

THIS is my pup, Petunia!!!

OK...Jersey says I'm weird and acting like a 4-year-old child because I'm writing ya'll about my imaginary pet. Well, you know what...that's how one copes when they don't get their way. That's how they make it through the days. It's how they carry on. PS. Bite me.

I love my dog. Every time I see one like her out in public my voice goes up a couple octaves. The weird part is, it's like the other frenchies know that I love and adore them because they wag their little stubs and dog smile at me. Melts my heart like butta. Even Caitlin McGauley loves the frenchies...

Petunia's full name is Revolutionary Petunia. She's named after Alice Walker's poem, titled the same:

The Nature of This Flower Is to Bloom.
Rebellious. Living.
Against the Elemental Crush.
A Song of Color
For Deserving Eyes.
Blooming Gloriously
For its Self.

That poem inspired the beginning of my blog...I started writing in 2005 on myspace and that my friends was the name/blog I chose...I'm kind of in love with the name and the idea of my cool pup, chillin' in a green wagon, being rebellious, and blooming gloriously for no one but herself.

We Don't Comment on Speculation or Rumor Foo!

So I'm seriously considering joining the dark side...I'm thinking of getting an iPhone. Yup! Little Miss "I will never stray from my PC! I hate the crackberry ball, BUT Apples scare me" wants a chance to gently swipe her hand over her phone and turn a page. She wants to bump phones with another apple head and instantly get their info. She wants to take totally hipster coolio pictures that look like old Polaroids.

I never wanted that pesky AT&T though so I waited like a shrewd little troll in the corner of a very small moldy corner for the moment when iPhone went viral. AND IT DID! Verizon recently announced they'll be getting that lovely little gizmo. My inner troll is fist pumping and spewing out green goo. It wasn't always fist pumping and green gooey happiness, though. I've been bugging Verizon for a couple of months now. Each time I'd write I'd just pretend I hadn't written a week earlier in hopes of getting a sucker who'd leak the heat. The last response I received was too fun not to post:

Dear Tish,

My name is Jan, and we are delighted to hear that you want to become our customer at Verizon Wireless, and I am sure that you will not regret the change! As for the possibility of Verizon Wireless offering the iPhone in January. I do not have any information regarding these rumors.

Tish, Verizon Wireless does not comment on speculation or rumors. We do offer a vast selection of BlackBerry, Palm, Windows Mobile, and Android 3G Smartphone in addition to many 3G Multimedia and Feature Phones on www.verizonwireless.com, which also provides full specifications and user reviews of our lineup to help you make the best educated decision in choosing the device that is right for you.

Um...Did Jan just shame me? Did she just imply I'm a gossipy louse that doesn't deserve the iPhone...doesn't deserve to be cool?! I think she did. I should send this back to her and ask her if she'd care to edit any of her response now. : )

The egg yolks has run downeth your FACE Jan!


Your Darling Tishy Pooh

A Tiny Book Worm


So D sent me this picture of his niece and I swear I swooned and fell back in my chair giggling. I love when kids love books. I loved books so much as a kid. I remember my mom read this panda bear book to me so often I memorized it and she thought I could actually read...or at least she acted like I could read. Books gave me such snazzy worlds to dream about and mad fist pumping action.

I'm currently reading this book by Elizabeth McCracken, An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination: A Memoir. It's brilliant. That's the only way to describe it. It's a page turner like a mother trucker which is a plus in my world AND it's different...I love her voice and her honesty. It sounds cruel, but it's a painfully funny book about her stillborn baby. I promise I'm not cruel and sadistic.

You should check it out if you're in need of some book worm love.

Rip Van Winkling...Yes, It's an adverb now.

Thank you Baby Jesus for the pizza Jersey left for me in the fridge...Without which I surely would have perished.

Have you ever been ill for more than a month straight? I mean I'm going on two months now and last night was a bit scary. Last night I cried myself to sleep, not one, not two, but THREE times because I really did think I wouldn't wake up in the morning.

While a sister can indeed breath, it's shallow and it hurts to do so. It feels like I have stone lungs. The up and down motion pains me. It just makes me want to sleep and forget. Luckily my body is allowing me to sleep...lots. Like I'm Rip Van Winkling my way through the days.

I'm dreaming crazy dreams about seeing ghosts because I'm close to death and then Jersey turns on the lights and rabid dogs are laying at the foot of my bed...Except for now they're awake and OPE! My dream has switched to some Romy and Michele weirdness and I'm now a white girl and I'm sneaking someone's Valentines dress...strapless of course. I would NEVER wear strapless if it were left up to me.

I love my brain's sense of humor:

"Ooo, I'm gonna give Tishy crazy dreams so that when she awakes and is still in a weak state of mind, they will eff her shit up."

Being sick is usually temporary and manageable for me. I buy a Naked Smoothie from the store, I take it easy in the gym and VOILA! I'm back to good in 2 to 3 days. This bastard of a virus living in my lungs laughs at codeine cough syrup, he mocks antibiotics, and he pisses and then kicks dirt on vitamin C and rest.

I just typed "durt" and had to wait for spellcheck to correct me...

Back to bed I go. If I die please give my My So-Called Life collection to a deserving watcher. Give my favorite new writing pen I received from Christmas to my Godkiddo, Whitley Schmitley, because she wants to be a writer some day. Jersey can have anything in the apartment he wants although I'm pretty sure people will think him morbid so sale everything and use the cash to go on a killer snowboarding trip. Jersey, you can date, but only after mourning me for a considerable amount of time...J will determine that time for you.

I have a shaking suspicion I'll be down and out for quite some time more...so I'm leaving you with little videos of what I do when I'm home alone, bored out of my frickin mind.

*An Ode to Those Who Enable

*This is my Luv & Kiwi Appreciates the Readers post. The inspiration behind each post is simple: It's a narcistic payment for those that nominated my blog for a bloggie award. If I win, Luv & Kiwi could possibly rule the world...and people would speak in haiku:

Brigid, L.A. friend
We ate at taco bell lots
Never heard her toot

This is Krys' sweet baby
KU--college friend

Martha, school/pen friend
Takes lovely pics of her kids
Has whimsical taste

Melissa, old school
Met her when we were small kids
Love reuniting!

Regina the fair
Loves Oprah as much as me
Never met in person

Chele is my first twin
Her research led her to me
Queen of the board game!


I thank all of you who voted...You're sort of saying you support my dreams and I love people who do that. I try to do that...Dreams are important. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you :)

Boys Always Get the Better Toys...

I love the way guys get to snazzy up. Cuff links, suspenders, BOWTIES...They're so much cooler and quirkier than the stuff they give us girls to show off. These by far are my favorite accessories.

Every time I wear them I turn into the Tiger Lady (aka Diane Keaton) from Baby Boom. I feel totally bad arse...like I could move to the country and make baby food out of all the apples in my yard.

I just finished browsing Madeleine Albright's book, Read My Pins. I'd never really noticed her obsession with pins, but after perusing the pages of her picture book I found myself chuckling. I totally dig that she expresses herself through pin. hee hee...Tickles me green. So much more interesting than a pimped out pinky ring or a boring old bracelet.

Someday I'll invent an accessory unlike any other accessory that's ever lived and people will worship and adore me for my clever bling bling. They'll say, "Heyyyyyyyyy," and I'll say "Yoooooooo, pretty swell, right!" and then I'll strut down the street/road/runway/red carpet/book shop just like J.J. from Good Times.

Word to your mother.

Who Said Chivalry is Dead?

I've been sick. I've been mighty down...for like EVER. Like I can't remember what it feels like to be healthy. That guy of mine has been nothing but wonderful during this hard arse time...

He's picked up meds for me, tissue (with the aloe lotion!), soup, juice...He's been a knight in shining Honda.

He puts a little trash can near me for my tissues and allows me to watch endless hours of My So-Called Life (I got the DVD collection for Christmas from Santa.) He listens to me whine about not being able to work out...He comforted me when I had to cancel my half-marathon.

He took down the Christmas tree all by himself and cuddles with me despite the fact that I have gangster amoebas spilling out of my orifices.

He's just been snazzy. I'd swoon, but it causes me to choke on my own snot.

Chests and Boxes

So Jersey and I were watching this indie film called Me and You and Everyone We Know...weird and totally random, but much like a guy diggin in his nose on the freeway...you just can't look away.

There's all these really quirky odd people walking around doing quirky things in it including this little girl with a hope chest she keeps meticulously stocked with all the home essentials every gal would need come her wedding day. (You have to watch the flick. You'll giggle. Trust me.)

Any who,  it got me thinking of my own hope chest...it sits in my mother's bedroom back in the Midwest. It's filled with homecoming mums and old diaries...pictures of my father and other things the kid in me deemed treasure-rific...like nerdy pencils and the little love note Christopher Thompson gave to me in the 4th grade. (I use love note loosely...In actuality he pulled a Mr. Darcy and told me not to change anything...I took that as he wanted to marry me and pick me every time in Thumbs Up 7 Up.)

I'm wishing I had filled that darn wooden chest with white fluffy towels to go in my huge master bath, Egyptian cotton sheets for that beautiful princess bed, books for my built-in bookshelves and kitchen toys for me to tinker around with in my huge arse kitchen. I made a boo boo by filling my box with all those silly memories instead of the hard core house goods a true gangsta of the hearth needs.

Here's the rub associated with living in Los Angeles and trying to pursue that acting thing the young ones are gabbing on about: You're more than likely going to live in a shatty arse apartment and you shall do it for a long time. Jersey and I have been searching every darn apartment guide out there for a decent apartment...and when I mean decent I'm talking basics...like lack of black mold, management that will actually fix doors so that they'll stay on the hinge...that kind of stuff that separates the slum lord from the heavenly angels. I'm gangsta...not ghetto! It's hard out there for a pimp! I want all you fortunate souls with washers and dryers to go to your appliances, hug them long and hard, give them an extra shake of love and then think of me...

My box didn't prepare me for life as I know it today. I'm wondering how many times I can write box before you start giggling in a perverted manner.

The Most Important Thing Since Sliced Bread!

Gumshoes, I need your help!

I've been writing this beloved blog of bline mine for almost five years now and I want to take my little one global. I want THE BLOGGIE. (I say this like a red neck country bumpkin. I suggest you do the same.)

If you could...I would absolutely LOVE it if you nominated Luv & Kiwi for an award. It only takes a couple of seconds. If you do so I'll do a little sumpin' sumpin' for you. Oh yeah....I'll write a little spiel about you...word?! yeah...in true Luv & Kiwi fashion. I'll even tell a toot story if your dear heart wishes it.

Pleeeeeease help me. I'm trying to get a book published and this would really, really REALLY help that process along...For some reason the bloody wankers love to publish people who are all somebodies already.

You can nominate me by clicking HERE and entering my web address under whichever category you deem appropriate. I'm not from New Zealand. Don't pick that one!

"You're nobody until somebody loves you..." Remember those lyrics. They suck balls with boobies on them.

Luv & Kiwi,


NYE: The Recap

Oh I'm a scrooge-y kind of gal today...Well so far all this year actually. There's nothing like ringing in the new year while fighting the worst cold I've ever had in my whole life. I can say this without drama or hyperbole because I've literally had the dang thing since the Monday after Thanksgiving. Yes, you read that right. THANKSGIVING. Who stays sick that long?! I haven't been in a gym in the longest time. My feet haven't ran in many moons. I'm grumpy, weak and far from optimistic that this crap will leave my festering body any time soon.

I did manage to put on a smile and enjoy New Year's Eve though. I was delighted that Jersey FINALLY had the chance to meet my family here in California--my pretend twin older sister and her hubsters. We met up with them at their hotel and had a yummy drink that has brandy and margarita stuff in it. lol...I've never been good with names, but I believe it was called a streetcar??? For some reason that sounds a bit off. Any who, it was good!

We ate at a popular spot near our home called Pink Taco (deliciously inappropriate name) and then headed up to the valley to ring in the new year with B and her crew. We played this game called catch phrase that had me falling out my chair...seriously, that really happened. Game was a hoot. Who knew waffles come from Waffle House and Roscoe's Chicken...

I drank champagne that housed a kiwi in the shape of a heart in it. Get it?! Ha! And I walked around saying "Spu-man-tay" because it sounded dirty.

All in all, it was a fun night. Not magical...not hopeful and tearful, just nice and chill. It's hard to have all those sentimental hopes and dreams when snot's choking your will to live. Just saying...

*Farewell Decade!

*Farewell to a decade I welcomed in during my college years.

The first decade of the 21st century:

Someone proposed to moi and then later gave me my first substantially real heart wound. I sold the ring to pay for the gas that would take me to California to pursue my acting dreams.

I graduated from college and got a real job. After the first week of work, I started to count down the days to early retirement. I got a red stapler and made sure my computer volume was loud enough so everyone would know when I was receiving emails. My sound was a popular movie quote, "There's no crying in baseball!".

I dated a lot. Some real special ones were mixed up in that lot and made it impossible for the mama to meet them.

I made a home for myself in LA...the land of fake. I managed to make REAL friends and spend my time doing REAL things and some not so real things like my two acting gigs, the Jay Leno spot and all the other goobledy ga I've managed to land myself in. I refuse to go into gobs of detail because it'll all be in my book. (mwahahaha)

I found a good egg in a mate. I call him Jersey. I worship and adore him just a bit. I also kept my best friendship with J intact. We've been besties for 15 years now and managed to share every single day of our lives together. If we're not emailing every second of every day, we're texting. It's lovely having someone that's known you for the whole decade in which your adult life found you and your wits left ya.

Basically I did that whole 20s thing. I learned enough to know I don't know anything about myself quite yet. I figure that's what the 30s and 40s are for so I'm not too worried. I up and changed my zip code like it was nothing. I grew balls the size of Texas.

Then I let them shrink a little bit with all the acting rejections, silly breakups and dog days at work. I'm trying a new tea elixir to help rejuvenate them though!

I don't know if I've significantly summed up this decade...Honestly, I don't know if it's even possible, but overall I've kept ME intact. The goofy, incorrigibly crass, sometimes foul smelling/sometimes divine me me me me MEEEEEEE is still here. I'd say the decade was a success.

*After writing this post I learned from my very smart friends that I'm one year off. I should have bid adeu to the decade last year. I argued this fact for five minutes before BJ finally made me count on my hands...2000, 2001...oh, yeah. DOH! I felt quite special...and I couldn't blame it on the tequila drink either.
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