It's really easy for me to stop reporting on my day-to-day triumphs and failures and focus more on farts and horny toads. I get that...I know some of you, who have been reading this thing since its inception in 2005, are wondering why the heck I'm tripping. I know that YOU know that I know I'm holding back and I am...

Sometimes it's just not a cool and groovy time to share stalemate.

That's what I'm experiencing anyways...a stalemate of sorts. I am chilling in the land of "I ain't doing sheet!" and it sucks balls because I'm Ms Type A Future Planner. I'm the girl who thought I was going places. Gonna do big things...I had all the makings of a nerd gone successful. I set my childhood up perfectly for the crap...(Betcha didn't know I was only pretending to be a dork. Ha HA!) Right now my life is update-free. When people ask me what I've been up to, I smile. That's it! I gots nada for you on the social train. No tweets. No facebook awesomeness. I'm high and dry, y'all.

The Book
So yeah my book, Hollywhat, is still in the editing stages, but I've just learned Round I: Grammar Editing has been completed. Now my editor has moved on to Round II: Content (That's the scary part!) I've decided my book is allergic to literary agents. I'm the stinky kid of books. No one wants to touch my ish or be friends. It's sad. Truly. But that happens...So, there's a Plan B in the works for my little project once the rounds of editing commence. I'm going to self-publish. The one thing I said I did NOT want to do. Why? Because that means I, alone, have to hustle and get people to read it...I, alone, have to build hype and create buzz. I'm sorry, I've been writing Luv & Kiwi since 2005 and I have a big ole 30 folks who read. Um...

My Acting Bug
No acting news people! I don't even know what that means anymore. Acting? What's that? Oh wait! There is a short film I'm supposed to be researching stuff for, but I've been lazy and unmotivated. I've put the film I'm supposed to watch (per the director/writer) in my Netflix queue. That's about it. See what I mean? Hot mess--right here--pointing at myself. I just feel like I've been fighting and pushing for something that clearly doesn't want me for way too long. Now I'm sitting back and taking a break from door beating. No more beating down doors trying to get people to flipping give me a chance.

My relationship is HAWD right now. I can't lie and say rainbows and butterflies are singing hippie songs while sitting cross-legged on my butt, BUT it's starting to get better. We've been together for a little over a year now...I'll never know the true time for sure since neither one of us remembers a specific time we started talking. (groan) Moving in together, finding a way to make a chatty pants and an epic silent-one work...well it's a bit challenging, now isn't it? So challenging that I'm moving out. Did your jaw just drop? It did? Yeah, mine did, too. And then I bawled. And then I got angry and kicked his shoes around because it felt good. Then I started to simmer down and now I'm trying to process everything.

Beautiful Breakdown
My life is so messed up. I'm moving out (we're still dating, but it's gonna be mad different) and moving in with B. While she's awesome squared for doing this, I still feel like a deflated balloon of stupid. Here I am, 30 and dependent on others. I've got nada to my name, a hole in my heart (and pocket!) and NO BOOK DEAL.

This, my friends, is the part where I admit my name spells MUD right now. I just have to put my hands up in the air and exclaim that Donald Trump is a complete idiot...and then focus on allowing the world to just take me a long for awhile until stuff starts to flow and feel right.

Urban Legend

Me: This day is sooo dragging baaaaaaaallllllllssssssssssssssss!

D: You're right. This day is dragging!

Me: ...balls

D: Peanut butter

Me: ??? This day drags peanut butter?! Huh?

D: If you have a dog, put peanut butter on your balls for a cheap thrill.

Me: You have issues. I heard an urban legend about a woman who would do that so that her pooch would lick down there lol…and one night she came home with her pants down calling for the dog and people were in her apartment to surprise her for her birthday.

D: Hahahaha! That’s hilarious!

Me: No, that's an unfortunate, but clever idea.

Farewell My Black Balloon

Alison Mosshart: http://dcist.com/2011/04/the_kills_at_930_club.php#photo-5

I love this woman. I mean like I really LOVE her. Not only is she a bad ass on stage--the charisma she possesses should be studied--she's also that epically awesome dude's chick that just finds herself hopping from cool band to cool band because she can. The Dead Weather, The Kills...I'm a new fan, but so far the girl can do no flippin' hair wrong.  

I don't even mind that she doesn't brush her hair...She makes me not want to brush my hair! Her coolness kills me! HA! Get it? Get it?

Behind the Scenes

I find the niftiest things from blog stalking. Oh Joy! featured this photographer in one of her recent posts and I about lost my damn mind going through all of her cool and funky moving pictures. I said moving pictures...ha ha! Sounds like something reserved only for grandma's nicknamed Winky who eat fried green tomatoes.

Any who, I love some of her behind the scenes work because it's dark and very Fiona Apple "Criminal"...I keep waiting for the music to play...and pale skin and bony chicks to pop in.

30-Year-Old Crisis



I had a some-kind-of crisis last week and decided that I needed change. BIG CHANGE! HUUUUGE change! So I set up an appointment with my homie's girlfriend and told her to make me look completely different. I told her I wanted it short. I told her I wanted it a completely different color.

No more boring Tishy. NOOOOPE. I needed some metamorphis. I needed to see the damn butterflies and flitter about with a new 'tude.

Yeah, part of the reason was spiteful. I think people (including my dude) just kind of see me as there and I didn't want to be just there anymore. Nope...Now I'm a fiery red head and I love it! Mwahahhahaha!

Part 1: The dry cut

Part 2: I get amped

Part 3: Highlights that will tell the red to come hither and stay put

Part 4: I'm new and different yo!


A woman who changes her hair is about to change her life. ~ Coco Chanel

Angry Bird

Since the beginning of Jersey and I living together we have fought over a local bird's right to build a nest in our porch's light thingy. My ass would twitch every time I saw him removing twigs that poor bird had worked so hard to build. I secretly thought he was one of those sadistic little kids that kicks cats and grows up to lure little people into their homes to dress them up in umpa lumpa clothes and do the polka with.

That all changed this weekend. When Twinkie and J were here for Coachella I noticed this pretty grey cat with blue eyes lurking in my backyard ish. I'm hella allergic to kitties so from the safety of my screened in living room I tried to shoo him away. My neighbor (the hunky actor man who's currently in a McDonalds commercial) kept trying to get the cat and calling it by his name (Ollie). My neighbor's lived in this complex since the beginning of time, is pretty friendly, and is in the know with everyone so I just thought he was helping a neighbor out. Turns out its his girlfriend's cat.

We chit chatted for a bit about life and pizza and then he moved on to the birds. Apparently the same bird built a muther truckin nest in his light and when those baby birds hatched they had no idea how to fly out and ended up dying in that damn thing. My lip trembled. This evil mama bird was intentionally killing her babies or just slow?! The tragic horror was too much for me to bare.

Not only that, he had to clean the dead birds out and they were loaded with little lice bugs. (Groovy) Needless to say that night I dreamed of angry mamama birds infecting my porch with lice and then those lice and the dang bird were attacking me. I woke up in a pool of sweat and promptly texted Jersey to tell him when he returned home from his trip he was gonna have to demolish a nest.

That request was made in haste, though! I noticed the bitch bird is in her prime time sitting mode which means there are dang eggs up in that piece. Maybe she can kill, but I can't. I'm going to leave the nest and pray that Mama Nature takes pitty on the birds...It's not fair that their mama is too selfish and cruel to teach them how to fly out of the darn hole.

If ya'll have any suggestions let me know? With gloves can one move a nest, or will the mama bird ignore it from then on? Will I get lice? Because I'm not OK with that. Has Rachel Zoe said it was cool to watch birds yet? These are things I need to know people!

You Smell Smart

I about peed my pants when I read this in the NY Times:

"In other Lagerfeld news, there was also a rumor circulating online this week that the designer was working on a fragrance that was intended to smell like books. He has an enormous library of hundreds of thousands of volumes, so it sort of made sense."

Shut the front fucking door! I'm down. Where can I buy it? I want to smell like a book. Why not. 

Friday Analogy: Musicality

I'm as horny as a toad in a band of trumpets.

Dr Dirty

I really, REALLY need to get a new dentist. Every time I enter the building I'm bombarded with horrendous greetings. It doesn't matter how many times I say "Tish" or write it in the sign-in book, they ALWAYS welcome me with, "Hello Lateeesha."

My butt twitches and my teeth start to ache from my jaw clenches.

Then Dr Dirty walks in...calls me Lateeesha too and then proceeds to call me sweetie, baby, babe, honey and every other inappropriate term of endearment the man can muster up.

The only thing that keeps me from wrapping blankets around me and writing in my journal about feeling dirty and violated is the fact that he's looking into my mouth the entire time he's saying this crap...He's picking shat out of my teeth and smelling coffee/onion breath. It's my own personal little revenge.

I'm still looking for a new doc, but for now I have to clench in silence. (Both teeth and butt in case you were wondering.)

The Kin"sheena" Scale

I'm kind of obsessed with the Kinsey scale. (Have been since Human Sexuality 101--University of Kansas)     

Simply fascinating...I catch myself eavesdropping overhearing folks talking about where they fall on that glorious scale that allows one to say, "That chick is so hot, but I'm not really feeling the kissy kissy with her so I'm not really gonna go with gay, but I'm definitely not a zippy zero either.


The idea of scales and where people fall on a spectrum popped into my head yesterday while having a lovely conversation with Jersey. Basically in a nutshell, we were discussing the idea of jealousy and when it's appropriate to speak up and when it's not so much necessary. Women and men are always gonna flirt with taken folks...and sometimes we laugh and watch as our partners squirm over the attention, while other times some weird intuition sets in and you think to yourself,  "Nope...something ain't copacetic with this person."

I told him if I were being fake I'd say some bull shat about not caring because I trust my guy and I'm confident in myself...Yeah, that little band-aid of confidence doesn't always make the annoying bugs buzz off. I have THREE instances in my past where I trusted my guys SO much, but they took that as indifference and decided to cheat the worst kind of cheats to see if they could get a rise out of me. Seriously...one guy actually told me it was my fault he cheated because I acted like I didn't care...so he wanted to see if I would. Smart guy...I picked some winners.

I digress, though. Basically if my little gut starts shouting out warning signs...or farting out warning signs (I have a sensitive tummy...) then I'm going to speak up and say I'm aware of the situation, it makes me uncomfortable, yadda yadda. Jersey kind of gave me that boy blank face that we all know and love so I drew him a picture to help him along.

Pretty sure it worked. Alfred and Wardell would be so proud of me.

There's always a balance...


I am in love with this *font...like I want to marry it and have little babies who curve and loop and dot things perfectly.

*for the curious word nerds, the font is footlight MT light.

I've been Cuban-ized

The sandwich of champions...the mecca of meals...oh Porto's how I love thee.

Usually I hit up this lovely Cuban Bakery & Cafe for the tummy minions also known as cheese rolls, but when lunch time hits I grab this lovely chicken torta and wait for it to happen.

The it I'm referring to involves color explosions and happy dances. I swear sometimes I even hear somewhere deep inside my stomach (if you listen carefully) the sounds of Sweet Emotions by Aerosmith. It's like that.

Happiness has a new definition: Marinated and grilled chicken breast, black bean spread, goat cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, and red onions, on a French round.

Word to your mama.


We have to find something beautiful in the ordinary...Because if we don't we'd bang our heads with frying pans and that would be painful.

Original photo by Twinks McGee

Am I the Only Sour Cherry on the Fruit Stand?

I about crapped my panties watching this. You know how it feels when you're laughing so hard you start gasping for air and you feel like you might just kill over and die like Vizzini from Princess Bride? That's pretty much what happened to me. All I can say is I was probably, most likely Elvis in my former life...

Allergic to Radiation: Coachella 2011

I had a LOVELY kick ass, totally awesome-rific, epic, pee-inducing, spasmodically beautiful time at Coachella this year. There are no words and lots of words that could describe that glorious event...unfortunately for ya'll, I've spent the last four hours uploading videos and pictures and now I'm pooped...Pooped like the poop I kept seeing in the Coachella port-a-potties. (Dumping blue smell-good stuff on it didn't mask the fact that there was a lot of dookie down there Team Coachella.)

We had a crazy amount of quotes that made the event memorable including, " ___ the shit out of ___ "

We filled in the blank with lots of goodies including we sat the shit out of that day or we listened the shit out of that song. You get the drift. Groovy one.

Twinkie was coughing from all the smog in LA (you have to have gangsta lungs to make it in this town!) and so I told her it was just all that radiation from Japan--no worries. From that moment on we were allergic to radiation. Only the teenage mutant turtles are immune I'm afraid...well them and the hipsters. Hipsters didn't seem to mind the radiation or the cigarette smoke that polluted our air so bad that I now sound like a dude.

Not a sexy one either. Raspy Jenkins at your service!

Partners in crime

Gogol Bordello was quite the performer I must say

Air Art

The Kills: I drooled a bit watching Alison Mosshart wrap the mic chords around herself. Girl has charisma and then some. Now I see why Kate Moss was driven into jealous rages over her boyfriend being Mosshart's band member. That Alison is hotness on a stick.

We found friends and watched Arcade Fire with him and his buddy. Later we waited as he tried to smuggle beer out of VIP. 30 minutes and out he came with a beer in a water bottle that had been tucked into his sock. Clever chap. Coachella gangster for sure.

This is what Coachella felt like for me. It was a blur of pretty.

We laughed a lot. We jammed a lot. I slept a lot (I'm allergic to extreme heat). We heard great music and THAT my friends makes me one lucky gal...I think you can appreciate and obsess over bands, but you can't truly love the real them until you've seen them live...at Coachella...with thousands of zombie hipster fans around you dancing awkwardly with purpose.

Allergic to Goodbyes

The girls left today. I swear we planned that glorious weekend for a frickin' year and just like that it was over.

I dropped Twinkie off at the airport at 5am so the tears were too tired to form when she was in the car, but the minute she got out and I saw her walking into the airport...NIAGARA FALLS.


Came home. Went back to sleep for a couple hours and then J woke me up because it was her turn to leave. This time it's 9am and I've already cried once before so the tears are ready. We get to the exit for the airport and the water works start flowing. It finally hits me that my best friend is leaving and life will suck because I'll be going home to a sad lonely little apartment...AND it's supposed to start raining today.

God can be so poetically mischievous, can't He?

I plan to do nothing today. My gram called and started talking to me about J and how much she loves it when we get a chance to play and the tears started AGAIN...this time in Walgreen's. I've scared too many people today with my sad crazed look.

There's this weird feeling when vacations end. It's like all the things I was getting used to about mundane life suddenly is wayyy too much to bare. My friends being on other sides of the country, a boyfriend who truly digs his alone time and jumps for joy when I'm gone, a job that makes me want to stick my head in a toilet and flush...

This is that whole yin and yang stuff the big kids always warned me about. We'll give you amazing experiences, but you must prepare yourself for that period of suck that must and will come after that. "The honeymoon's over."

Today is my suck day. Tomorrow will be Coachella blog day. Way more fun to read. Promise.


Off to Coachella!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I'll be back with your regurarly scheduled kiwi posts starting Tuesday, April 20th.

Luv & Kiwi,

One geeked-out Coachella Cooter!



I love NPR. (KCRW if you chill in the Los Angeles area.)

I support because that's what cool people do. And because I support, they sent me this snazzy hoodie. (Have I mentioned I'm obsessed with hoodies? I have to sleep in one...so if it's a hot night, I have to blast fans...do whatever to ensure I'm comfortable in my hoodie.)

I pranced around my apartment last night trying to be gangster...a prancing, NPR-wearing gangster. It was an awesome sight to behold.


So Coachella is this weekend and Twinks, J and I are so frickin' pumped up it's like Hulk Hogan, Billy Mays and Susan Powter got together with the folks from High School Musical, made a giant hybrid hyperactive baby and called it "Jinkish" (All our names combined. Clever, no?) We're amped! We're stoked! We are ready to be poked! Not really, the chant was just holding me hostage...

We're geeked...I NEED this weekend. I NEED my girls and some good music and some booze and I need it NOW. I'm off of work for FIVE.WHOLE.DAYS...That is glorious to type. Makes my tenders tingle.

Now that we have flying logistics as well as the eating plans taken care of, (I'm taking them to a new brunch spot and this dinner spot the Loverchinis introduced me to called Barberrellas) we can focus on other important matters. The issue of what to wear.

This doesn't have to be a girly post for all those ready to click off. I'm a function over form kind of gal...I have to be able to stay cool, stay warm and squat...those are my requirements. The gals have stated their own wardrobe preferences:

Twinks says she's gonna paint her tata's and raise money for her pet, Falcore, from The Never Ending Story.

J is straight up pimpin' Fit Bottomed Girls attire. Trump would be so proud.

...And you've heard my requirements. I'm thinking a long dress. I can squat in that. I am giddy with glee!   There's a new group of fashionistas with considerable music tastes coming to town!

Seriously about died laughing when I started seeing all of the hoity toity fashion blogs out there talking about what to wear to Coachella...equally more annoyed to see I wasn't the only one wanting to rock a long dress. My inner namby pampy can't be denied...

Julianne Potter on CRACK!

Julia Roberts...She was MY very own American sweetheart. Loved her to pieces, because she wore a tie to her first Oscars...and she was cute... and had a big laugh and once I turned 15, looked like my doppelganger twin. I thought she was pretty lovely...that is UNTIL she did that God-awful flick, My Best Friend's Wedding, and then I detested her. Yep, I realize she was acting...and that she wasn't (in real life) one of those girls who feel it's OK to disrespect the code, but it didn't matter. She had me thinking about those girls who break the code and that was enough to turn me off for years.
It took years for me to adore her again...YEARS. All because of the code.

What's the code you ask? The code is that unwritten rule that we women don't disrespect/flirt/have inappropriate conversations with a taken dude. You know what I'm talking about? When you're walking and see a cute guy...then notice he's with an equally cute gal so you turn quickly (or possibly smile at her) to let her know you mean her no disrespect. A total stranger and still, YOU.DO.NOT.SCOPE.HER.DUDE!

I've always had guy buds my whole life and somehow, without attending one secret damn club where the unwritten code would have been spoken, I figured out the rules. There's a line I just never crossed with my dude friends. No bad talking the chicks they're dating, no discussing sexy sexy time with them, no touching, no flirting...basically you treat this person like they are a sibling. If you wouldn't feel groovy telling your bro that you're a horny toad that needs to get some then you're BREAKING THE CODE. Friends of the opposite sex are supposed to be genderless...There shouldn't be any discussions that lead you to inner dialogue similar to, "HOLY VAGINA TESTICLES BATMAN! This person could want to boink me!"

I did not make this ish up. How do I know this? I know this because I'm dealing with a code breaker chick right now and when I discussed this with friends they ALL got it...They all agreed I wasn't a weird psycho hose beast with jealousy issues...men/woman--both knew ole girl was boo boo for breakin' puffs.

One of my homies is dealing with the same kind of code violator, too. This violator has no boundaries...She's what I like to call the bubble popper. She gets in the bubble and just pops ish up with her inappropriate banter. She cares not for the relationship of the guy friend she supposedly adores...this is how you know she's in the group.

If you go by the code, you ask your bud if you can meet his girl. You make her feel comfortable. You lay it all out there...show that your relationship with ole boy is purely platonic...transparent...innocent. It's not hard. Really. Promise.

What did Spanky do when someone broke the He-Man Woman Haters Club rules? Yeah, Julia Roberts didn't get the dude in My Best Friend's Wedding, but we code followers in the real world also aren't Cameron Diaz Richie Rich hotties with cousins who can sing Say A Little Prayer for You on demand.

P.S. I asked a lesbian friends if this same drama happens in her world. She said it's worse actually. I'm thinking it's time to take the code to the streets and knock some sense into the shady women of the world.


"It's taken me all my life to learn what not to play."
~Dizzy Gillespie

One of the guy's friends recently said he believes in me more than he thinks I believe in myself. I'd beg to differ. I know there's a Maya Angelou-ish, some-kinda-woman in me...just not sure what that some-kinda-woman is supposed to be doing with herself right now.

I'm not a dude. Dude's keep going even when they have no idea where they are or where they're going for the matter. Ladies will pull over, stop, ask for directions...we're much more cautious about the paths we choose for our feet to meet.

I'm some-kinda-woman who doesn't own a pair of future goggles. That means I get a chill pass to rest my ish upon until my doors start opening. Acting, publishing a book, something entirely different...??? I don't know foos!

Word to your mother.

My Neck, My Back!

So last night Jersey was playing ball and got pulverized by a giant oaf man who's name should have been Borg or Gus or something...

The thud resulted in a medium-sized Filipino man lying on the court, limbs spread eagle, unable to move. This is usually when Ms Drama Queen T Dipstick me would flip the EFF out, but I was cool, calm and collected. He got up and we drove to the ER...where we stayed from 8:30 until 2:30 in the morning. It was lovely. It was scary and by the end of it I was a grumpy hot mess because he was fine ( so I was allowed to let my diva show) . Dude's spine and neck will be fine, which is what we were most afraid for...now he just has to see if he tore something unfortunate. Cross your fingers and say your prayers for that part...That boy is WAY too active to go through an ailment such as that.

Now that mama bear mode is over I can share the jokes I had going with him last night...Like for instance, I started referring to him as McCain...he can't move his arms above his head. I'm not right. I know this.

I also can laugh about the argument we got in over a McDonald's McChicken sandwich at around 2:45 am. I'm sure the lady working the drive-thru was so happy to hear our little bickering action...Makes you want to go home and thank your lucky stars your husband/boyfriend/girlfriend/wife/whatever is a mute...and doesn't like McDonald's at 2:45am.

Now I'm sitting at work trying to fool people into thinking my eyes being open means I'm awake and alert. Today I am Monday's bitch...and an a hole.

Magical Negro

Back in college I took a class that took a hard look at the black experience in the entertainment industry. It was in this class that I learned about the *magical negro. In a nut shell, the magical negro is a magical  African American whose whole existence in the movie is to help out the main characters (white folk) instead of using said magical powers to help with more pressing issues concerning their own race...like segregation.

For instance, in the Green Mile, ole boy helps a white policemen fix his aching balls. He could be using his hocus pocus to free himself and the other chaps suffering in jail--imprisoned for the color of their skin/not the nature of the crime. Instead, homeboy grabs Tom Hanks' jiggly bits and the world is a better place. Bagger Vance same thing..Will Smith helps improve a golf swing? The Family Man...Don Cheadle, I love you, but....

I'm not going to waive an angry fist or anything...There's actually a point to all of this. Promise!

I share this new info with my best friend back in college, not knowing that she'd go on magical negro alert as well. My cute, adorable, and totally open-minded best friend...God bless her for watching The Adjustment Bureau and finding a magical negro. Mind you, I didn't even notice.

Apparently her eyes lit up and she turned to her husband. Before she could say anything Mr. Perfect said, "Yes J, it's a magical negro. I get it."

...So proud of her. This is just one of the thousands of reasons why I adore her. She's constantly keeping her eyes open. Constantly seeing the bigger and more colorful picture.

You know I've never, not once, felt a color barrier between her and I. We just get it...She's French so I try to make sure I understand as much as I can about french fries and kissing...she handles racial injustices like an NAACP pro. We're the poster children for color blindness, I swear.

*I italicized magical negro to emphasize his magical-ness. Just thought I'd share.

Friday Analogy: 1st and Favorite Analogy I Remember

...Thanks to Clairee from Steel Magnolias

[discussing a woman's arse]

It looks like two pigs, fighting under a blanket...

Happy Shuffling

Today is an Oscar Junior (my iPod) kind of day. I can't even do external speakers...Today demands ear buds and it demands shuffle random loveliness.

So far I've heard my favorite sexy woo woo poem from the movie Love Jones "I'm the blues in your left thigh...trying to become the funk in your right..." followed by Ray LaMontagne's Trouble.

I guess it's just that kind of day where the universe is letting me know it's all about worshipping all things women...Oscar Junior, you just keep on playing that pro-lady ish!


I've been writing in a diary of sorts since I was in first grade. I don't know why I keep them. Don't know why I felt a powerful urge to write, to save and continue, but I did. It's the saving part that gets me the most.

Why on earth did I save them when I can't read them? I mean really can't read them. Every entry circles around some douche bag from my past who's done me wrong in some sort of way. If a stranger were to find my collection he'd think I was a boy crazy loon that did nothing else with her time except for fawn over jackasses. For that reason alone, I don't read. I can't help but write...but it's easier to purge than it is to devour in this case.

I recently read an article I've been saving for too, too long from Oprah's email blasts. The article was a look at her journaling through the years. My jaw dropped and my mouth's corners curled into a smile because that woman--my shero--used to write EXACTLY like me. If Oprah was a journaling boy-obsessed twat like me and still turned out OK then so be it, I'll stop beating myself over the ish I've splashed across the pages.



Damn Symbolic Doors

This morning I flipped off my apartment security door and scared a neighbor.

Every time I walk up to that damn thing it shuts all the way...like it never really closes if you just casually walk through and don't slam it behind you. So every time I walk up, I notice that the bolt hasn't locked and it's just sitting there chilling...I reach for the handle and SLAM! The door closes.

This morning that slam's symbolic meaning screamed at me and it hurt my feelings. Doors are always slamming in my face and it sucks balls.

Therefore, I flipped off the door, thus flipping off my lot in life.

That is all.


I had the most delightful conversation with my sister from another mister (J) yesterday about ambition.

Last night she held me at email gunpoint and told me I just had to listen to this Lupe cut. (She's a feisty red head!) Guess she wanted to drive home the message that it's perfectly practical for me to keep up this ambitious life I'm going after. A book deal (maybe two or three...) and a quirky career in acting. That's all I ask.

Until I get there...


Last night I thanked Jersey for helping turn my day around...

I had therapy and by the time that woman was done with me, I had salt stains on my face from all the tears I unloaded. She warned me I'd have days like that...Where I wouldn't feel light and free, but more so a hot tranny mess of emotional angst. Yesterday was one of those days where I looked normal, but underneath the chucks and curly fro lurked an emo kid with tattoos glorifying the act of cutting. I came home twitching...Had a "small" financial meltdown and then started dinner--completely ready to just hold all that angst in.

The guy totally won, though. While cooking two of the most tasty steaks I've had out here, he began the unthinkable task of cheering me up. He does this weird goofy accent that's neither geek nor southern (although I know he's always trying for one of those two.) and had me smiling in no time. Later as we were drifting off to sleep I told him that moment was the best moment of my day.

Then I paused.

Then I said, "Well...this and when I received my new spoons in the mail."

Hearts are random, no?


AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! It comes! It comes!

Yes, I did name and engrave my beloved iPad that's on its way to me. I ordered her on my birthday and she's just NOW getting here this week. I'm queefing with excitement. :)


Today, dear Tish, I thought I'd tell you how powerful you are, but would you believe... I couldn't find the words?

They do not exist. Can you feel it?

~The Universe

I've been feeling mighty in touch with my woman-ness as of lately. (Trying to make sure my veer to that side of the gender pole doesn't negatively effect my relationship with the gender sporting dangly wee wees. It's not really hard to NOT be mean, but boy is it hard avoiding indifference!)
Any who, this loving of the woman power, as I call it, has pushed me towards my passions. I've mentioned once or twice that I wrote a book (maybe a bit more) but I never got around to mentioning the fact that I've also started a series of children's books that have been shimmying in my heart for a spell or two.
Like my other book, I have no idea what I'm doing. I have no idea how to write a proposal to get a literary agent for this little cherub. I'm just clueless...BUT The Universe says I have a power too cool for school so I'm going to try some more.
Starting today.
Time to hit up some publishing companies and show the world just how stubborn and powerful I can be.

No Place Like Home

I love my sparkly toes. I think they're the new ruby red slipper if you ask me. I'm not even girly. I'm not even a "pink girl" (that was hard to even type) but my toes are whimsically delicious and that's just toe-rific.

I love how my usually long finger toes look somewhat chubby pudgy short. Totally my cell phone camera's fault, but I'll take it. I always held a bit of disdain for my weird long feet...Always wanted my mom's cute little Flintstone chubby thangs.

Weird, maybe, but whatever. My pudgy pink toes have been immortalized in a blog. That calls for some toe snaps. I think they're long enough to actually pull that off...

2 of the 7

The weekends are seriously my favorite thing in the whole wide world...

The sleeping in, the deciding what I want to do instead of The Man deciding for me. It's all so divine...literally. I just disconnect from that and reconnect to me and I'm allllll goood.

This weekend didn't disappoint.

For Colored Girls

I watched For Colored Girls and fell in love. I'm kind of confused as to why the critics were knocking on Tyler Perry...I'm not a fan of most of his previous work, but this movie was NOTHING like any of his Madea slap stick. This was him directing the words of Ntoszake Shange...I'm sorry, but I watched the play a couple of years ago and I've read her book. He brought those words to life. Yes, he changed up some stuff to movie-it-up, but the words were still hers...He did not disappoint. I loved this play the minute I read it. Broken women... letting their hearts bleed in the most beautiful ways. I swear it's a visceral realness that stabs your soul. You can not watch something like that movie and not feel something. If you're listening to the message...if you're trying to really HEAR Ms. Shange's words, you're not going to judge if Janet Jackson's single tear running down her cheek was legit. I couldn't even go there... I was much too wrapped up in these women and their considerations...

"I loved you on purpose."

"I got a real dead loving here for you now, because I don't know anymore how to avoid my own face wet with my tears! Because I had convinced myself that colored girls have no right to sorrow!"

"My love is too music to have it thrown back on my face.

Library Alehouse

OMG...So I had to be talked into this restaurant and I am so very glad I was convinced because the Library Alehouse has quickly become my all time favorite Santa Monica joint. The food...well, we had a papaya quesadilla with fresh pico de gallo for an appetizer. I grabbed scrum-dilly-umptious fish tacos with mango salsa for din din and this beer that made me want to get down on one knee and propose...

The Ginger Wit--one of the many beer cocktails the librarians concocted. It's a pilsner beer with ginger stuff lol...I'm not a foodie! Don't judge me. All I know is it was gooood. So good, the guy put down his beer and exploded with glee all over my ish (that's what she said!) We both agreed it was the best beer we had both ever tried.

Next beer to try: The Jolly Pumpkin. That's 8.3% of divine alcoholic sounding-bliss. Description says it's a Saison style brewed with rose hips, rose petals, and hibiscus and the second in a series named after the French Poet Charles Baudelaire whom invites you to take a "a breath of air from the wings of madness."

Bring it Baudelaire!

Masa of Echo Park

(Still don't know if I should be pronouncing this like a slave.) Best bread pudding and Chicago deep dish in Los Angeles. End of story. The ambiance was quirky cute. Lots of hipsters. Lots of weird mustaches and loud guffaw laughers. I tried the three cheese pie (mozzarella, romano and buffalo mozzarella), the artichoke dip with awesome bread (don't know what kind...reminded me of something out of medieval times...) and dessert. Go to Masa. Let me know whatcha think.

Desert Flower

I saw Desert Flower last night...and it was one of THE most intriguing, emotional, captivating films I've seen in a really long time.

The cinematography was breathtaking, the actress who played Waris, Liya Kebede, was so convincing. I seriously wanted to take her and the women in the film home with me. I don't know what's come over me, but I've had a craving to celebrate women as a whole as of late. I just think we women have been given the short end of the stick...(understatement of the CENTURY!) and it's only right to put as much positivity out there as I possibly can.

When I was in college a professor was kind enough to recommend the book Possessing the Secret of Joy to me...Because of that book I was somewhat prepared to hear the awful truths the movie dealt with--the practice of female genital mutilation. I didn't prepare B enough, though. She sat, tears heavy in her eyes, clutching her mouth through most of the movie. It's intense. I won't lie. Not graphic, but the director was an excellent storyteller and the actors, amazing...You're there and you'll feel what those women are feeling. Trust...

It's a necessary film. It's a brilliant film and I totally recommend you seek it out and watch. I write seek because it's a hard one to find. In all of Los Angeles, only ONE theater was showing it. Crazy, I know. In the U.S. it only grossed $7,000 back in 2009. That's a damn shame if you ask me. This isn't the kind of movie some will hate and some will love...not the movie you'll take popcorn into and forget 30 minutes after the credits roll. This is the type of film that will knock at your bones. It'll beat down the walls until you feel it in your gut...This is a movie that speaks to the heart and proves just what I've believed all along...women really are beautiful, powerful and stronger than we give ourselves credit for most of the time.

Friday Analogy: Happy April Fool's Day!

Bertha knew Frank's prank would be a monumental one. She was as scared as a frog in a Paris restaurant.
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