Day 7: A Silhouette

Sorry y'all, I had to take a couple of days off from the challenge in order to stand by my guy. He had to go back to Jersey to help his family out and by George, if that man calls and says he needs me I've got to go! (so I flew out there on Friday)

A bit of truth...I can go into relationship zombiehood. I can exist in the day-to-day and forget that I've been blessed with something I've wanted ever since I was a little girl...A guy like him...this fella, this heart:

This past weekend I remembered. I saw a sweet-hearted, kind and loving son, brother and uncle and I sent God a little thank you for helping me see my gift. Sunday night I couldn't sleep. I didn't want to close my eyes because I knew it would be the last time in a long time I'd get to snuggle beside him so I just layed there and listened to him snore...(sweetest sound ever!)


...So I wrote Oprah.

COME ON! Y'all knew I would!

I'm not daft my dear readers. I realize millions upon millions of Oprah-phites also thought they'd send her a line or a thousand expressing their sadness, gratitude and admiration for the Queen of Awesome, and because I knew that I didn't shat my pants when I saw Oprah's name pop up in my inbox.

She sent the following lovely generic auto response. I know that dang thing is sent to everyone who writes, but I don't care. I still adore it because she penned it at some point and of course packs a beautiful punch of wisdom...I guess when I'm feeling Oprah pangs of withdrawl I can always write her and see what auto message pops up to greet me.

True groupiness love lasts forever...

Hello friends,

I want you to know, the best gift you could give me are your wonderful words.

I've been sitting in cold, rainy, Chicago drinking Chai Tea.. (and yes splurged on a croissant) reading all your wonderful emails. I am deeply moved.

I also read Mark Nepo's Book of Awakening every morning as a part of my daily spiritual practice.

Lo and behold today's words for May 26th just happened to be


( No coincidences)

The best thing for being sad, replied Merlin, is to learn something T. H. White.

"The idea here is not to divert the sadness, but to give it a context from life other than what is making you sad. Just as a ginger can lose its bitterness when baked in bread, sadness can be leavened by other life. When feeling the sharpness of being sad or hurt, it helps to take new things in. This pours the water of life on the fire of the heart. So when exhausted from expressing all that hurt, listen to music you've never heard of, or ask someone to tell you an old story from before your birth, or take a drive down a road near a ridge you've always meant to look out from. Look with your sad eyes on things new to you that will give you something to do with your sadness. Your sadness is the paint. You must find a canvas."

I hear so many of you saying you're sad to see the show leave.

Instead of sadness, I hope you will channel the energy of hopefulness you received from the show in whatever form it gave to you.

No sadness from me,

I look forward to my NEXT CHAPTER on OWN.

By the way Gayle's show will be on at 4 today on OWN saluting our last day. Stedman and Hugh Jackman are her special guests. Stedman who doesn't like to talk publicly about me; watch Gayle try to break him down and crack that code.

And Sheri Salata my show general talking about the process of "landing this plane".

Thanks for all your support and good wishes. After a visit to my mother. I'm gonna take a break, find some sun, and get some REST.

Don't think I'll be emailing on vaca. But will be in touch when I return.

Blessings to you all.


Friday Analogy: Happy Hour

I need that glass of wine like I need high heel shoes and glitter. ~ an anonymous high maintenance chick

Day 6: Low Angles

Ever heard of the Fu Dogs? I'm kind of obsessed with the little (or sometimes big) guys...According to my ancestors (from my past life...ya gots to keep up people!) the Fu Dog isn't a dog that sits around saying, "Keep walking Foo!"

It's in fact two dogs who sit in front of important entrances (read: rich people's homes, palaces, government offices and nail salons) and protect the shat out of that place. The SHAT people!

I don't have my doggie yet, so my little dogs will have to do for now.

I wonder if State Farm Insurance would give me a discount...They ARE security after all.

Do not pick the Fu Dog's nose

Every Girl Needs a Lunar Moth Man!


J posted this hideous picture on her Facebook today:

Which had the world of Facebook geeked out. I'm still trying to figure out why I was the only one who screamed and wanted so desperately to find a corner and suck my thumb. That thing is beastly looking! It's an alien stingray sent from another planet to watch us and learn our ways...then use those butt antennae things to suck out our eyeballs.

So why was everyone saying it was pretty and sweet and not to get rid of it?!

I digress. This is the conversation that ensued:

Yes! After careful googling I found THE description for a perfect man. Who knew an alien stingray bug could help with such an important epiphany?!

Day 5: A Photo of Whatever I Please

...And Oprah it shall be.

Oh y'all...You have NO idea how I cried last night while watching my last Oprah show...My LAST Oprah show. Ugh...That hurts to type even!

I have been watching that woman, like you, FOR YEARS!...I always came back to watch that same woman who I first watched as a small child...that same woman who angered me because I just didn't believe mixed kids were confused and sad little people. I vowed to go on her show and set her straight. When I turned 18, I started feeling the effects of being mixed (and how hard it truly could be) and then I wanted to go on her show for completely different reasons: I wanted to thank the woman for teaching me and opening up my small iddy biddy world.

My stepfather's mother (my grandma Mary...who happens to be white) gave me a book when I was 10 years old, I Dream A World, and it changed my life. I remember opening the front page and wondering why she was giving me a book about black women (I thought I was a white girl with a good tan back then) but it didn't take long before it became my favorite book to read...and my favorite bio was, of course, Oprah's story.

I'm sad I never got to be on her show...Sad she never interviewed me for my latest film or told me she was going to choose my book for her next book club selection. I really have thought over the years it would happen. Heck, the last Fit Bottomed Girl event I attended in Chicago had me looking over my shoulder for her camera crews...I always believed deep down in my heart that I would meet that woman some day.

This is the first time in my life a dream I firmly believed in never came true. I think that's why I'm crying the most.

Perfect example of the power she has on me: Today as I walked out of the gym I was very much aware of the fact that I looked physically beaten. I haven't slept well lately. I had run my hardest on that dang treadmill and I had worries galore in my heart. At that moment I wondered if one day I'd come home to children and have to put that sadness away...If it would some how be un-motherly and unfair of me to bring negative energy around people who didn't ask for it. I shrugged off the thought and said I could very well be however I needed to be because faking the funk would just make me more miserable and I needed to take care of me before I could take care of someone else. (Yes...these are the weird things I think about as I'm leaving each day.)

Then I come home. I clean. I make my food for the next day and then I sit down to watch the last one. She starts going over lessons and BAM! She says only you are responsible for the energy you bring into a room. Huh? Did you really just mention something that I had JUST pondered and vacillated over in my head? She has done that ish for YEARS! Ask J...We recently had a conversation about her always being in our brains. We'll have a discussion and POOF! Her daily email gives us the answers we've been searching for.

Who will be in my brain from now on? I'm being totally serious!? Ugh...

First dream deferred...It's a very sad, sad feeling.

I wrote all of this and all I had to do was post a picture. One single picture...but you can't do that when an iconic mentor of yours is saying goodbye. That little ole obsession of mine deserves a grand exit.

Won't it be weird when her face no longer appears on the tabloids? Or our future children don't know who in the heck we're talking about when we mention an Oprah-ism?! Ugh...Breaks my heart just thinking about it!

She shall be missed SO very much.

Happy Hour

Sometimes a gal just needs some wine and some lady banter. Ya know what I mean, Vern?

Bodega in Hollywood has an awesome happy hour...BTW

Wisdom and Love

I, like many young chickadees out there, have moments where I feel like I'm not really on my A game. I wrote about those moments that were tugging at my heart in a recent post and waited to see if anyone out there would read and relate...Not necessarily gas me up and tell me why I'm fabulous...I didn't need anyone telling me I was stupid or ungrateful. I just needed some heart-to-heart understanding...Some nodding of heads.

I wanted to have a moment where like-minded/hearted folks got it...and possibly felt like sharing some wisdom.

Yesterday a comment with the kind of wisdom I was looking for popped up. A blogging buddy sent me the video below and had me in tears. (The good kind, though)

If you're ever feeling down and you need something to cheer you up (without making you feel guilty!) watch this. Then come back to my blog and share your thoughts. We'll pay it forward, come full circle and make the world a wiser place.

Day 4: High Angles

 ...Well as high as I could get

I am thinking it's a sign that the freckles
In our eyes are mirror images and when
We kiss they're perfectly aligned
And I have to speculate that God himself
Did make us into corresponding shapes like
Puzzle pieces from the clay
And true, it may seem like a stretch, but
Its thoughts like this that catch my troubled
Head when you're away when I am missing you to death
When you are out there on the road for
Several weeks of shows and when you scan
The radio, I hope this song will guide you home

They will see us waving from such great
Heights, 'come down now,' they'll say
But everything looks perfect from far away,
'come down now,' but we'll stay...

~The Postal Service
*The Challenge

I'm Not Upset...

...At James Frey. I know I'm late to the game, but I need to read A Million Little Pieces. I never knew one could challenge genres or disagree with the definitions...

Oprah's interview with him was probably one of the best I've seen. She asked the really great...the really personal...the really necessary questions.

What will I do without that damn woman?!

Nerd > Cool

Glasses provided by Chuck...coolest chick I know

Day 3: My Favorite Place to Be

Day 3's challenge was sooo much more my style (keep the fashion blogging away from this special one!)

I remember my first day in therapy my angel of a therapist asked me to describe a place I could go to (mentally) in order to relax. Without flinching a butt cheek, I blurted out what I know for sure...that one corner of my couch is my favorite place to be.

I can curl up in a ball. I can grab a book. I can take a nap...that spot is where I find my peace.

For shats and giggles I decided to also provide my past favorite place to be...which happened to be in a tree. I remember being a kid...sitting in the backseat on trips and looking out at the trees...wondering if I could climb that one...if I could escape up into that one...

The below pictures tell the story my mom loves to remind me of. She had said something that hurt my feelings so little sassy me decided I'd leave and make her miss me so I climbed up in my tree (she mocked me while in climb by snapping pics as you can see.) and there is where I stayed for a really, REALLY long time...I fell asleep. Sadly my mom grabbed the camera instead of getting my ridiculous butt out of that death trap, but whatever, Mo...

Barbie Punk Rocker high tops...oh yeah

Day 3 reminds of this song Cinderella sang:

I'm as mild and as meek as a mouse

When I hear a command I obey.

But I know of a spot in my house

where no one can stand in my way.

In my own little corner in my own little chair

I can be whatever I want to be.

On the wings of my fancy I can fly anywhere

and the world will open its arms to me...

Danger Zone: Comparisons Uncovered

Fact: I feel like I'm the tortoise when it comes to the race to get married and start pumping out babies like bunnies.

When I look around and I see the things I have to worry about (i.e. being able to afford LIVING on my own...wondering if I can afford anything really...what will I one day do with my life...will I be successful at ANYTHING) and then see what my friends are worried about I start to feel like even my worries are sad news.

When I look around and see the people my closest girlfriends are surrounding themselves with (other married couples with babies and 401Ks that they're not secretly wishing they could exhaust in order to pay off that crummy credit card debt) I start to feel even worse.

You realize people surround themselves with people they need in their life...cultural teachers who help them and when you're not anywhere close to that same life stage, you feel like you've some how failed in the "living" category.

I'm a lost little girl...I admit that with much heartache. My writing friend Annie, wrote a beautiful piece about time...I wish I could say that's the way I live my life--no concept of a beginning and ending...That I purposefully chose to believe there was no set time to start. I wish I could say that I've been in the driver's seat as my life has gone this way and that way, but somewhere along the ride I took my hands off the wheel and decided I had no business figuring out what I'm doing. I was never given a map...never found a map on how to get A, B and C.

So here's the pesky question I can't seem to stop asking myself: What makes a life successful? What markers should I be pinning down and walking/running! towards?

Right now I'm the kind of gal who wakes up, goes to work, looks for a couple of laughs, goes home, watches Oprah, makes dinner, goes to bed and then repeats that fun little process again and again.

They say insanity is doing the same thing, but expecting different results. Um....


This weekend I had the privilege of hanging out with THE coolest 12-year-old on the planet. Her name is Charlyee, but her fam bam calls her Chuck. I call her Chuck too because it's the most awesome name for a girl. There was this show I loved called Pushing Daisies and there was a Chuck on that show and she rocked...I associate girls named Chuck with awesome.

So we spent our time eating Chinese food because she digs the stuff...We let her try her first chipwich in Westwood. We took her to the 3rd Street Promenade and exposed her to the weirdness of that street...she got us hooked on the Disney channel and bonded with Jersey over basketball trivia and dreams of the WNBA.

Basically we forgot we were adults with moving woes and books to was rad.

She wears chucks so you KNOW I think she's snazzy

Jersey and Chuck knew each other in a former life

No words can describe how perfect this ish was

Chuck makes herself at home

Miss her

Day 2: The Wardrobe

I have a love/hate relationship with fashion blogs...

I suck at fashion because I don't understand it. (It's a side effect of nerdom.) I don't get why they have to pose all serious and goofy like they're in Vogue. I modeled for a spell as a teen...and I never had to put my head down in a solemn way...never had to look like the clothes hurt me or I was making love to them. Maybe that's why I'm no longer modeling. (Frazzled face mixed with aha light bulb moment...)

I write all of that for a reason, promise. This darn photo project hit me in my weak spots pretty quickly on?! (Usually I don't allow that to happen until the third date!) I have to take a picture of what I wore for a day?!


So here it all its bland glory. I swear this photography challenge IS a challenge. I can write all day every day about my hoo hoo, my adventures of going off the pill, but asking me to show the world just how inept I am at putting a top with some bottoms is too many THANGS!

Sunday attire: Perfect for running errands

Jersey helps me create the perfect fashion blogger pose. I make love to the camera.

Friday Analogy: Beauty

She listened to Toni Morrison's words and found home. The message was as clear as water, as simple as a baby's smile, as true as the sky is blue.

Day 1: Self Portrait

Figured out quickly it takes guts to flip the camera on yourself and see the same things you're looking for in other's faces...

I bitch slapped my inner critic. I knocked her out long enough to snap this ish and post.

Assignment #1 is done homies!

30 Day Photography Challenge

So the lovely Joanna Masini's Pinterest Page :) gave me the idea for this lovely blog challenge. This will be my first photography project. I'm so very excited.

Be on the look out for Day 1's image tomorrow!

And so it begins...


Walking a Line

I just finished watching this film by Polanski called Repulsion. When I first put the movie in my queue I didn't realize who the director was. I had obviously heard the story, but wasn't putting two and two together. Still wasn't making the connection when the film started playing, either. It was only half way into it when  I started to notice the weird sexual crap. At that point, my eye and arse twitched and the light bulbs started flickering on.

I paused, calmly walked to the living room, grabbed my laptop, walked back to the bedroom, hit play and began to google. Polanski...the director who raped a 13-year-old girl. My heart sank into my chest. This is honest Tish just writing what's popping up: I felt terrible that I had supported this man's art by renting his film. I felt terrible that I was watching it for an acting homework assignment. I may be doing a small short film for a director I respect and have known for many years...but after watching that I had to ask myself if I wanted to work in an environment that supported that monster in anyway.

I read the articles. Yes, I realize the now grown victim has moved on and doesn't care if he comes back to America for his Oscar...It's not about a trial or a punishment...It's about the act itself. I don't care what happened to he lived his life and if he deserved to be happy...I really don't. The victim forgave him. I just can't wrap my heart around something that produces such horrible negative energy.

Not that it should matter, but I was molested as a teenager by a guy I was talking to. I get how a victim feels on a cellular level, but even if I couldn't personally relate I still don't think I'd jump at a chance to work with this guy...Even if he asked me to put my personal feelings aside and collect a million dollars for standing in front of his camera.

Does that mean I'm not the actress I once thought I was? I'm asking that question with all sincerity. Do true actresses abandon personal character and thought in order to lose themselves in the art? I'm not sure. All I know is this is the first time in the history of me wanting to be an actor that I have questioned my talent and skill. I tried to find actors who were openly against him....Google let me down. They just listed person after person who supports him including my acting idol--Whoopi.

I hate when these kinds of shocks hit our dreams and aspirations. Why does everything have to be a battle? Why can't some things just come easy?

I went back through a Dooce Community post that I remember contributing to in order to see if it could bring me some peace...Sadly it didn't help.

New Obsession

My pal, Diva Dara, dangled this little delectable treat in my face last week and now I can't get enough of pinning shat to my boards. I thought blogging was bad. I used to think, "that could be a blog..." Now I think, "I need to pin that like I've never pinned before!!!" And I mean that shat!

This stuff is too groovy. I used to keep different mailboxes in my Gmail for things I'd pick up and look at later. Now I just pin them. It's genius. GENIUS I SAY! If you're on the site follow me at Luv and Kiwi.

Happy pinning!!!

Lying Sack of Poo

Budha Brains say before doing anything ask yourself...

Is it kind? Is it true? Is it useful?

Secret Life

I lead a secret life...

I go to work each day and I act like I enjoy corporate adult shat when in actuality, I hate it more than anything. My boss tries to get me all enthused (bless his heart) over me full responsibility to analyze data and make decisions.

Can I just be honest for a second? I HATE data. I hate numbers. Yes, at one time calculus made my heart go pitter pat. That was then. Now I like words and not just any old words. Colloquial language...lay terms...words for dummies. I like to keep it real.

I like to think I'm following in Langston Hughe's footsteps--I'm trying to be a poet of the people. Poets of the people don't do graphs. They don't have conference calls with folks from Manila and Chennai...and they don't enjoy bending over so that The Man can stick it to ya just enough to corrode your soul.

All the potty putty, hula girls and loud fart talking can't change that heinous factoid.

The 20

Oprah (personally) sends these delightful morning emails to my inbox every day and most of the time I read the first article and chuck the rest. Why? Some aren't really for my demographic...I'm in my self-saboteur mood...I'm lazy...WHO KNOWS!

Any who, there was one article in particular I dug. The author asked us to answer what she deemed to be important questions women should be asking themselves. The following are Martha Beck's questions and my little ole answers:

What questions should I be asking myself?
What is the meaning of life? That's how I always answer if someone asks if there are any more questions. Do I really want to know the answer to that? Heck yeah! Come on now...

Is this what I want to be doing?
Sitting on the floor writing a blog? It's aight. Sure.

Why worry?
Because I feel it makes me responsible. It keeps me focused on whatever it is I need to finish/complete/do/whatever. I need the cure to that awful conundrum.

Why do I like {cupcakes} more than I like {people}?
 I'm sure I was supposed to fill in whatever I wanted to in the brackets but they're so much more fun this way. I actually don't like cupcakes more than people. Who does? I want to meet this person. If I showed up with a cupcake would they change their mind?

How do I want the world to be different because I lived in it?
Wow...There's no goofing up this question. The reason I decided I just had to have an Ankh tattoo when I was in the 6th grade is because I wanted somehow to live forever...Not trying to be funny, I assumed I'd live eternally by producing crumb snatchers someday...or be in a film that people would watch years after I was gone. Later I thought my words could live eternally. The impact's definition was never something I considered though. I guess for me I'd just want to leave the world a little more open-minded...The reason I share my inner most thoughts and feelings with the world is because I think people should know someone else's truth. It's hard to hate or destroy something you know and understand...connecting with people and truly understanding how similar we all are is a passion of mine.

How do I want to be different because I lived in this world?
I think wisdom will lead me to understanding grief and heartache a lot more. I'm the "Why Me!?" girl A LOT and so I hope as I mature and grow wiser I learn that things really do happen for a reason...that they make us stronger...that change is OK.

Are {vegans} better people?
They care more about cow's souls and baby chickens so maybe...possibly. Does caring about more mean you're a better person? That's a serious question. Vegans sometimes join PETA and go around throwing paint on people's fur coats which I don't think is very nice so...they're still not killing stuff which I guess I'm still enabling. OK, maybe they are better people.

What is my body telling me?
Right now it's telling me to frickin' figure out what's the matter with my middle right toe. I have this weird bump and it hurts. I refuse to google it and scare myself.

How much junk could a chic chick chuck if a chic chick could chuck junk?
Oh, I could chuck a WHOLE lotta junk! I have this aversion to hoarding that is somewhat neurotic. I hate clutter. I hate dirty. I hate mess. I like to go on weird little chucking adventures...I spring clean monthly.

What's so funny?
Auto correct. That ish never stops being funny!

Where am I wrong?
Lately I've been procrastinating getting back into writing/editing my book. I just feel like it's not worth the time since agents don't give a flying pig about it. I hope I'm wrong anyways...

What potential memories am I bartering, and is the profit worth the price?
I have no clue what this question even MEANS people.

Am I the only one struggling not to {fart} during {yoga}?
Now you KNOW this one made me smile. Everyone has to fart when they're working out. It's totally true. Don't try to shake your head no either! I JUST asked some folks who work in my gym the other day why farting always seems to come up (pun intended) during classes. They didn't have an answer. Back to the question: farters are not alone.

What do I love to practice?
I love to practice being me. It's hard. I haven't really figured out how to be the best me just yet. I'll let you know once I've gotten there.

Where could I work less and achieve more?
If writing were my only career I would probably work more and achieve more...just because I love it so very much. Maybe if I was a famous photographer. I'd just walk into an all white studio, take three pics, tell the model I loved him and mean it and then walk out. Oh yeah...

How can I keep myself absolutely safe?
lol NO SUCH THING! I'd die from boredom if I kept my arse at home.

Where should I break the rules?
I'm too much of a goody goody to answer this question truthfully and not creative enough to come up with something clever...Some folks can come up with something snappy for toasts. I'm not one of those people.

So say I lived in that fabulous house in Tuscany, with untold wealth, a gorgeous, adoring mate, and a full staff of servants...then what?
Then I go to the bathroom and wet my fanny in that toilet spray thing. :)

Are my thoughts hurting or healing?
Right now my thoughts could seriously hurt a fly because I'm about to chop off a certain someone's wee wee for being stupid.

Really truly: Is this what I want to be doing?
Hell no! I'm not too fond of working at a place that requires me to chuck-a-lug caffeine in order to remain coherent. I want passion, joy and I want to take pride in my work. That's big thing.

Expensive Sadness

I'm bored of cheap and cheerful
I want expensive sadness
hospital bills, parole
open doors to madness

I want you to be crazy cos you're boring baby when you're straight
I want you to be crazy cos you're stupid baby when you're sane

I'm sick of social graces
show your shark-tipped teeth
lose your cool in public
dig that illegal meat

you can't survive on ice cream
you got the same needs as a dog

it's alright to be mean
it's alright to be mean

I want you to be crazy cos you're boring baby when you're straight
I want you to be crazy cos you're stupid baby when you're sane ~The Kills

Wouldn't it be great if The Kills were my best friends and loved my expensive sadness?

I wish therapy for me was like something either out of a Woody Allen movie or The Thomas Crown Affair. I either need some quirky wit or an awesomely chic woman who sits partially in the dark allowing me to go on and on about the painting heist I'm about to carry off just for shits and giggles.

Instead, people look at me like I'm broken when I mention the stuff...maybe I am a bit broken, but as long as I'm moving towards being broken open I care not what people think of me in the now. (That's a first!)

I have to admit I thought therapy would cure me of all my neurotic issues, but I'm still able to form new ones as soon as she 'fixes' the old. Little effers.

I'm currently freaking out about my living situation. I would love to have a space of my own so that I could write and hybernate for as long as it would take to get out my book's edits peacefully...but LA is mad expensive, yo! I could be one of those writers who live a solitary life and live off of old potatoes and water, but I'm actually a bit more high maintenance than that...not by much though. Ramon Noodles can rock my world. So I feel like a bit of a loser...for not being able to afford my own ish. I'm currently freaking out about furniture and refrigerators and all that other stuff that normal people don't worry about when they move because they actually know how to budget and save cash.

I'm going on a money strike after this weekend for sure...and changing therapy sessions to once a month. Those bad boys aren't awesome enough to keep me from flipping my lid every time it's time to write a check. The point of all this is to save me from wanting to blow a cap in some innocent bystander's arse, right?

The Wedding Section

Oh! How sad was it when I--a lover of love--first realized The NY Times wedding section was going downhill.

I don't know what happened to that mess, but I swear I can now go weeks without peeping it. I don't know if it's because they started hiring freelance writers to scribble some crap down...I don't know if the editor hasn't gotten some in many moons. I don't know. All I know is it sucks balls to read.

They only pick rich, hoity toity people and there's never a nugget of journalistic cleverness like their used to be. I used to read the last paragraph and sit back in my seat, draw my hand up to my heart and sigh like a silly little school girl. EVERY.DARN.TIME!

Now I skim that ish and cross my fingers that there will be pictures that do a better job than the words...maybe the groom's kissing her hand or there's a slide show with some cute flower girl action. I used to live for the merit in those articles.

Now I just want to use the pages for my booty...poetic demonstrations.

I wanted to write for the wedding section...It was a dream of mine for a long time. If someone knows of a site that packs the same love punches as The Times used to do I will kiss your hands and send flower girls to your front door with petals. Seriously.

Every jaded, bitter, broken woman needs those kinds of stories to keep the blues from taking over and encouraging a chick to beat the living shat out of the fool who was smart enough to come over to her desk and ask her to order a special pen with the super grip.

Just saying...

Do you really have to work for Coach to catch a wedding story?!



Bridesmaids has become my favorite movie of 2011. Yep...I went there. Melissa Silverstein did a kick arse job of reviewing the flick (read the link above if you dare). This movie resonates like a mother trucker. If you've ever been a bridesmaid...if you're the token single chick out of all your friends...if you've ever gone to the bathroom on a public street, you should see this movie.

(And don't act like that bathroom/public scenario is rare. I saw a woman pull down her pants yesterday and  take a wiz outside of a very busy and public restaurant on Santa Monica Blvd.)

I was like, "Do I see white, bare booty?"

Any who, back to the film. Is this a chick flick the masses ask me...NO! Do you have to be a chick to see this movie? NO, damn it! That seriously hurts my feelings...Us chicks go and see movies with just dudes in it...and no one questions whether or not we'll dig it because there's none of us in it. Haven't we proven by now that audiences relate more to the experiences and fart humor more than gender or skin color? Come on folks!

The fitness girlie in me about had a cow during this scene.

I want to marry this woman and somehow manage to have her funny little babies and live happily laughing ever after.

Celina + Omar = Sitting in a Tree

L.O.V.E.D. this wedding! I was dumb and stayed out a little too late the night before which left me with a bangin' headache, but all of that hogwash disappeared the minute the Loverchinis entered the building.

Unabashedly in love, dapper and dazzling; they lit the room up.

Jersey and I started hanging with these people right around the time they got engaged. As a couple, we fell hard for them. Today I'm still in Loverchini heaven...I actually smiled and sang to myself as I scrubbed the potty today.

What does that mean? Well, it means these lovely newlyweds know how to pull smiles out of the shattiest of situations. How many lovebirds do you know who can do that...without causing people to make gag faces behind their back?...

Jesus Juice

Last night I hung out with Tdawg and his kid bro Zmeister--those cool kids I 'tutor' although I don't know if running around their house trying to fart on their heads counts as any sort of mentorship, but ya know...

I absolutely adore those dudes...Jersey was telling me how cool it was that I did that for them, but when push comes to shove, they're helping my behind. I'm the one loving it all up. Got me thinking, though...

Am I secretly suffering from some sort of Michael Jackson syndrome? Did I never grow up? Am I creepy for wanting to run around a house and pretend like I'm 10 again?

I wonder what would be my Jesus juice if I'm in fact suffering from that syndrome. (Sorry MJ, while I hope you are comfortably resting in peace, you were still a special one, sorry.) I think my poison would have to be fart jokes and potty putty...yeah, the potty putty most definitely.

You may ask what kind of person has to question their own self, but I seriously watched the Yoda video below like 15 times in order to figure out if I was calling the kid an a hole. Yes...I seriously was freaking out thinking I did. Was my potty mouth really that bad?! I was horrified. Finally I figured out I'm saying, "You're such a natural."

I really do wonder about myself sometimes...

Miss Celie

I had a dream last night that I was watching this play/musical. There was this woman beside me and she asked why I wasn't in the show. I told her in my sassy girl way that I couldn't carry a tune for the life of me and then turned around to watch the folks perform.

All of a sudden there was a break in the performance so I decided it would be a great time to just walk on stage and fill in for the missing person. I walked up with a Miss Celie saunter and acted out the scene. People were astonished that I had the balls to just step right in and were awed by my performance. After my tiny little part was over I sauntered back to my seat and the woman beside me exclaimed how awesome I was for doing that.

I remember asking myself, "What in the heck are you doing, Tish?!", but then the excitement took over and just started getting into it and letting the character take over.

It gave me some much needed zeal upon waking. Ever have those kinds of dreams?

I ♥ them.

Mama J

My name is Tish and I vote J for kick ass sultan of awesome! Friends like her only come around once in a green moon.

Not only is she my biggest cheerleader, she's also the one who keeps lighting that really hot fire underneath my ass when I start to rot and fester with doubt. I always have to remind her that fire crotch isn't a literal term.

When I was bawling uncontrollably--unable to focus long enough to realize that I was suffering from some effed up depression--she was the one who called my OBGYN here in Cali and told him to get his butt in gear. He had a doctor recommendation ready for me in less than 5 minutes. Later he asked where she was from. When I told him the Midwest he rocked a weird crazy look. To this day I don't know if he was happy that fiery woman wasn't in his state, or perplexed by her gumption to call a doctor thousands of miles away and threaten him like she could walk up into his office at any moment.

She's super fun, super fiery and yes, super pale. She could rule the world if she wanted to. She's the kind of gal who stops and pats the boobies whenever possible... How many people can do both those things?!

It's so grand to have a gal with mama bear mentality in my corner making sure no one's flinging unnecessary poop at me...flicking lice my's all very rad I say.

She's some kind of wonderful!
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