Ah yes, another messy-I-want-to-crawl-in-a-hole-and-die-because-I'm-going-to-die-alone-anyway-but-I-hate-him-but-I-obviously-don't-I-just-hate-him-right-now-because-my-feelings-are-hurt-breakup. Fun! Our last hangout was the catalyst for the breakup. Please take the survey below so I can see how you would have handled the night.
Everything that irritates me about my neighborhood in LA, doesn't compare to the craziness in my hood in NYC, yet it seems scarier, sketchier, and creepier. In New York I had a group of homeless men in front of my building who eventually became my buddies. We'd high five on the way home, I'd give them left over Magnolia cupcakes from my days as a Sex and the City tour guide... we were cool. In New York, your neighborhood homeless people don't fuck with you because they want to stay in front of your building, have a comfortable place to be and illegally use your electricity. You're happy, they're happy. In LA, they are aggressive and don't care who you are or where you live, but one things for sure: YOU live in THEIR neighborhood. So, yes, they are going to light matches and throw them on your lawn, they are going to call you a nosy bitch when you and your dog walk by, and they are going to break bottles on the street outside your window at 8pm on a Tuesday night. Welcome to Hollywood.
I hate my new neighbor. I first saw him a few days ago while letting my friend into the building, and right away I knew he was bad news. I can't tell if it's a rapey vibe, or a methy vibe, or both, but I know I don't like it. He's not on a lease, but he's somebody's "Uncle". My friend came over to hang for a bit, and when he left, I went to walk my dog and I ran into the new creepy neighbor and the first thing he said to me was, "Was that your boyfriend, or your brother?". Awesome. Nice to meet you too. As I looked at his greasy, sweaty face, I thought to myself, "I wouldn't be surprised if he killed me in my sleep and cut my face off to wear it as a mask". He also reminds me of Howard the Duck, who terrified me as a child. So yea, I'm not a fan.
And I don't really understand why I am so afraid of him. I shared a fire escape in New York with a neighbor who was most definitely the neighborhood meth dealer and there were sketchy people coming in and out all day. He had wild sex parties that I was lucky enough to hear all the time, and I once caught him watching me and my ex have sex and when we stood up and looked over to show him that we could see him watching us, he just stood there waiting to watch some more. (I called Dan Savage and he told me not to confront him, let it be, and get better blinds. I did). There were multiple occasions where he would party with his friends and sleep in a tent on our fire escape two feet away from my window.
I also had a neighbor in New York whose name was Marco, but he sometimes went by Sweetwater. He was very very sweet, but he had a whopping case of the bipolars that would get a little scary. Every time you'd see him, he acted as though he never met you and he'd have a different life story than the last time you met him. He would put on different accents, from Boston, to English to Madonna. He had different professions, sometimes a lawyer, or a flight attendant. He had a different names, Sweetwater and/or Marco. One time I came home to a pink heart made out of construction paper on my door and when I looked around I saw that some neighbors had the same, while others had wax smeared on their door. I asked around and it turns out that Marco had a habit of throwing wax on people's doors that he didn't like, and put hearts on those he did. Marco eventually got kicked out of our building for aggressive behavior after a major blowout between him and himself one tragic Easter Sunday. I'd take Meth Neighbor and Sweetwater over Howard the Duck anyday.
So I've seen Howard the Duck lingering here and there around the neighborhood numerous times since I first saw him a few days ago. A few neighbors have also expressed concern about his creepy and murdery vibe. He asked a neighbor if he thought smartphones could detect crazy people. I wish that was a thing, with this guy living near me. The other morning I came home from the gym to a mini Kit Kat bar on my doorstep. And I knew...I just knew who left it there. Creeped out, I left it there and closed my door to go inside and take a shower. As soon as I ran the water, I heard a knock on my door. I opened it and sure enough it was a very frantic, sweaty, and manic Howard the Duck with a bag of open Mini Kit Kats.
"Please take this bag" he said.
"No, thank you."
"Please, please take it."
"I really don't want it, but thank you"
"But what if there are children running around who want it"
"What if? I don't know. But, no thank you"
Ever since I turned down the Kit Kats, I can see him scowling at me every time I see him....burning a hole through my black ungrateful heart. I think I really offended him. If I die this way, I'm gonna be pissed. So, if you don't hear from me for a few days, he's about 45 years old, he says he "works for the 1%", he's in apartment 21, and he looks like Howard the Duck.
Goodbye cruel world,
I got a dog a few years ago to help me meet men. After many hangouts in local dog parks and outings all over New York City it finally worked. Oliver walked me into the arms of a hottie hotterson outside my deli one drunken 4am on a Monday night when I was living in NYC. On our 1st date I brought him along… our second date as well… and come to think of it, I think in the past year, we’ve hung out without Oliver maybe once or twice. I’ve been dating this dapper dude for over a year now after we both moved to LA and rekindled our little threeway.. me, my man, and Oliver the dog.
My boyfriend is so cute with him. When he comes over he will attack Oliver with kisses before I get my share of love. He will spoon him tight all night as the big spoon while I have to hang on in the back without anyone holding me… it’s really...cute.
They are absolutely in love. In fact, my man will send his mom cute pics of them hanging at the beach, hiking at Griffith Park, or just lounging around the house on a lazy Sunday. It’s so funny, because he hasn’t even told her about me and she knows everything about Oliver. He even wanted to bring Oliver home for Thanksgiving. I thought about letting him go but I didn’t want to be alone for the holiday. Wait a MINUTE.
I’ve been dating him for a YEAR and his mother doesn’t know that I exist but she knows Oliver’s favorite treats, his origin story, and his birthday?! Whoa Whoa WHOA. I am the third wheel in my own relationship! This isn’t about ME. This is about Oliver. Do you think… wait, do you think he’s only dating me to get to Oliver? Of course he is! I mean, Oliver can sleep over for two weeks in a row but god forbid I want "too many sleepovers" in a week. Should I kill him? I mean, the dog. Get rid of the body, Jinx Style!? This seems to be the only way to get to my boyfriend and have him all to myself once and for all. But if I kill him, he will be SO devastated it may ruin our relationship. I know what I must do. I must cause a rift between the two. They must have a fight, a bad falling out. But how to do it? I could teach Oliver to pee in his shoes? To eat his favorite Back to the Future shirt? To pee in his shoes? Wait, did I already say that?
But they love each other. Their bond is stronger than anything I’ve seen before. The baby talk that occurs… it’s special… it’s.... different. You can see that they are best friends and their love is everlasting. And I, well. I... he doesn’t look at me like he looks at Oliver. And Oliver doesn’t lick my face like he licks his. I think I need to bow out. I think I need to appreciate the love I’ve received this past year and let them move forward in what they have. I will find another dog, who will bring me another man.
What am I saying?! Oliver is my Prince. And I don’t care what Oliver needs. I rescued him from the streets of Compton. He’s lucky to have a home. So, I guess I just have to break up with the boyfriend.
LA. Get ready. She’s single and ready to mingle... and she has a REALLY cute dog.
Ohhhhh the Ex-Boyfriend. The reminder of what once was. Whether that WAS was a terrible shit storm, or a happier-than-a-clam moment in time, it is NEVER fun running into an EX.....unless you're running into them 15 pounds thinner, you're currently starring in a new TV show and you're with your hot new ethnically ambiguous boyfriend who is a self-made millionaire who loves to buy you presents and has a thing for going downtown... to buy you more presents, of course! Then it's fucking GREAT running into your ex. But if you're not quite there yet, or if you're still the mess he left, here are three things you should NOT say to an EX if you run into them.
While battling a fun case of food poisoning, I found some emails that my dad has sent me over the years, and they are.... well.... typical, every day emails from my father... or as he calls himself, Fathertard.
This first email is from when I booked my first gig out of college. I was a singer on a cruise ship and I was setting off to travel the world. This was his Bon Voyage to me!
Then I got new headshots and sent them to him for some advice..
Then Fathertard had a brilliant idea for a new sketch I should do. He wanted me to do a video for a Glue to help a Yalmuke stay on a Jewish Man's head. The Glue is called Yalma-Glew, naturally. For months he insisted I made the video... I never did.
When writing my family about goals, aspirations, and fun family ideas, Fathertard responds...
When updating the parents when I touched down in South Africa, Fathertard had his own agenda when it came to my travels...
But this is the motherload. When my sister was living in Berlin, my parents were trying to send her a package, and it kept getting returned to their house. Here is an email from a very frustrated Fathertard.
***If you'd like to receive emails from Fathertard, comment below with your email address. Let's make this happen!***
I used to be the QUEEN of the Drunk Text. I've cut my drunk texts down to about once a week now and it's something I continue to work on. Ladies, Gents, you're too old to drunk text. Stop it. Do something else. I PROMISE you that a whiskey-induced-drunk-text is NOT a good look. Ever.
I’ve been doing a nightly positive thinking meditation podcast (don't worry, I hate me too) so I’ve been spending much of my day trying to turn my negative thoughts into positive thoughts..
Tell me how I’m doing..
While laying in bed in the morning I thought, “I may never be successful”. I positively spun it into, “I’m positive all this hard work is all for naught and I’m POSITIVE I will definitely succeed at being the opposite of successful”.
See what I did there? I added the word positive twice, used the swanky term, all for naught (and I also said it in a british accent) for some flair and I used the word definitely instead of never.
When stuck at a never-ending red light I thought, “This is the longest light in the whole wide world, I’m never going to get to where I need to be and I’m going to die here in my car”. I switched that to, “Wow, this light is so thorough... she is really taking her time to make this the best light transition from Red to Green in all of the intersections in LA. I admire her work ethic, and strive to be more like this stop light”.
While at an audition, I looked around and thought, “I’m old”. I quickly changed this to, “There are some people who are younger than me and then there are some people who are older than me, and they are gonna die before me. Unless something weird or unexpected happens… but if it’s an old-age thing, I will probably live longer. However there are many cases where people outlive others.. like my nana who smoked every day and she lived way longer than my other grandmother who was clean as a whistle. So, nothing really matters”.
When at the gym I thought, “I’m fat”. Then while drowning in my own sweat on the stair climber I flipped it into the thought, “I’m a full figured flower who should embrace her curves...although hollywood won’t...but some people will embrace it… but those people don’t matter… but they matter to someone… so… I’m not fat? I’m not fat”.
When on Facebook, looking at everyone’s pregnant, baby, wedding, engagement, etc photos I thought, “My eggs are going to die and I’m going to die alone” … and I put a positively positive spin on this by thinking, “Kids ruin your life... so eggs, freeze away! And I WILL die alone BUT happy without a fat, snoring man to suck my soul.”
And after brushing my teeth, and snuggling into bed I thought, “I’m a loser… but I'm the biggest loser… so I WIN”!
I think the power of positive thinking is working for me!