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!
Listen, break-ups suck, no matter what. They suck when your ex is the biggest asshole in the world because you’re left thinking, Why did I date such an asshole? How could my friends let me date such an asshole? Who can I blame for this!? They suck when your ex is the nicest guy in the world because you’re left thinking, How am I going to beat that? EVERYONE else out there is a troll!!!! They suck when it’s long distance because it’s out of your control. They suck when you break up with him because then you feel guilty. They suck when he breaks up with you because then you think you could have done something better or you feel like a psycho hose beast, or both. Any way you slice it, they just suck.
It’s hard to kick a break-up, but I think I figured out a way to smile and laugh while going through the break-up blues. Check it out.
Happy Year Anniversary Los Angeles!
I have officially lived in Los Angeles for one entire year. I can’t believe I’ve made it a whole year here without knowing how to parallel park. I know, I’m impressed with myself. If you asked me a year ago how I felt about LA, I’d say things like, “It’s fine, but it’s no New York”, “I’m a fish out of water”, and “This place is stupid”.
A year later, I still stand by the “LA is no New York comment”, but I have learned to appreciate LA much more…. especially because while it’s 8 degrees outside in my beloved NY, today I went for a hike, had brunch outside, and I currently have all my windows open and I’m in a tank top.
Before I moved here, I was one of those people who scoffed at people when they said that they loved LA because of the “weather” and the “quality of life”. I don’t need good weather or a quality of life! I’m a New Yorker. All I need is a pulse! But being in the City of Angels, I get it. OKAY?! I get it. It doesn’t mean I’d trade the mean streets of New York for sunshine and open space permanently, but I understand it.
I don’t love the person I’ve become here. LA sucked me in and made me a horrible person. I’m healthier, I’ve lost weight, I drink way less alcohol, I listen to podcasts and I hike. It’s disgusting. Living here has made me soft. I don’t think I could have lived through the winter that the East Coast is in currently… I just put on a sweatshirt to walk my dog and it’s 68 degrees outside. I drink green juices, and I listen to a meditation podcast for positive thinking before I sleep at night. My former New York self hates me, and wants to seriously kick my weak little hippy ass.
I can’t quite write a love letter to LA yet, but I can say thank you for the 70 degrees, the natural light in my new mice-less apartment, and Griffith Park. I still miss New York… not everyday, but a few times a week and I still feel like I’ll be back.
Hey New Yorkers, stay warm my little lovelies, and remember that the grass is always greener than the green juice you drink after a hike at Runyon with a bunch of asshole actors talking about their meetings and the latest project they’re working on. Keep your head up.
Hallelujah! I live alone again! After 5 years of living alone in NY, I moved to LA and had a roommate for the past year. To be perfectly honest, my living situation this past year was very comfortable, so I’ll curb my bitching and moaning. A beautiful building and apartment, a fancy rooftop pool with a breathtaking view of Downtown LA, a washer/dryer in the unit, a roommate who took me in with open arms, etc. But I don’t care if your roommate is Billie Joe Armstrong, (I’m a huge Greenday Fan. I’m sorry. We’ll talk about it at another time) there is NOTHING like living alone.
There are many perks to living alone.
1. Coming home drunk and shoveling half a jar of almond butter into your mouth because there is nothing else to eat and no one there to judge you, or to know it ever happened. I mean, for all the next person who looks into your fridge knows, you bought that jar weeks ago… so yea, of course it’s almost done. You’ve had the recommended serving size 17 times. Not 17 servings in one sitting which watching a DVRed episode of Millionaire Matchmaker at 1am on a Tuesday. THAT would be CRAZY.
B. Having the living room to yourself whenever you want, to do whatever you want. You can tweeze ingrown hairs while laying on the couch watching the View, yelling at the TV that you disagree with Whoopi and you’re with Rosie on this one without shame or embarrassment.
C. Weird bathroom behavior. When living solo, you can use the bathroom with the door open, If it’s yellow, always let it mellow, and you can blow dry your hair and poop at the same time to save yourself some time in the am. Don't knock it til you try it.
4. You can bring home whoever you want with no one to judge you but your dog. And as cute as Oliver is, his opinion doesn’t matter because he licks his own butthole. Please don’t tell PETA I said that or start some hashtag #dogsopinionsmatter.
5. But the best part about living alone is being naked as much as you possibly can in the most non-attractive ways possible. Cooking naked, cleaning naked, naked scrap booking, naked bookkeeping, naked organizing, naked laundry…. Naked, nakedness.
Now I need a couch, a TV, and some tweezers to make this list happen.