The Perfect Cure for the Break-up

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 Anniversary Los Angeles!

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. 



The Perks of Living Alone

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.





The Truth on Men As Providers

When men reach a certain age they go through the, “I Need to be a Provider” crisis. It’s usually around the age of 30 and it also often compliments the women’s, “I Need to have Kids Soon or my Eggs are going to Dry Up and Die” stage. Add a glass of Cabernet to the mix, and Viola! Nervous breakdowns for everyone!

I’ve been thinking about these two stages a lot.  Ready for kids or not, as a woman, I sometimes think about my eggs dying because it’s a biological issue…It’s a scientific fact that the older I get, the harder it will be for my ovaries to wake up and make a baby happen.  I’m thinking at this age, my ovaries are kind of like my comedy career.  I have time… but if they don’t start making moves, they are going to wind up doing community theatre in Boca Raton Florida for the rest of their lives.  Make sense? Great!

But the “Men as Providers” breakdown… it’s such an old school mentality.  It’s a “Bring Home the Bacon” way of thinking.  Nowadays, women are happy to bring home their own bacon.  Well, for me it’s turkey bacon, but who’s counting?  I only need men to provide me with a few things.  

  1. I need them to kill mice.  I really can’t bring myself to kill them.  I can get them on the trap but then I throw them out the window because I couldn’t handle killing them and putting them out of their misery.  So yes, if I find myself back in New York, I would like a live-in man to kill mice for me.  Note: This is more of an East Coast issue.

  1. Changing light bulbs.  My ceiling are high, and because I don’t have a ladder, when I climb on my step stool, I still can’t reach to change my light bulbs.  I have a really tall friend, Kelly, who could probably do it for me, but it would be nice to have a live-in man to do that while wearing nothing but a tool belt. Note: Please see picture to the right. You're welcome.


  1. And the third thing that I need a man to provide is SEX. That’s it. Plain and simple.  

So men, stop worrying about being a provider.  Just get your mouse-killing game down, do some stretching for a lengthy reach, buy a tool belt, and be available for sex whenever possible.





Single and Ready to Mingle... with a 40 year old homeless man....

176528_822491218947_1855399_oSo I've been dating someone since I moved to LA and we finally and officially broke up last week.  So you know what that means...  I am BACK ON TINDER. Let the good times roll.  Because my ex was was 30 going on 15 years old, I decided to try something new, a 40 year old.  40 year olds are men right?! I need a man dammit. 

So I find a cute 40 year old on Tinder and we chat a little bit via Tinder and text and he seems really cool.  He was a pro skateboarder and now he produces skateboarding videos for a legit company.  We had good text banter and decide to meet the next night for a drink.  

A half hour before our date he called me.... Yup, called me... and he seemed funny and sounded cute and I got really excited.  He also offered to pick me up, but i told him I didn't want him to know where I lived just in case he would try to kill me in my sleep if our date didn't go well, but the offer was sweet. 

I get to the bar and he's already ordered his drink but didn't take a sip because he was waiting for me to get there and cheers him.  Cute!  So I order my drink and.... he lets me pay for it.  Woof.  He's 40 and he let me pay for my drink.  Okay, fine.

We are having good conversation,. he's cute, we are getting cozy and it's time for drink two... he says, "Hey I'll get this round, but you're getting the next one... it's 2014 right?". And there may have been a wink in there. Yea, I think he winked.

Wow.  Okay.  

Then he asks me where I live exactly. I tell him that I live next door to the Standard Hotel and from their pool you can actually look across the street and see my gym.  He had recently been to the Standard and remembers the gym and that's when he dropped the bomb of dating-stories gold.

He says, "Oh that's your gym.  Nice! I go to 24 hour fitness but I only joined the gym because I live out of my car a lot and I use the gym to shower and use the bathroom." 

Did you get that? He lives in his car.

"How often do you live in your car?" I ask.

"Well, this one time for a year... then one time for 6 months.... and then a few more months recently and then I moved into my place in April.  You should come over sometime, we usually have a kiddie pool on the roof but we emptied it and now there's water in our ceiling and walls. Woops, I was supposed to call the landlord about that. But yea, I live in my car sometimes." 

"Check please. Don't worry John, I'll get this round."

So I let him drive me home because he was homeless yet harmless.... the car was nice and much cleaner than I had expected.  A 2008 Prius that smelled like new.

"Wow, you'd never know you've lived so long in this car."

"Yea I'm very clean, Lindsey.  I have it together". 

25, 40, 30... I guess age doesn't really mean a thing. 


Help! I'm acting like a Psycho Hose Beast

ytY0aBDI moved to LA for me.  For my career, to change my life, and so my son, Oliver can grow up in an environment that would provide a “better quality of life”.  So recently when I started hanging out with a cute boy, I wasn’t looking for a distraction and I especially wasn’t looking for a relationship at all… but let me break something down for you:

When a guy says, “I can’t get into something… I have too much going on… I’m focusing on myself and my career right now but I’m down to hang a little”,  that’s exactly what they mean.  When a girl says it they mean, “I can’t get into something… too much going on… focusing on myself and my career… I like you A LOT, I can’t stop thinking about you. I’m not looking for anything right now but are you my boyfriend? When are we gonna make it face book official? Do you like me like I like you? Yes let’s take our time, take it easy… … let’s just hang out …but like 4 times a week okay? And if I don’t hear from you every couple of hours I’m gonna feel crazy.  Do you think I’m crazy? YOU are making me crazy.  I like you. I’m sorry ”.

So while yes, I’m newly dating someone, by the time you read this I may not be because I have been acting like a psycho hose beast.

So this is a cry for help. Help! I can’t stop being crazy and this guy is a really nice guy and I haven’t thought about my ex or Tindered in months.  Score! 

Listen, I’m hoping he doesn’t read this, but if he does….  I’m not talking about you, I’m talking about this other dude… so don’t get a big head about it… you’re alright but I’m really busy and I can’t really get into something right now so let’s just hang. Okay? 

Ps. The dude is actually and oddly enough someone you’ve heard of before…  I’ll give you a hint… the way we met involves a crack head, an exploded bottle of sprite, and getting hit in the face. (Hint over, just read the story here).



La LA Land


Your Big City Siren is a weird new city.  Well, I did it.  I left New York for a while.  I’m not going to say leaving my beloved New York was easy.  The thought of my exit was paralyzing to me. I made my friends hang out with me every possible free second they had, I stopped drinking knowing just one whiskey would send me into the downward spiral of the century, I packed up my apartment, did one last game of tequila BINGO at Tortilla Flats, and I got out of dodge.  And my little dog too. 

My thoughts and feelings of New York the past year were kind of like how I started to feel at the end of my last relationship.  We’d hit a wall.  We were doing the same thing over and over and while sometimes it felt right and good…. something had to change.  I was having a hard time finding the change with the lover that I had (or New York) so I knew if I didn’t get out now, I’d never do it.  So I turned 30, cut my hair off, and moved across the country fully in denial and with every plan to come back to New York ASAP.  (Don’t worry, I kept my rent stabilized apartment and I didn't pull a Britney) 

Saying I left NY kicking and screaming would be a understatement. When I took off from JFK, we flew over the Empire State Building, Lady Liberty, and Central Park.  I had this cartoon vision of me literally jumping out of the plane and letting little pieces of Lindsey fly over all the dumb tourists and horse and carriages.  They shouldn’t be there anyway! Did Blasio get rid of them?! See, I’m not there so I don’t know!

Before my move to LA, I made a 2 week pit stop to FL to take of some family matters,  (Urkle says hi and also, “Did I do that?”) and two weeks later, I arrived in La La land… the land of…. home to…  I arrived in LA.

I gained 6 pounds right away.  No change in diet AND I haven’t been drinking.  Is it grieving weight? Is god telling me he wants me back in NY so he’s going to make me the fattest one? I don’t know.  My friend Nicole told me to look for the signs that I made the right move… So, my first week my subletter in NY bailed on me and I instantly lost $2,000, my ceiling in my bathroom caved in, I had 3 interviews for a waitressing position and didn’t get it, and I’m fat.  I’ve decided to not look for the signs and just try to live.

Listen, LA is no New York. It doesn’t compare. And that’s just it … it’s so different you simply cannot compare.  LA is fine.  I don’t dislike it.  I dislike driving.  Despise it.  I will go down in history as the girl who walks in LA.  I can’t parallel park, I have to wear my glasses at night, and I can’t park on hills because it scares me.  Who am I?

LA is a place where you can see a Hasidic Jewess with fake tits (I know because I saw it), you can drink a green smoothie everyday (And then walk around with Kale in your teeth all day), and there’s avocado on EVERYTHING. The homeless are well-dressed, entitled, and also a bit aggressive. I’ve seen a few of them with I-Phones. LA is a place where even the fat people are in shape. Seriously, I’ve never seen ANYTHING like it.  Everyone has a spray tan, “cold” is 70 degrees, the roads are shit, the highways are insane, the hiking is a scene, the weather is amazing.

In the month I’ve been here, I’ve met Doogie Howser and Zack Morris, I landed a gig as a receptionist on a TV show (I’m not a receptionist, I just play one on TV), I got an agent, I’m working semi-consistently, eating lots of craft service because I’m broke, I go on hike dates, when people talk about swells I pretend like I know what they’re talking about, I went to a bikini competition (Don't worry, I did not compete), I got paid to sit on Malibu beach with the stoner from Clueless, had late-night In-N-Out Burger, I grocery shop at Ralphs or Von’s, and I got a ticket for being on my phone while driving.

While I’m still a fish out of water, every day gets a little better. I never realized how much of an east coaster I am until I got here.  I’ll find my groove, I know.  I’ll find my friends and family here, I know.  I have had people out here hold me up and completely take care of me, while others have done the “LA-flake” on me for sure.  But the people are nice here, and “The weather and the quality of life” is not too shabby either.  People like to say that here. “The weather and the quality of life”.  It makes me laugh. I just need to find my coffee shop, my dog park, my Vietnamese place for summer rolls, my bodega, my gym, my perfect-for-me apartment in my perfect-for-me hood.  All those little life things that I had back home that made me feel like a person.   

Listen up New York.  I’ll be back and soon. I’ll come stay inside of you this summer for a little while and we’ll go to Shake Shack and wait in line for burgers, see some plays, lay in Central Park or Madison Square park, take a train to go to a beach, run on the West Side Highway, see some outdoor movies, we’ll have brunch with endless bloody marys, hang out with all my lovely neighbors, drink wine on good friend’s couches when we are too hot to go outside, picnic on the highline, take a stroll on the Lower East Side, hang out with my deli guys, see some music at Rockwood, drink too many whiskeys and dance at LIT lounge.  Now THAT’S my kind of “Quality of life”.