December 30, 2009


Every year, every goddamn year, I make A LIST. Sometimes it's just in my head. Other times it's on paper. But every year, the list IS MADE. Every year I resolve to do more, do less, be something. Well, I wish I could say that this year "the list" can suck it and I'm going to spend 2010 being exactly as I am... But alas, I can't... Because if there was any year that needs to be put to rest, tweaked, and given a complete overhaul, it is 2009. Yep. See ya bitches. Here's what I'm doing in 2010:

1) Hitting Less Curbs. I personally think I'm a fine driver. But my OCD about parking too parallel/close to the curb can be damaging and annoying to those driving with me. Also, tires are expensive.

2) Social Media(ish). This year I'm going to Tweet more and Facebook (stalk) less.

3) Stop Shhh-ing. I have a tendency to tell people they're talking too loud. I actually think I have like weird hearing issues (see #4), but in general, I realize my shh-ing habit is annoying. So in 2010, talk as loud as you want people. I won't stop you... For now.

4) Pop Pills. I've spent the majority of my adult life teetering on serious hypochondria. But I've really started to loosen up and trust that in general, for example, mixing Advil and a glass of wine is totally fine (yes, I have doubts about this). But this year, I'm going to stop fixating on silly things and trust that I am a healthy woman...

5) Drink more. Water, that is. I need to drink more water. Period.

6) Exercise. This one is so boring and so unoriginal. But goddamnit, this year I need to exercise and not pretend that pushing Baby-Ko up and down the block on his tricycle counts as cardiovascular activity.

7) Tell more stories. I'm thrilled to be working at Parents Ask and writing for a living. But that's not enough. I need to write at least three times a week on Perfectly Disheveled and AND finish (well, first I need to start) my book proposal. I mean, sitting across from Barbara Walters isn't going to happen magically...

8) Parent better. Today I compiled a list for Parents Ask of all the Best Parenting Books of the decade. This year, I will read (and not just at Barnes and Noble before a movie) some of these books... I might even take all the info that Wacky has bestowed on me and use it. Maybe.

9) That's a Crock of... I got a crock pot for Hannukah and this year, I am determined to use it once a week (okay, once a month is just as admirable). So, if you have great crock pot recipes send them my way... Or send me your unwanted gift cards to various restaurants. Take out is just as appreciated.

10) Shag. Get your mind out of the gutter, people. Recently, I got a fabulous shag rug from CB2 but it sheds like a mo' fo'. Seriously, when I leave the house, it looks like I've been living with a den of polar bears. It's crazy. So this year, I need to de-lint more (and that includes Baby-Ko). Seriously.

Obviously, I could keep going with the list... Do more Laughing, hugging, singing, and dancing... Do less arguing, complaining, procrastinating, and worrying, etc... But I think this is a good (written) start... And a good way to say goodbye to 2009.

Happy New Year.
See you in 2010.

December 21, 2009


Okay, so I'm back(ish). While the details are still being ironed out, I am happy to announce that I am once again EMPLOYED. (I would say that I'm "gainfully employed" but as you know, I sometimes use words incorrectly, so I'll just stick to the basics just in case that's not actually what I am).

I am now writing for a fantastic website called With so many people in and out for the holidays, it's an awkward time to be starting a job. But on the plus side, it means more caramel popcorn out of a giant tin for me. (BTW, ever try caramel corn and cheese corn in the same bite? It's a salty sweet little orgasm in your mouth I tell ya). Speaking of of salty/sweet, on Monday I wrote a post about what I think is a tacky trend: tweeting about death. Check out MY POST.... Do you agree?

In the meantime, guess who's looking Perfectly Disheveled in this picture?

Nope. Not Jessica. She's flawless. Um, that blurry little purple blob in the background...? Yep. You got it! Yours truly. Ahh, just another day out and about in sunny LA... To read more about why this made me jealous of Jessica Alba (and not just because she just waltzed right in to Nate N Als and got a table without having to wait), click HERE.

P.S. One day 'til Xmas. Have you been naughty or nice?

December 10, 2009


When I started writing this blog, I promised myself I wouldn't hold back. I would say what was on my mind (kind of) and speak the truth (sometimes). I promised myself that no matter how lame a thought might be, and how isolated I may be in my view point, that I would still say it. I would write for myself and not for "the people."

"You should at least use spell check," my Mom would say. "And at least use proper grammar..."
"What's wrong with my grammar?"
"....And you shouldn't say words like 'vagina.' "
"Okay, Mom."
"....Or 'dude.' I hate 'dude....'"
OMG, dude. I get it. Why does mom gotta bug like that, yo.

The truth is though, my mom kind of has a point. Sure, I can write. But I don't always write RIGHT. Believe me. I know. In high school, I was the only one in AP English who needed/used cliff notes. While everyone used the class to ensure (or is it "assure"?) a head start in college, I used it as an opportunity to get some action from the nerdy boys. I was definitely the dumbest smart kid in the class and was perfectly fine with that stature.

But these days, I'm not perfectly "fine." I'm perfectly disheveled and my attention to details, words, and unfortunately wit, isn't exactly, well... perfect. In fact, some of you have even noticed.... A couple weeks ago, I got an email from a friend/reader who said that she was so sorry to mention it, but that after reading the ode to my bangs, she had to tell me about a slight mistake. The sentence in my post read:
And though I never EVER strayed (with the exception of a very long/side swept
thing I tried right after college), for all intensive purposes, I have always been loyal...

Embarrassed and thankful for having readers that have a better grasp on the English language than I, I changed it immediately. Apparently, for 33 years I have been saying "intensive purposes" when in fact I should be saying "INTENTS AND PURPOSES." Who knew?!

"What?!" said my friend J, "Of course it's 'intents and purposes'. Everyone knows that."
"No," said his very educated and professional wife A, "I thought it was 'intense and purposes.'"
"Yeah," said his sister T (a 5th grade teacher with a masters in education), "I agree with J-Ko. I thought it was 'intensive purposes' too. I've been saying it wrong this whole time too?!"
"How is that there is a room full of sophisticated and intelligent women (with great butts I might add), saying something that seems so obvious, so ridiculously wrong?"
"Frightening," said T, "I'm shaping our youth."
"Shocking," said A, "I feel like I should know that."
"Embarrassing," I said, "I am a WRI-TER.... And this by the way, this is definitely going to be a blog post."
Without missing a beat, J chimed back in, "You want me to proof that before you post it??"
Ha. Ha.

The truth is though, I think I say a lot of things wrong. We all do. Not that I'm trying to pass the buck (or is it "dodge a bullet"?), but one of my very best friends, a Psychology Professor (a PROFESSOR people), says "irregardless." I think she knows "irregardless" is not a word, but she says it anyway, claiming that it souuuuuuunds like a word. Unfortunately, there is no such word. In fact, if you look up the definition of "Irregardless" on Merriam-Webster Online, they suggest not using it. "Use 'regardless' instead."

Even Wikipedia has a list of commonly misused English Words.... And I know the fact that we are all a little dumb (sometimes) doesn't excuse my misuse, but it should at least make me relatable to "the people...." And while I've never been fully sure of when/how to use "affect" or"effect," I can ASSURE you that being a little dumb is better than being a little lame.

So please, feel free to proof read, comment and share your thoughts on my writing.... I may resent your remark, but at least, AT LEAST, I would never "resemble that remark." Because that, THAT would definitely be a little dumb....

December 8, 2009


Over the weekend I saw Up in The Air, a film that centers on the recent economic plunge this country has taken. Plot-wise, while I've been going back and forth in my mind whether or not I loved it, there is one thing I'm certain of: HOT-wise, George Clooney is still very much number 1 on my list. Having said that (hello Larry David), no amount of his perfectly salt and peppered hair could have taken the depression away that lingered from watching his character Ryan and his company lay off thousands of people from their jobs each day....

Considering that I too am currently unemployed (i.e. devoid of a "real" job and "real" work and certainly devoid of the income that comes along with those "real" things), I felt the fear during those scenes. Not knowing where my next check is going to come from has definitely made me feel a little sorry for myself... If I don't have a "real" paying job, and don't get paid for what I love to do (write!) then how do I measure my success?

Today I literally called three different retailers nearby to see if they needed extra help during the holidays with gift wrapping (they're not hiring. Go figure). But, I mean... Really?! That's what it's come to? Gift wrapping?! Like in the stock room with the teenagers picking up extra money during Winter Break?! (BTW, you can thank the job I had at Williams Sonoma during high school doing the exact same thing for my appreciation of copper cookware. Nerd.) The point is, What's next?? Becoming a cashier at Hot Dog on a Stick??? I mean, my life seems to be working in reverse and I feel like with each and every day (that I don't get "the job") I lose the ability to go after what I really want... Will I ever have "the job"? Will I ever do something worthy? Something good? Something that gets on the map? Something that puts me across from Barbara Goddamn Walters?!?!?

(Not so) Ironically, it is my 2 year old who continues to talk me off the ledge and calm my fears. This morning, chasing him down the block as he stomped and crunched leaves in his big boy rain boots, he came to a complete halt. Turning the corner, was what seemed like the most massive garbage truck I have ever seen.
"Whoah, Baby-Ko. Look at the garbage truck!" I said.
His eyes lit up.
Slowly, the Garbage Truck drove up the block towards us.
Baby-Ko started to wave. "Hiiii Garbage Truck! Hiiii!"
As it pulled up along side of us, the window rolled down: Two Garbage Men with the biggest smiles you've ever seen leaned in and waved back. "Hiiii!" They said as they honked their horn.
"Byeee Garbage Man!!" Baby-Ko shouted back and sort of leaped in delight, "Byeee!"

My heart was warmed and in that moment I knew that it doesn't matter who I become.... That no matter where I end up, what I end up doing, and whether or not it's where I thought I would be, somehow in some way, I will (hopefully) put a smile on someone's face....

I just hope it's not bagging groceries at Trader Joe's. Because between the Ginger Snaps and Pita Chips, I could get very fat working there very easily...

December 4, 2009


Yesterday, as I sat in a pediatric dentists' waiting room, watching Baby-Ko play with toys that had inevitably been contaminated by swine flu and every other contagious disease, a weird thing happened: I felt bad for Britney Spears. Though this feeling was probably brought on by a lack of caffeine and the outdated tabloid magazines lining the walls, it was an odd thought that came over me. (BTW, Doctors: would it kill you to rotate in some US Weekly's from the new millennium?I know Ben Affleck and J-Lo broke up. Please.) I remembered the gossip and stories that emerged when Brit started to go nutso and the accusations claiming that she wasn't a fit mom-- that her sons Jada and Presley (or whatever the eff their names are) at like age 2 had rotting teeth, and that she let them eat Cheetos and Coke.... I remember, at the time, (long before my own world became all things Baby-Ko) thinking she was a train wreck and those poor children with their cavity filled mouths. How could she be so negligent when it comes to their oral hygiene? What kind of a mother doesn't enforce tooth brushing and allows snacks right before bed?!


So here I was, about to take Baby-Ko in for his first dentist appointment and all I could think was 'thank god I'm not a celebrity.' Thank god no one will leak to the press that Baby-Ko's toothbrush went missing for a week and no one seemed to really miss it... or that the last thing in his mouth before bed time is Cheerios (better than Cheetos, I guess???)... or that if society didn't judge him (and me really), I probably would let him have a pacifier until he's 16 (he likes it. I want to give him the world. Is that so wrong??)

Forty-five, angst-filled, and sweaty minutes later (ever try holding a two year old down as a woman with teeth that, honestly, are a little too perfect tells said two year old that she "just needs to get rid of the SUGAR BUGS?!" Fuck the gym. Try that!), I, I mean Baby-Ko, emerged with a clean bill of health and what appears to be perfectly fine teeth. Despite the fact that I break nearly every dentistry rule in the book, Baby-Ko may stand a shot at having a decent future... orally speaking, that is.

Now equipped with a toothbrush shaped like a penguin and watermelon toothpaste imported from Japan that cost me more than my defrizz (Again, these bangs don't just straighten themselves), I feel like I've been given another shot at Mommyhood. I dodged a bullet in that dentist's office-- What could have been a big slap on the wrist by the patient lady with too perfect teeth, turned in to a decent affirmation.... I'm not as bad as Britney. And while I realize I may be setting the bar kind of low by comparing myself to her, I think cutting myself some slack is better than becoming a psycho about this stuff. After all, in 33 years I've never had a cavity, braces, or a retainer (no matter how many times I showed up at the dentist with a paper clip in my mouth begging for one), so Baby-Ko might actually inherit some good goddamn teeth after all. If not, at least he'll have his pacifier and his two life partners (Blankie #1 and Blankie #2) to cover up his mouth when he gets embarrassed.... his first day of college...

November 20, 2009


Dear Bangs,
While looking through old photos the other day, I found a photo taken of me in 1st Grade... It must have been around Thanksgiving time because half the class is wearing what appears to be Pilgrim hats (made out of construction paper), while the other half dons Indian Chief hats (it was okay to say "Indian" back then. We didn't know).

Anyway, Bangs, this was in 1982.... which means I was 6.... which means we've been together for 27 years. We've grown up together, you and I... And though I never EVER strayed (with the exception of a very long/side swept thing I tried right after college), for all intents and purposes, I have always been loyal. In fact, I stuck with you when no one else did.

Sure... I haven't always been kind: I have teased you. I have sprayed you. I have fried you.

And I have certainly cursed you.

I forgive you for all your little frayed ends, and your twisty little curls that sometimes make me look like I have payis, and all the times you've put me in a bad mood. (Yes, hair can do that).

Bangs, we, me and you... WE are a team. My hair, my look, my daily routine would be incomplete without you. .And no matter how many times you've heard my grandmother say she'd like to see you out of my eyes, I hope you know that I, I am faithfully yours and have no intentions of ending this relationship any time soon.

You've been with me through thick and thin... good times and bad...blood sweat and tears. You've covered my eyebrows when they were a mess and you've let me straighten you when you just wanted to be wild. Oh, Bangs, though I want to tell you how much money I've actually spent trying to give you the best life possible, I won't. I won't. Because that would be rude and this is a love letter. SO, my friend, I just want to thank you and wish you a happy, healthy, stylish, and face slimming anniversary.

With love,

P.S. Going to San Francisco this weekend. Supposed to Rain. PLEASE do your best to behave. I would hate to cheat on you with my other love, The Bandana...

November 17, 2009


Thanks to another informative and entertaining episode of Sesame Street, Baby-Ko's word of the week (not to be confused with Murray's "Word on the Street") is "ANGRY...." (pronounced: "ANGA-REE.") There's a segment with Cuba Gooding Jr. talking about the word "angry" -- only, every time he refers to the word "angry," the word "angry" keeps running off screen, causing Cuba to get increasingly, you guessed it: ANGRY! "Really, really angry!"

I'm pretty sure that up until now, this fine piece of media was the only time Baby-Ko heard this word and saw what it meant (at the same time). But obviously, it stuck. In fact, it's now one of his favorites and every day we have a little conversation that goes like this:

Me: "Did you have fun at day care?"
B-Ko: "Yeah."
Me: "I'm so happy to hear that. What did you do?"
B-Ko: "I push a baby."
Me: "You pushed a baby? Oh no. That's not nice."
B-Ko: "Yeah, baby fell down. Baby cryyyyy."
Me: "The baby cried???"
B-Ko: "Yeah, baby so ANGA-REE."

Later... (bath-time)....

Me: "Baby-Ko, please stop splashing the water. The water needs to stay in the tub."
B-Ko: "No! I want to splash!" WHOOSH.
Me: (Taking a deep breath) "I asked you to stop. Why are you splashing?"
B-Ko: "Cuz... cuz... I so ANGA-REE."
Me: "Why are you so angry?"
B-Ko: "Cuz... cuz... Baby fell down. Baby cryyyyy."
Me: "The baby cried??"
B-Ko: "Yeah, baby so ANGA-REE."

You're probably wondering what said baby has to do with my now sopping wet leggings... But I encourage you to indulge me for a moment while I take this opportunity to brag and point out how brilliant I think the association is. Sure, it's off, and there wasn't an actual baby falling in my tub when I asked Baby-Ko to stop splashing. Sure, my son maaaay have at some point pushed a small child down resulting in tears and a conversation that is a little groundhog day-ish. BUT, he obviously now knows that there are many things that can cause anger (even if HE is the actual anger-causer) and for THAT, I'm extraordinarily proud of this development. (Go with it.)

Eventually I will break the news to him that he can be upset and feel whatever he wants without another child getting injured (and certainly without talking about another child getting injured). But for now, I quite enjoy our little discussions.... If not for any reason other than it sounds pretty cute to hear him say "Anga-ree."

In other kinda-sorta related news, a new study out of London says that families spend, on average, 15 minutes a day FIGHTING. The cause: Moms. Yep. Your mama. Click HERE to read... It will probably make you pretty ANGA-REE....

November 13, 2009

Want Matthew McConaughey's Stroller?

Ever wonder what strollers the celebrities are pushing in those "Stars: They're Just Like Us" photos you see in the tabloids? Well now you can look like a paparrazi hunted hottie too... and kind of hold hands with Matthew McConnaughey.... Kind of....

Matthew McConaughey and Camila Alves know that hand-me-downs are a great way to not only save money but also raise money! They’ve donated their son’s gorgeous and gently used Baby Jogger stroller to benefit McConaughey’s own j.k. livin foundation, dedicated to helping teenage kids lead active lives and make healthy choices so they can become great men and women. The auction is available only on, the revolutionary new classifieds site for parents where you can buy & sell new and gently used baby and kids gear, strollers, toys, clothes and more.

Previous celebrity auctions have featured items from Nicole Richie, Gwen Stefani and Melissa Joan Hart and have raised thousands of dollars for children’s charities.

The auction runs from November 9th-18th, 2009 on

100% or the proceeds will benefit the j.k. livin foundation.

November 5, 2009


As a mom, I try really hard to do the right thing. I try to be organized. I try to be patient. I try to be thoughtful. I try to anticipate the needs and wants of my very strong willed and curious (two year old) child by being prepared. And I certainly try to handle all situations, where said personality traits can push ones buttons, with grace (and speed).


So, when Baby-Ko accompanied me to a very crowded and not so kid friendly Home Depot, you can imagine how hard I TRIED to explain to him why roaming the aisles (without holding my hand) wasn't really an option. You can also imagine how hard I TRIED to reason with him as we were leaving (literally four and a half minutes after we got there) that riding the fork lift in the parking lot was also not an option. And certainly, you can imagine how hard I TRIED to lure him into my very obvious not-a-contractor-just-a-stressed-out-mom-doing-an-errand-too-close-to-nap-time-SUV-with a "yummy string cheese...???"

"Cheese baby? Do you want cheese?" I said sweetly (waiting for a defiant "No!").
"Yeahhh. I want it," he said relaxing his body and sitting in to the car seat.
"Okay, my love. Here you are." Phew.

Without thinking, I peeled back the wrapper, broke the stick in half and handed him one of the pieces.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" He wailed. "I want to bite it!!!" Tears erupted.
"What? Why? Wait, no! Look, you have TWO pieces! Mommy gave you two pieces of cheese!"
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" He flailed. "I don't want two!! I want together!!!"

Are you kidding me??? WTF?! Who doesn't like two pieces of cheese???

"Okay, shhhh! Calm down, Baby-Ko. Give it back to Mommy. I will make you one piece," I said boldly.

With one hand on the steering wheel (did I mention we were already on the road??), and one hand on the cheese(s), I literally started to mush the two ends together to create one "string," if you will. As I handed what I thought was a perfectly welded string/stick of friggin' cheese back to my boy, it fell apart. MORE TEARS.

"Baby! It's not working."
"I want it!!!! I want to bite!!!" He said, chucking half of the cheese back at me (thankfully landing on the console). OMG, kid.

O. M. G.

Doing my best not to lose it (with both tears and laughter), I took a deep breath and dug deep to my inner MacGyver. I mushed, and mushed, and contorted the over-processed (and while we're being honest: NOT organic) cheese back in to one stick and supported it by using the wrapper (like a banana leaf).

With my fingers now smelling like a combo of ass, foot crud, and Wisconsin Cheddar, I delicately handed the golden stick of goodness back to his royal highness.

"Okay, Baby-Ko. One stick. Eat it slowly."
"It's mine," he said sniffling. "My cheese."
"Yes," I said, "It's your cheese...." And for some reason, (and I have no idea why I said it, I just did), under my breath muttered: "Believe me it's yours. My hand smells like vagina."
Without missing a beat he responded: "I want my penis."

This time, I said and tried nothing. Down the road, (a long road, I hope) I think my strong willed and curious child will handle this one on his own... I just hope I'm prepared.....

October 27, 2009


Last night I slept on the floor. Yes. The floor. Next to Baby-Ko's crib. In a fetal position. Using his changing pad as pillow, and my robe as a blanket, I managed to squeeze my arm through a slat so that my son, my very (possibly terrible) two year old son, could hold my hand, and eventually (pray god) fall the eff asleep.

Two hours and one majorly numb hip later, I gently removed my hand from his grip, and literally crept out of the room cursing every creak my exhausted knees caused as I crawled down the hallway.

For about a week now, I have broken every rule in THE sleep book. He cries. I pick him up. I put him down. I go in. I go out. I sleep with him. He sleeps with me. He eats. I eat. He drinks. I drink. It's like sleep training all over again only worse: He TALKS. He can reason with me. He can beg. He can plead. And he can even make me laugh in the middle of the night. (Not sure why he said he wanted "Meat-a-balls" in the middle of the night. But he did. And it was funny).

The point is, I'm clueless mommy 101 right now and I've got to get a grip. I've got to get him back to sleep and I've got to be consistent. It's hard to know if his new bad habit (which seems to strike at about 1:45am) is the result of something environmental or something developmental, but holy shit: I'm tired.

As I put Baby-Ko to sleep tonight and promised him that I would be in the other room all night, and that tonight, he would sleep in his room ALONE, surrounded by Eeyore, Tigger, Teddy, Monkey and his favorite three blankets, I prayed that he understood what I was saying. I prayed that he understood that I love him so much and that I would sleep on the floor all night with my hand through a slat if I had to.... but that I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to. That I'm pretty sure that it will only make things harder down the road if I don't nip this in the bud now (again). And that when he's 17, and I'm still checking for monsters under his bed, (and giving him cheerios in a bowl because he simply asks for it at 3am because I'm simply exhausted) his buddies won't think it's very cool...

At least that's what I'm telling myself tonight.... tears and all.

Wish me luck.... And send me your best sleep training advice. Seriously. Just not at 1:45 am. I''ll probably be a little... wrapped up....

October 18, 2009


If you are here and reading this, good. If you are here and reading this, after trying to figure out how come it took you so long to figure out how to be here and reading this, sorry. And thank you.

Without getting in to it, let's just say my shit was hijacked-- my domain name basically expired or lapsed (without me knowing) and somebody swooped in and seized it. Apparently this is done all the time... an opportunity for someone to make some money I assume, as I will have to now get in a bidding war with a complete stranger over what is essentially MY identity -- I mean, what is the likelihood that this person also has a toddler, goes days without washing their hair and secretly feeds cheerios to herself and kid off the floor (if it's less than 5, okay, 10 seconds)? Hmm? Probably slim. Very slim. Nonetheless, I'm working hard to get MY NAME back. For now, (though you got here so you already know, but thanks for allowing me to be anal anyway) you can find me directly at:

In the meantime, check out the Spotlight Interview I did for Mommy Track'd with Lisa Whelchel a.k.a. Blaire Warner from "Facts of Life". It will come as no shock to you that my first question to her was about George Clooney....

October 13, 2009


About 15 years ago, as I laid in bed practically hallucinating from a horrible flu/fever watching what seemed like the most magical infomercial ever, I decided I needed the Mob Hits CD Volume 1.... And 2. I think I had just written a paper on "Good Fellas" and must have been in the mafia mode (or just craving pizza), and just had to have it. (Plus it was free shipping and handling, and I think they were offering a snow globe too. It was a deal. Trust). I probably listened to it once or twice and that was that... It got buried with my Edie Brickell and Toad of the Wet Sprocket never to be seen again...

That is, until my Dean Martin and Louis Prima loving TODDLER came in to the picture...

It's kind of a long story, but in a nutshell, the Mob Hits CD is now one of Baby-Ko's most beloved soundtracks. Specifically, Mambo Italiano, Volare, and Oh Marie are his faves. What's even funnier is that his random taste in music spans beyond Luis Prima and Dean Martin- He's also obsessed OBSESSED with the Beach Boys. Apparently, his sweet babysitter A, likes to listen to K-Earth 101 and they play a lot of "oldies" and Kokomo came on once or twice (so sad that Kokomo is an oldie!) and Baby-Ko responded to it, so she made him a CD. Long story short, he now asks for Kokomo pretty much every time we get in the car.

Well, one day, amidst a horrifying tantrum, in an attempt to get him to calm down, I suggested I put on Kokomo. I turned on the computer, logged in to YouTube and voila, the Beach Boys saved the day....
"Amuma, amaica, ooh I anna take'a... bemuma bahama.. c'uh on pitty mama.." He sang sweetly.
Beach boys. Who knew?

It wasn't until days later that I actually LOOKED at the video of Kokomo that Baby-Ko had been watching and realized it was the official song/video from the movie "Cocktail." First of all, does anyone remember this video? There are chicks in total 80's big bangs/ high wasted bikinis dancing and scenes of Elizabeth Shue and Tom Cruise making out. Second, where the eff did John Stamos come from? He's the weird/ spazzy drummer in the video in a terrible pink tank top. WTF?!

To top it off, my brilliant little man realized that if Kokomo exists on the "puter" then so must his other go-to's. "I want Mambo Ta-wee-ano, Mommy!" Somehow, when the videos for Mambo Italiano came on, Baby-Ko knew (because he pointed and said "dat one") that he wanted the Dean Martin video.

At first, I felt bad for letting my barely 2 year old son watch these videos, but then as he asked for Volare again (which is just a slide show of pictures of Italy with the song playing over), I wondered how bad could it be...? I mean, let's face it, reading or drawing is probably a better activity, but if my son likes the sounds of afternoon delight, cocktails and moonlit nights, can I fault him?

In the meantime, I'm trying to work in the new Michael Buble single into the arsenal too. That one takes place at a grocery store. Believe me, I could come up with something educational and instructive for that one if I needed to... Look! Bananas, Melons....

October 9, 2009


Discipline. The D Word. Something I've never been very good at when it comes to myself (diet, exercise, french fries etc.)... and something I'm realizing that I'm not so great at when it comes to my son. Shortly after Baby-Ko turned 1 and started "testing," I remembered the pride I felt when a mere look or simple redirection of attention settled his urge to do the "don't" and I certainly didn't need to use the evil "N" word. I had mastered parenting at an early age (both mine and his), and I thought whoever invented "time out" could just suck it. My kid's GOOD. Really good... which according to Wacky, you're never really supposed to say because it actually gives them this whole personality disorder or something like that...

But I digress...

The point is, Baby-Ko is now 2 and because I've been back to work full time for the last year and because I no longer have any Wacky's (other than my wonderful family members) coaching me through the (not-so) "terrible two's," I feel like I'm completely clueless when it comes to the discipline department these days. (Certainly, you remember the Vacuum incident that rocked the nation....?)

Baby-Ko's newest thing is to swing his beloved (and filthy) blankie in the air... first he starts out doing it cutely, as if he enjoys feeling his blankie around his body, side to side. Then he starts getting closer to people or things, and the blankie sort of turns in to a whip. I suppose it could potentially really hurt another person, but mostly it's just annoying and I'm not sure why he does it, and I'm certainly not sure how to get him to stop-- as taking his blankie away isn't an option.... I don't think... (is it???)

For whataver reason, the other morning, Baby-Ko decided to test his limits again with said blankie. Carrying it in his little hands, he marched right in to the bathroom, lifted up the toilet lid and dropped it in the bowl.

First, he felt like ballsy.

Then, he was proud....

Then, he was screwed....

Not knowing whether to laugh, discipline, or be grateful for the fact that the toilet had JUST been flushed, I shook my head, said nothing, got a plastic bag, removed the now ass ridden blankie from the toilet, and carried it right to the washing machine.

For the next 45 minutes as the washer and dryer removed the germs and frayed corners that my son so derives comfort from, Baby-Ko was devastated and distraught by his decision. I did my very best, as he stood in the laundry room sobbing and pleading for his blankie to come out, to explain the consequence of what happens when we put things in the potty (that don't belong). But honestly, he didn't care.... My normally happy son who loves nothing more than to help me "do laundry," was being tortured by a great white blankie eating shark.

Fortunately, in a few weeks Wacky is holding a lecture for Two Year olds (well for the parents of two year olds that is) and I am attending. I very much look forward to a little Wacky gospel... Of course, I'm not sure she'd approve of redirecting a tantrum with YouTube videos or Sesame Street... Shh. Let's just keep that between us for now... okay?

October 5, 2009


For the first time in what feels like forever, it finally feels like fall here in Sunny LA. Sure, fall in LA means 72 degrees (i.e. a cute cotton scarf over a short sleeved v-neck tee) and is considered kind of "p*ssy" compared to the big boy cities that really do experience four seasons... We may not feel the onset of football, turtlenecks, and "hot totties" (or whatever it is you East Coasters do in October), but we do feel the "boot effect" come in to play, and you know what people: In my opin, it's better than hot apple cider and raking leaves. To me, there is nothing better post a long summer (with no air conditioner because apparently "the West side is breezy at night") than being able to break out my favorite pair of boots, throw them over jeans or with a short dress (because let's face it, it's still hotter than hell some days) and not feel like I'm season pushing.

More importantly, with the slight drop in temperature, it also means my evenings have purpose: Fall TV. This year I outsmarted my DVR and the slew of shitty summer reality shows, and waited until a week or two ago to watch the season finale of Lost AND Grey's Anatomy. Therefore, I'm picking up pretty much where I left off. Even better, there are a ton of new really smart and funny shows on that I've added to my list.... I'm loving Modern Family and Community. Another show that I'm absolutely going to start watching is Accidentally on Purpose with Jenna Elfman.

I had the privilege of visiting the AOP set last week for a Tweet Up event and seriously felt like a kid at a fun and witty candy store.
Jenna Elfman, who is pregnant (in real life) and when I say glowing, I mean GLOWING, couldn't have been more gracious and darling-- taking photos and what seemed like a genuine interest in our lives. It was so sweet to watch her on set with her husband (who I think she said she's been with for like 18 years) and their adorable son Story who popped in for a visit. She and fellow actresses Lennon Parham and Ashley Jensen delivered their well written lines with a very natural rhythm.

One of the biggest treats was the visit to the writer's room, where apparently they have a fruit fly and odor problem (which I can only imagine is due to shitty take out at midnight brought in by a very eager to please PA), was so exciting and inspiring-- Their Executive Producer, Claudia Lonow, who rocked the cutest glasses and boyfriend blazer, was so lovely and inviting. Not only does this woman run the show and is obviously smart and wickedly funny, but she's a mom. I hate to be corny about the whole "moms can do it too" thing, but watching Claudia and other big-time producers like Gail Berman run the floor and command the set, was so exciting and inspirational.

I want that.


I want to write for a brilliant sitcom and brainstorm with other funny (self deprecating) writers over late night Poquito Mas in an inevitably sarcastic and smelly room. I want to use my personal life and crazy imagination to tell stories and make people laugh....

Then.... After a long day, I want to come home to my house on the hill (by the the beach) and spend time with my family... And take them for soccer practice and french fries... and on Monday start all over again....


Someday... hopefully... soon.

Anyway, the point is, despite an iPhone that was pretty much on fire by the time I left set from all my tweeting, it was awesome to meet so many bloggers and of course interact with all the cast and crew. My only regret: not taking advantage of what looked like an amazing craft service spread... I mean, let's face it, the next best thing to Fall TV and Fall Boots is Fall (Free) Food!

September 14, 2009


Last Friday I turned Thirty... Three. Considering there are so many shifts and changes in my world, including a show/job that has taken me to New York this week, my birthday was really wonderful, sweet, and happy....

It's hard to believe that 15 years ago, I moved to this city in the hopes of becoming an "act-toorrr." I wanted to do "theee-Ate-er," wear black, smoke cigarettes, and "act from my soulllll...." Okay, I wasn't that affected, but I did smoke cigarettes... a habit I picked up after my freshman RA at NYU introduced us to the Silver Bullet Deli that would happily deliver cigarettes and a bottle of water at any time of the day...

Overnight, I found my bearings, my bars, and my ballsy side...
I was a New Yorker.

As a child growing up in Los Angeles, I'm sure it seemed odd to my parents that I would adopt an imaginary friend named Bodice and her "cousin" Beem-Beem. I don't think anyone would have suspected that come college time, I would follow my "friends" to the big apple... After all, just because Bodice moved to New York to be an actress (and "Beem Beem went with her") didn't necessarily mean I should too... But I did. I was going to go to NYU's Tisch School of the Arts to become the world's most famous actress and do interviews with Barbara Walters (in a British accent... don't ask) and talk about my life, my loves, and the many many children I had adopted and saved....

Well, 11 years post graduation, I'm hardly famous and my accent is hardly British (think Eliza Doolittle meets Sarah Palin). I would have never guessed, standing on the stage of Carnegie Music Hall, receiving my diploma, that I would one day give up acting, move back to Los Angeles, find myself working in a field known as "reality television," fall in love with writing (and become a "blogger")... and I certainly wouldn't have imagined my heart could get completely stolen by a 25 pound little man who's smile is so contagious and tush is
so delicious I would actually consider (and have tried) eating it.

But here I am.... On the 30th floor of an office building overlooking a city (well not so much overlooking... more like wedged in)... in a city that I once swore I'd neeeever EVER leave... down the block from theaters I dreamt of performing in... NOW I'm behind a desk and behind the cameras...

And while my dreams of bantering with Ba-Ba-Wa may never come to fruition (unless I'm producing the famous actress who has actually adopted many children and saved many lives), it feels good to be back here... I'm a real "Working Girl...." with a real head for business and a bod for sin (if I can manage to stay awake)....

But alas, I must sign off. Get back to work and to this show... I've got a deadline.
"Katherine's" on my ass. Let the river ruuuuuunnn......

September 10, 2009


A long time ago, I wrote a post for Momlogic about the Handmedown dilemma that I think every mom experiences. Whether you're the Hand-me-down "Pitcher" (offering your kid's puke stained bouncer and onesie), or the Hand-me-down "Catcher" (receiving your friend's kid's puke stained bouncer and onesie), knowing and understanding the HMD protocol can be a little anxiety provoking.... At least for me. (Shocker).

My dear friend Norah and her partner Jane, however, have created a website that I think takes the anxiety out of what to do with that ridiculously annoying swing (that you secretly let your child sleep in for 9 months because you swear that sleep experts really don't know shit). is a PG, mom-friendly CraigsList, if you will, that I think can help those of you who are looking to either de-clutter your closets, make some money, or even help others in need!

Plus, right now, they're giving away TWO tickets to MILEY CYRUS with a BACKSTAGE PASS!!

Ok, Here's How you Post

1. Go to and choose SELL
2. List your item, design it with a picture if you want and check out!
3. Someone will contact you via email and the rest is up to you!

Plus, the more times you post, the more times your name is entered
into the sweepstakes (Miley, here you come!)

September 8, 2009


Well, if you haven't noticed by now, I've had a face lift.... I know I'm a little young, but it was time. This new look is waaay cuter and frankly, makes my butt look fantastic. Ha. Okay, fine. My butt's still well, butt-y, but I am digging the blog revamp thanks to the Design Girl who did an awesome job.

With a new blog design and my 33 birthday just a few days away, it's only fitting that my driver's license expired and it was time for a renewal (i.e. New Photo baby!) Taking your photo at the DMV can be very stressful. First of all, the people working there hardly tell you to "say cheese" and could give two shits whether you come out looking like you have a fat diseased neck. Second, you step up to the line and because you have no idea when/if they're going to snap the photo (because they're busy talking to their coworkers, and I'm pretty sure not even looking at the colossal size camera they're supposed to be operating), you kind of have to just take your chance and start smiling.... which potentially could result with you looking like Chandler Bing.

Fortunately, thanks to the gods of state identification, my new drivers license happened to turn out pretty good. Though my hair was teetering on the wavy side (i.e. unwashed/unbrushed/unblown), I actually look kind of happy and not like I'm being booked for something I didn't do. While I do agree that driving and eyesight go hand in hand, I must admit, it is a very good thing that no one wants to accurately report or take in to account my actual weight. I mean the weight I claim is probably only a few pounds off from the weight I am, but still... I'm not quite sure why I (we... admit it, you do it too)- why we always lie about our weight when we go for our driver's license. But bottom line, it's nice to know that seven years and 1 baby later, some things, yes, some things can always stay the same.... No matter how you look.... and how you pose...

September 2, 2009


I imagine that in most cities, like Wichita for instance, you'll probably get a "Hello!" or "Well, good morning, Bob!... Good morning, Jan!" as you pass a stranger or neighbor on the street (or farm). But here in LA, it's very hit and miss. Occasionally, there's a "Hey" or a head nod if you're on a hike or doing the Santa Monica Stairs and see the same (gorgeous, out of work actor) person 14 times in a row (Please. Who am I kidding. 7. My max on those effing stairs has been 7. So?)

It's not that I'm cold and aloof. I want to be a sweet citizen... a part of "the community." I just don't notice and am typically the jerk guilty of not looking up or saying hello unless it's time to pay for my grande drip. But today, my inner Kansas must have come out...

After I dropped Baby-Ko off at day care, instead of heading up the block to make a pit stop for said grande drip, I decided to kill two birds with one (cheaper) stone and go to 7-Eleven since I also needed cash from the ATM. For whatever reason, as I waited in line with the 99 Cent breakfast sign next to me, thinking about the ten dollar oatmeal I might have just spent at S-Bucks made me laugh.
I whipped out my new iPhone and took a pic. I know. I'm sooo LA, I thought to myself and smiled to the guy standing behind me.

As I plopped my coffee, bottle of water, and the new InStyle Magazine (hello, Fall Fashion) on the counter, the clerk and I bumped hands.
"Sorry," she said.
"No problem!" I said right back.
"$9.06, please."
I handed her a 10 dollar bill. "I think I have 6 cents" I said (I guess nicely).
"Wow," The Guy behind me says, "We don't get enough like you."
"You smile at me, you're pleasant to her.... There's not enough people like you in LA."
"Oh, well, uh, thanks..."
"We need more like you."
"Ha. You just caught me on a good day," I said grabbing my stuff.
"Bye," said the clerk. "Have a good one."
"You too," I say to my new 7-Eleven friends. "You too...."
Hmm. They need more like me. Like me. That's so nice....

Ten minutes later, I entered Sofya's- the goddess of waxing/torture and all things Russian....
Needless to say, you can say goodbye to the "sweet" hello for this portion of the story....

August 29, 2009


For months, I have considered taking Baby-Ko for a real "big boy" haircut. I had taken him to get his bangs trimmed a couple of times at Fantastic Sams... But with all due respect to those of you that frequent those drive-thru establishments, ya kind of do get what you pay for and my boy kind of came out rocking what I like to call a "Three Stooges Mullet":
Moe in the front, Larry in the back.

So, despite the fact that the vision of his precious little curls falling to the floor made me want to cry and get a contract in writing from him that he promises to still sit on my lap when he's 24, I decided to bite the bullet and take him for a real haircut...

I braced myself for an all out fit/ crying match as getting a 2 year old to sit still is nearly impossible, but Baby-Ko couldn't have been any cooler.... sitting in a car propped on a barber's stool. Totally brilliant and well worth the 40 dollars plus tip. (Yes. Welcome to LA).

Not sure I'm gonna spend this much on his next haircut, but I will say, I am just thrilled my boy's still got some Curly....

August 26, 2009


Despite the fact that Oprah swears by it, and the rest of the world drinks the same Kool-aid too, I've never been entirely convinced that there is a "seeeeecreetttttt!" While I'm all for "living my best life," finding the time to motivate and go after what I want is a challenge in and of itself.... Um, which is why I could actually benefit from a self help/ find your inner blah blah blah book altogether....

After sharing a slew of anxieties with a friend, she suggested I read Eckhart Tolle's "A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life's Purpose." She told me it will take some time to get in to it. That the beginning is "boring." But then, "it gets good" and it all starts to make sense. Well... (a whole) TWO pages and SIX months later, my life's purpose is still sitting on the dining room table...

But make no mistake. It is there .... that big, perfect, life of mine. I mean, it's really there... And it's good! It's happy and shiny and oh, so very well rested. It's skinny but healthy... It's up in the hills in a gorgeous, but perfectly kid friendly house.... by the beach. It's successful... creative and wealthy, and very on my own terms... out of my "home office..." But not sooo successful that I have to give up all that is near and dear and that my kid(s) never get to see me. Oh no, they see me. And it's not just in the morning during Sesame Street and milk... or after work (during Sesame Street and milk). I'm actually there and present, AND I give them macaroni and cheese NOT because of my lack of time (and zest for all things plucked from the farmer's market), BUT because they just want good ol' Kraft (not even the 365 brand).... and frankly, I'm so enlightened that I have come to terms with that and everything else that I cannot control.....

Okay. Fine. Let's not get crazy. I mean even the Dalai Lama knows that some macaronis are better than others. The point is.... my life may "be there", but it's not going to start being unless I go after it.

Welll, shiiiit.

Who needs philosophers and wisdom.

It's called Eat, Pray, Have a Two Year Old.

And if that ain't the secret to "The Secret," then I don't know what is.....

August 17, 2009


Hi, there. You still here? Sorry. I know it's been a while since I've posted. I knoooooow.  I knoooooow.  I should be writing more. You're right. It's true. But trust me. TRUST. ME. I have some pretty good goddamn excuses up my sleeves. And once I'm able to share them all with you, you will forgive me. I prom. 

In the meantime, let's talk about the UFC style bout I had this morning, trying to get Baby-Ko in the car. I have always thought the term "terrible two's" are, well, terrible. I mean, to me, this seems like the best age ever. He looks and sounds like a little munchkin, he's funny (like seriously, kind of witty. I swear), and his vocabulary is blossoming at warp speed. It's a FUN age. It is.... Until it's not. 

Baby-Ko's "new thing" is to try to test his independence. At first it started with grabbing my keys from the table by the front door and saying "Bye, Mommy. I be right back."  Now it's that, PLUS, "let go of me biatch. I'm going down the stairs on my own. Seriously, lady. I mean it." I mean, . I know that's what he's trying to say when he's pushing me away on the staircase and screaming "No! I do it!" at the top of his lungs. Typically, I might actually indulge his hysteria and (while hovering) let him hold on to the railing and go down step by step, sloooowly. But on a day like today, when Mommy's got to get to work, and the walk from the staircase to the car in and of itself could take twelve days if I let him walk on his own, I had no choice but to pick him up and take matters in to my own hands.

Yeaaah. He didn't like that so much.  

"WAAAAALK!!! ME WALLLLK!! DOWWWWN!!!" He screamed.
"I'm sorry, Baby-Ko. We have to go. I have to go to work."
"NO WORK!!!! NOOOOOO!!!!" He wailed as I opened the car door and the WWE Smackdown began. 
For the next ten minutes, I begged, pleaded, laughed, (and oh, did I sigh), trying to get a child with a gift for Kung Fu in to his car seat without breaking his limbs and my earrings.
"Do you want a Paci?"
"Do you want a snack?"
"Do you want to listen to the Santa Song" (Please don't ask. He loves Raffi's Santa Song.)
"NO, Santa. I want drive!"
"Me. Drive. I drive! Mommy Car!" 
"You... Want to drive?"
"Yeaaah, " he finally says calmly.
I take a deep breath and try not to laugh.  "My car? You... You want to drive MY car?"
"Yeahh," he says like 'what's the big deal. hand the fucking keys over and let's do it.'
"Sorry, baby. No. Mommy's driving. You need to sit in your seat and we need to leave."
"NO!!!!" He flails and wails again. 
I take another deep breath and hold up his lunch box, "Want pasta?"
I was desperate (and he didn't want pasta).

Ten minutes (and a major need for a redo of my makeup, which was now on my palms) later, we were on the road.  

It absolutely killed me to hear him sniffling and whimpering the entire way to day care, and certainly didn't make matters any better that he lost his shit again when I handed him over to the day care workers... But what am I to do? I cannot NOT go to work and I most certainly cannot let him drive my car. So what's the solution and when does it end? Is there a magical age that they just stop protesting for the sake of protesting or should I get used to it now because it only gets worse blah blah blah....?

Mommies with older kids, please advise...  Or send me a check for a lot of money so I never have to leave the house again.  That would work too.

July 29, 2009


I first would like to start out by saying that I seldom use the word "bling," but I have had some serious writer's block as of late, (mostly due to an unfortunate circumstance with a loved one that I will touch on in another post).  So for the time being, I hope you'll indulge me on my lack of creativity and allow me to brag about another person who seriously never ceases to amaze me. My dear friend Christine, who looks like California Barbie but is as clever and crafty as Martha Stewart, has launched a new jewelry line and it's incredible. 

Q Handmade pieces are custom hand-stamped sterling silver disc necklaces. Each disc undergoes a hand-distressed process to give it a unique, vintage look. 14k gold is also available.  

Christine is offering 20% of your purchase when you mention *Perfectly Disheveled* or *J-Ko* by placing an order on her website. 

In the meantime, the show that I'm producing on right now is airing tonight: 

Watch the premiere of "HOLIDATE" on SoapNet tonight, Wednesday, July 29th at 10/9c.  

It's based on the movie "The Holiday" with Cameron Diaz and my girl crush Kate Winslet. The premise is simple-- two women who have everything going for them but are coming up short in the love department, switch cities and lives and date each other's men.... (sort of). It's cute, romantic and great summer TV.  Only thing missing: adorable little British girls trying to help the world's hottest daddy get laid...

July 15, 2009


Lately I've gotten a little flip cam happy.... especially during meal time.  The other morning as Baby-Ko ate cottage cheese (with his hands), I felt like I was once again witnessing a moment in time that had to be captured. While the sound of my voice makes me want to become a mute (and makes me think I have a speech impediment) and my parenting/ discipline skills, (or lack thereof),  could use some serious fine tuning, it is his rendition of ABC's that makes me feel like the proudest mom in the world.... 

P.S. Clearly,  The Mommy Dearest/ Vacuum Monster shtick didn't last long.  Just ask the carpet cleaners....

July 12, 2009


For those of you that have been following PD for a little while, you will recall that my Nana is a big part of my life and has certainly been a source for "material." While she does live in a retirement village called Leisure World replete golf carts, club houses and sloped curbs (god forbid someone trips), she really isn't your typical 80 year old Grandma. In fact, this year, she's already been to Ireland and Las Vegas (both equally important destinations) and in a couple weeks, she's going to Africa with a friend for a 3 weeks. What's even more impressive, is that she is a very talented artist and recently had someone build her a website to showcase her work.

Although Nana's got her own site, getting her to understand what exactly a "blog" is and how one even finds it, has been a work in progress. Yesterday she spent the day with Baby-Ko, my mom and I:

Nana:  Okay, J-Ko dear, please tell me how I find your bog.
J-Ko:  Blog.
Nana:  Oh, well what do I type?
J-Ko:   Perfectly Disheveled dot-- It's a website. Like google.
Nana:  How do I find my google?
Mom:  First you have to find your Yahoo...
J-Ko:  Here we go again...
(We all laugh)
Nana:  No, now just wait...
J-Ko:   Nana, we've been through this. Just turn on your computer, go on line--


J-Ko:  The internet. You need the internet. 


Mom:  Oy. J-Ko, you need to show her.

FINE. I turn on my computer, go online and show her how to find my site. She starts reading. 

Nana: J-Ko dear. Oh my god. This is unbelievable. I had no idea that this is what a blog was. I love this!

After reading some of my older posts and searching around, she discovered the links "I Like" and suddenly my 80 year old Nana got "intra-net" savvy: 

Nana: Can you put my website on here?
J-Ko:  You mean like, link to your website?
Nana: Yes, why not. Maybe your friends want to buy art.
J-Ko:  Viral marketing. Love it.  I will put it up tomorrow.

Whether you like art or not, there's no denying- my Nana is pretty unbelievably talented and impressive.... and I personally have many many favorites. I am beyond proud to plug my Nana's site.  She's my very own Picasso and certainly my role model. Did I mention she's also going to Australia in August???!!

PS. "Thoughtful" is of me when I was Baby-Ko's age! See any resemblance?

July 2, 2009


Why is it that I cannot trust a mirror? It seems like these days, I can only tell what I really look like by looking at a digital photo. Isn't that strange? I mean, isn't a mirror a REFLECTION?! Yet, when I look at one, I don't trust it.  First of all, as we all know, every mirror is different. Want to feel skinny? Go to the changing rooms at Anthropologie on South Beverly Drive. You will look like you just did the master cleanse and lost 20 pounds (and btw, the mirror is so magical you will actually think you have enough money to buy all the clothes you just tried on). But go over the hill to HELL (a.k.a.  Bloomingdale's at Fashion Square), try on something that should be a sure thing like a James Perse tee and trust me, you will never look fatter (or more broke).

Seriously, mirrors are like Fun Houses and can be very deceiving. I realize, looking at myself in a mirror should be enough to get a sense of what I look like, but sometimes, there is something oddly gratifying (and twisted) about looking at a PHOTO and seeing what you look like through other's eyes. I can admit that I'm totally that person who takes a photo and looks at it the minute it's taken. I zoom in, out, down and around. I check myself out. And often times, I delete it if I don't like what I see... Pathetic and vain, I know.... considering that you can't delete an image in a mirror, NO matter how you stand or pose. But thanks to the digital age, you can pose, suck in, and smile again and again, until you get it juuuuuuust right. (Certainly, until it's Facebook, Twitter, or Snapfish ready). 
Well, the other day, if you saw a brunette woman in her early 30's taking a picture of herself at every light on Fairfax, that was ME. I decided to take my new hair do for a walk on the wild side and wear it "wavy." The mirror in the morning told me it looked cute, but the mirror in my car told me otherwise. The only way to tell: Camera Phone.  After practically draining the battery on my phone, and looking like a total loser, this is the "look" I finally settled on....

As far as I know, I'm pretty sure I almost never make that face in "real life..." Of course, every mirror I know lies....

June 26, 2009


Yesterday, while exploring perhaps the most magnificent Whole Foods ever, I couldn't help myself as I passed by the pizza bar. With my small(ish) sample in hand, I headed to the salad bar to get my "real" lunch.  En route, I noticed the most tantalizing display of olives... literally calling out to me.  Just as I was about to be the person who believes in test driving everything, including (free) food, (eeeeeven if you've given a whirl before),  I noticed a little sign:

"No grazing?"  What am I... an animal?? As if I would just pick an olive straight from there. Who do you think I am? This sign can't reaaaaaally be meant for ME. I'm clean. I scrub my hands like Howard friggin' Hughes!  I am NOT the gross one....

Of course later that evening, as if I hadn't learned my lesson about pining for free food and all the subsequent humiliation that comes with it, I was faced with another fork in the free food road...

I decided to pick up dinner from Jersey Mike's, a new sub shop that I've heard is delish. When I stepped in, I couldn't tell if the place was like an upscale/cleaner version of Subway or a legit/ old school sub shop.  Either way, the "sandwich artists" were taking way too long with my simple #7 (Mike's Way) and I was going to be late for an appointment. Long story short, when he finally completed the sandwich and I handed him my card to pay, the guy said "uh oh... The register's crashed."  Crap! I had to go and had no cash on me. I told him I'd come back in an hour to pick up the sandwich but the manager insisted I take the sandwich and come back "whenever."  

Whenever? WHENEVER?!!  You mean this meal could technically be free? Was he giving me an "out" to not return?  Was this a test?!?!

An hour later, I marched back in. Too scared to fuck with food karma, I proudly pulled out my card and said "let's try this again." 
The manager smiled, "That was nice of you to come back. Would you like a cookie?" 
A cookie... Nah. But something salty sounds good. "No thanks,"  I said and without missing a beat asked, "Can I take a bag of chips?" I pointed to the Dorito, Sun Chips, Ruffles orgy on a shelf.
"What?" he said not hearing me.
"Chips. I'd like a bag of chips... Instead." The place, now crowded, seems to stop like a record scratch. I feel all eyes at the counter staring at me. Is this girl for real?
"Um, no... No chips. But you can take a cookie."
"Oh. Well. No, I just want chips, but--"
He shook his head 'no.' "No chips."
"Okay! Thanks!" I said embarrassed and dashed for the door. No chips.

The moral of the story is beggars can't be choosers.  But they can certainly keep trying... especially if it's free....