Congratulations, You’re in the Medium Place!

Photo cred to a Mr. R. Barnes who now has a girlfriend. Bye sexy, I’ll miss your funny pictures.

Holy bananas another year. What can I say? I’ve been indulging in great movies of the past – creeping on Leonardo DiCaprio in Romeo and Juliet, all male cast members in Center Stage and the whole lot of them in Cruel Intentions. Side note: All of those movies have soundtracks that I love. Puhhleeeasseee let me DJ your next party?!

I started reading romance books that were turned into movies because I’d way rather be able to cry for a whole day on a 600 page binge than watch the movie anyway.

Netflix is almost a new kind of torture these days (scroll for 45 minutes-to-an-hour and then go to bed instead of watching anything) but since I started watching The Good Place, I’m pretty sure if that I’m dead, I’m in The Medium Place.

Hello. Welcome to the Medium Place. You are also an okay person. Congratulations.

I took a break from the old blog mostly because I was dating an asshole who, I’m pretty sure, kept getting worse for the sole purpose of getting a blog post. (You win, happy?!) Somewhere in the depths of my Gmail account a draft exists. Too bad that, along with many many things that fall under the blanket category of CYA, is categorically unsearchable.

Since it has been basically a half of a year since the last time I had sex, or kissed a boy or done anything that one might use baseball terminology to discuss in loud whispers and giggles between fourth and fifth period, I’ve got little. Thanks 2017, you included ill-advised liaisons in my really, really gross graduate office, another superbly ill-advised liaison with the bar manager at Atchafalaya (He “didn’t know he had a girlfriend” — wtf??) and then I ditched NOLA for a spell and hopped on a plane to Spain and here I am.

Last December, I moved out of my disaster of an apartment that, surprisingly didn’t kill me, (that I simultaneously loved thanks to the proximity to my best friend’s house, three separate bedrooms, a screened in porch and a washer/dryer) and snapped this photo:


Thanks to the Chinese restaurant for always giving me cookies as though my solo order was for a family. Thanks also to my sister who saved the number of the Chinese place so I survived grad school.

Happy New Year, don’t have too much fun without me.



“I said squeeze your anus, not your butt!”

Ah yes, folks. Squeeze your anus. It is harder than it sounds. Or maybe it isn’t? It is definitely a complicated thought when you are upside down. That, I can guarantee.

The fact that I am squeezing my anus right now and relaxing my glutes is testament to the fact that because I managed to sort it out in a handstand with a particularly nice-assed male giving directions, anyone can – eventually – sort it out with their head above their groin.

So – if anyone is curious – if you’d like to stay in a handstand, SQUEEZE YOUR ANUS. Check? Check! Great activity – applicable to many things. Werk it. Put it on your resume.

On the subject of nice asses, Spain is ripe with them. I am fairly sure I’ve even made myself blush with the primordial ravaging passing through my brain like a pornographic View-Master while watching the boys at CrossFit Fuengirola do, well, anything.

Show me that prisoner’s squat again, not sure I got it. Also, definitely need at least seven more examples of the proper body positioning for a dead lift. Matter of fact, better review the power snatch for three consecutive days. (<- that actually happened; its like the owners had a pow-wow about just how sad it is for those of us (me) who can’t figure out how to do it without looking like C-3PO is trying out Crossfit.) Three glorious days.

In a summer filled with juicy, sensual fruit, beautiful yogis and rock hard beaches? it is no wonder my lips stay open just a little too long in awe of all of the mouth-watering goodness.

Also, here is a less-sexy behind view sent from a friend who was abroad; you are welcome.



Quick, hide!

I know I said that I wouldn’t go out on New Year’s Eve because I had a flight to catch on January 1 and it was imperative to all parties involved that I not miss that flight. I took precautions! I did all of the things to prevent a debacle and still managed to get toasted and oversleep. Shit.

I woke up in a straight PANIC, somewhere between still drunk and adrenaline rush my roommate helped me throw things in a suitcase. For the record, only two useful items made it. 1) My winter jacket (yay!) 2) My amazing all-weather boots (double yay!) Everything else in that suitcase is completely useless. I wrote something about that flight, but not sure where that will end up. So, in the meantime…

My iPhone has been dying on the regular. I hate that thing. It calls exes that have been deleted and in general betrays me in any way possible. On the way to the mall with my mom yesterday, it decided to shut down with 90% battery just because. Well shit. So we stop at the packed Apple store and make an appointment to solve the mystery.

We shop, and come early to the Apple Genius Bar appointment, and YAY James helps us fairly fast. It turns out that my iPhone 5 battery is among those recalled for shitty performance and I get a new one for free. He asks if my phone is backed up (it isn’t.) He also tells me that I need to turn off the Find My iPhone. That needs a password… great. It takes me about 15 minutes to turn off Find My iPhone because I can’t remember the password and inevitably need to reset it. (Every time you reset the PW it must be new, as in not used in the past year, and a long combination of capital letters, numerical and other characters so no wonder I can never remember whatever I make up for the next time.) He then reminded me why I always need to update my phone… ugh boys are always trying to tell me what to do. Haters.

Fast forward. It is a 30-minute or more wait until my phone is ready so we go next door for an appetizer and a glass of wine. I got carded. No big deal, right? Shouldn’t be since I’m 29. However, it turns out I do NOT, in fact, have my license. I guess Jan. 1 was worse than I thought. I tried all of the things, with my mother as my advocate. I pulled up my LA Responsible Vendor Permit that has my D.O.B. along with my debit card, credit card, health insurance and MY MOTHER!!! My mom had faith so we ask for a manager and I also tell the ridiculous story of the perils of airport transit on New Years day and hope for the best. We got a hands down NOPE.

Fine… whatever. I was kind of annoyed but at least I got the heads up that I lost my ID five (5!!!) days before my return flight. I’m elated…. Until I return to Apple and they ask for my ID to get my phone back. I’m not in the mood.

Quick, HIDE!!!!