Ice Water Medic


On my way to buy ice, again.

Ice water.  Normally room temperature. Out of the faucet. With a filter attached to it. Some hullaboo about brain freeze. Brain freeze. Yes. From Ice water? Um, yeah…  I get brain freeze from ice water. I hear your eyes bulging out as you read this. As I was saying so there’s no ice in my glass, ever. But lately? I. Must. Add. Ice…. So I started wondering… maybe my body is deficient. Needs a nutrient somewhere. Maybe it’s just hot out and I’m super thirsty? So I googled it. Oh geez. Basically I need some iron supplements, or a nap. Or I could be dying. You’re not dying. Isn’t it fascinating to know that something as little as a paper cut can contribute to an untimely “off-ing” of oneself?  At least, according to all these bull-crap, online “medical sources.” And dare I mention, and I say this with love…  Wikipedia is NOT a dependable source people. What? Why? Well, I’ll tell you.


Can’t a girl just crave some ice?

For a short time, I wrote for content mills and guess what? What, you found out you were thirsty? Pay attention. A lot of what you read online is fictitious bull. Not surprised. What’s a content mill? I’m getting to that. Let me catch you up to HOW a lot of articles show up on sites, including medical sites. Assignments are given to (anonymous) writers, just like me, (who’s not so anonomous and has a big mouth). Who’ve likely just googled the information,  just like you. They compiled their newfound (base) knowledge and voila! A medical post of bologna is born! Double check all your sources when researching shit online. Ok, so the “content mill” thing. Finally, that’s what I was asking about… If you’re unfamiliar, content mills are sites and/or companies that pay writers to churn out 10-20 articles a day for other websites, blogs, press releases and the like. Oooo, that sounds fun. Right? It’s not. It’s stressful. You believe you’re being handed quality assignments but really, anything that can be written and published is pretty much in these mills. And quality is compromised. Add salt into that paper cut… the pay is horribly low as well and any credit to the author is nonexistent. I was paid a whole $3 for a 500 word fashion article once-which did NOT help me payoff my lay-a-way couch. And on more than enough occasions, I didn’t get paid at all. Which took me that much longer to pay off my lay-a-way couch. And believe me, I did file a claim against one guy/company who hired me, and even with all my physical proof of my work, time and communication with said guy who hired me- the damn site denied my claim against them, NOT enforcing payment. Still angry about it much? Nope. I know my value, so I quit. But, the guy disappeared into the internet abyss. With no recourse. Let’s just say I didn’t stick to that type of freelance work very long because, let’s face it, it’s tough to buy your kid new cleats when you’re not getting paid. And three dollars for a day’s work, isn’t going to add up that quick either. Ok, so now you hopefully understand what a content mill is. Don’t do it, friends. Just. Don’t.

Back to the ice water. Ah, refreshing! Basically, the online medical consencous was: I could be anemic, have diabetes, be lacking iron, or even be on the verge of a heart attack. Awesome, fake medical pages, awesome. Or hey, how about I’m just dehydrated. Or I want to suck on some ice cubes becuase it’s a sweltering, hot mess fuckery outside. Excuse me while I stomp into my kitchen and pop open the freezer now… *ice falls all over the floor… Dammit.

Nail Jelly


If only I could save money on botox…

A few weeks ago I had this idea. Crap. Not another one. To start cutting costs to save money. OK… sounds good so far. Which, hey, the free time is compromised and penny pinching boyfriend is happy; but the money I save will be worth it and I can finally put that new shiny bed on lay-a-way. You think I’m kidding.

After much deliberation the decision has been made. No more mani-pedis. AAAHHHHHHHH! Does anyone else hear those piercing screams? Oh, that’s me. Sorry. Ugh my stomach hurts just saying it. But take a look at the upside. There’s no upside.  It’s saving me at least $60-$90 bucks a month! ok, fine that’s upside. Los Angeles is expensive. What’s that? Eight dollars for a gallon of milk? And since my rent is the equivalent of a mortgage, I’ve got to cut corners somewhere. And you’re going to be so nail jelly after you hear this!


hey it ain’t perfect, but with a 60 second dry time and $40 in my pocket, I’m celebrating this win!

Manicures, pedicures, acrylic nails, gel nails and maintenance that goes along with all of it, and even the exfoliant for the legs and hands. The boyfriend complaining about wasted money. Each thing tallies up the cost when you’re in the salon and every woman knows, those manicurist are hella good sales people. Honey buns, I know I said it was only going to be $45; but what happneed was this sales lady… ok, my last salon visit was $90. Boyfriend about choked. I Couldn’t help it! The women constantly asking to add a service and upsale you’re already mounting ticket (God, I love that massaging chair) and it multiplied so quickly with just a couple of yesses… I was putty.

After discovering that re-using aluminum foil for the daily baked potato isn’t going to save me much moula, researching the how-to on doing my own gel nails seemed like it would be easy. I’ve tried to do my own acrylic nails – disaster; but the idea that I could actually save money and do this thing without looking like a monkey did my manicure? I’m in! Listen, if I had money to burn, I’d mani-pedi all day without remorse for the almighty dollar. It’s however, not the case and I want to hang onto my forty dollar nail money.

So I bought a $40 gel nail kit at Walmart. Yes, Walmart. Don’t judge me. They’re the king of crap. They have everything. And the LED light is the most vital part in this b.s. In my head, I was like, if this shit doesn’t work, at least I can return it tomorrow and get my two Jacksons back. I didn’t buy the extra base or top coat crap -figured it was just a scam to make you spend more on this stupid kit. And you know what? You don’t need the top/base coat at all. It’s an extra step that’s for the criminally insane money spenders. The polish didn’t lift and it was just as shiny without it. And fyi, each bottle is about ten bucks a pop. My one time forty dollar expenditure has resulted in -so far- two months of nicely manicured nails. Albeit, with the same color that came with and a bottle my sister sent my way after she realized she needed said LED light. I’m happy to report that I’m not gnawing on my fingers like an animal -CHOMP. CHOMP. CHOMP.- and I feel my nails are better protected by the thick gel (that dries insanely fast)! Oh and if you’re curious about how this shit works, shoot me a comment. It’s easier -and less painful- than the waxing lesson I gave last year.

DISCLAIMER: I may have exhaggerated the milk costs. But, in my defense, $8 milk is why I am getting a bed on lay-a-way.

The Procrastination Of Miserability


Did someone mention my Pegacorn is waiting?

I know. Two posts in one week about happiness. How to find it. How to have it. How to keep it.  I’m sick to my stomach of it too. Regardless, here it goes…

There are bad moments that set you back a few hours and then there’s the miserable dugout. Swing batter batter, swing! The miserable dugout is a place where the miserable like to be benched. Yes, like a baseball dugout. Good job connecting the dots so quickly. I’m a positive person. Snarky as all hell but 99% of the time, a smiling force to be reckoned with. I won’t spend much time over-analyzing things beyond my control because… well, you can’t control everything. And I’m too lazy to bother. Or rather, I’ve just got better things to do with my fucking time. Such language. Yes, to drive the point home. It’s called passion.  If spending time obsessing over the “bad” things in life sound like something you can’t shake I’ve come up with some ideas to help you hop a ride on a pegacorn to cloud town!




In 4 Easy Steps

1. The Proclomation Adaptation. Say it loud and say it proud; but don’t say it in public. You’ll just look crazy. Look in the mirror and say, “Self, You’re fucking spectacular!” Give a flip of the hair, toss on a great pair of heels and skidaddle out the door to soak up the day. EVerything is better if you get ready for your day. Even when I’m in my office-home-atorium all day, I shower, put on lip gloss and act like I’m ready to be amongst the living. No, nobody sees the lip gloss but me. But it’s pretty and I like it.

2. Bathtime Candelabra. I’m a bath girl. Showers always make me feel like I’m in a rush to be wet. It makes me anxious. So, like clockwork, I run a bath after my yoga workout (yes punk ass, I’m still strugging to keep that going), and light a candle or two (five, I light five) and casually suds up. It’s relaxing and I’m accomplishing, I don’t know, getting clean or soemthing. Sometimes I will pop open a book; but the last time I did that it fell from my hands and drowned.

3. Workout Weenie. I hate to say it but it’s true. Working out really does make you feel better. Weenie. Quiet. It releases endorphins throughout your body, clears your head, and gives you more energy. This step sounds like a lecture. Hush. Stop making excuses and just do it. You sure? I’m sensing… aggression? Pay attention. You won’t get motivated to workout until you take action and actually workout. Stop the lies! Sometimes I can barely muster the energy to yoga. I know, who’da thunk it? You’re just kickin it, in downward dog or some shit and even that’s too exhausting to roll yourself off the sofa. I hear a riddle happening. Yeah. But I found that since I added working out regularly to my schedule, as long as I just go through the motion of getting there, youtubing my session and stay committed to just five measely minutes… Before I know it, twenty minutes has passed! Which boosts my ego and makes me want to dress cute! And hey, on my off days, just turning on the television and putting on some booty short wearing bitch is all I can get through. And I’m proud of myself on those days too.

4. PROCRASTINATE! Last but not least, procrastinate! Procrastinate the urge to be unhappy like we procrastinate doing the laundry! Oh, laundry stinks. Or the dishes! Blah, even worse. Give a middle finger salute to the meloncholy fairy (oh my). Tell that winged nut job that you’ll get to her later, and you just received a phone call emergency to chase butterflies. Hello? Oh I have butterflies to chase? Hey, winged nut job? I gotta go. Have you seen my pegacorn? Let yourself put off the heavy heart nonsense for another day and you’re likely to find you forgot about what was lurking to ruin your day to begin with. Hmm.. now where did I put that? Oh well, must not have been important.  This will be the one place in your life where procrastination can actually be beneficial!

The Sickness Clause

Back away from the cocktail shrimp… #choosehappy

The moral of the story is, I absorb energy. What you say? Listen, we all do. Which sounds a little bonkers; but, seriously, bad attitudes are contagious! And I dont need the flu. Ever notice when you’re in a group of people and there always that one person that starts the gravy train of sadness, making everyone a passenger ready to leave the station? Choo! Choo! All aboard to sappy town! Said partygoers will either get on that tear-dropping bandwagon or look for the nearest exit and grab a parachute. Or jump at 30, 000 feet without one. Belly flopping onto the earth is probably less paintful anyway. It’s one thing to make a sarcastic comment, illicit some laughter and change subjects; it’s surely another to drag down the rest of the boaters with the anchor of sorrow.  I find it best to pretend my phone rang and make a leap for the cocktail shrimp. Besides, I don’t want their gloom decending upon my appetizer. It would rreally ruin the whole thing. It’s cold shrimp! With cocktail sauce! Nobody sees the joy here? Fine. I quit.


DISCLAIMER: Entertainment purposes only. Unless you accidentally drown your book in the bathtub. Which is really just a soppy mess when it’s all said and done. And difficult to read.