Basically the Best Thing Ever


As soon as I turned 18 I decided I absolutely had to have something permanently inked onto my skin. I went to a random dirty place on a whim and picked a weird, cheesy, non-aesthetically pleasing moon and star design off of the wall. I chose to have it placed on the side of my lower back (perilously close to being a tramp stamp). The whole thing was bizarre. Horrible choice of rebellion I guess.

It took me 12 years, but I finally covered up that nonsense with the most stunning tattoo in the universe. What’s the best way to erase a sketchy decision from my youth? An anthropomorphic cat.

I was reading a blog one day and saw a painting by Finnish artist Ilona Sampovaara.

Ilona Sampovaara cat

“Naughty Girl” by Ilona Sampovaara.

Perfection. To ensure that it 100% represented my soul, the fancy white feline was swapped out for a portrait of the love of my life: my cat.

cat tattoo


The result:

cat tattoo

By Matt Kimball of NJ’s Timeless Tat2. Amazing artist.

Bam! My magical as hell cat tattoo. It makes my heart burst with joy.

My Biological Clock is a Ticking Time Bomb

Biological Clock

Oh my God! I want one. We’re related by the way. Yup. Some of my genes in there.

In my heart I’m 26-years-old. Maturity-wise I’d say 22 is a generous estimate. I forget my true chronological age or maybe I’m in denial. I recently discovered the joys of The Mindy Project. So the other night, I watched an episode and out of the blue I received a swift punch to the ovaries. The main character, Mindy, tells Dr. Castellano that she plans on having four children. He reminds her that she’s 31-years-old and single, does some number crunching, and says she’ll be lucky to pop out one child just under the gun. In that moment I realized, “Holy shit. I’m 31 and single.” Wah wah.

I want to have kids one day (two to be exact and one better be a girl) but I still need a few years. Before my womb’s harsh, harsh wakeup call, my biological clock never seemed like a major issue. Though I’ve been working on my heart chakra, I don’t think marriage before age 65 is my thing. On the other hand, kids are freakin’ expensive and I like the idea of any future offspring having two parents in case they hate me. I have no problem getting knocked up out of wedlock, but part of me assumed I’d be in a relationship before makin’ babies. That idea kind of turns me off too though. When things eventually go awry, do I really want to have see the father all of the time, FOREVER? No. I don’t.

I’m going to have to convince someone to impregnate me with no strings attached, preferably by 35. The caveat: I want a super baby. Basically, I have a few years left to find a tall, good looking, brilliant, funny, single dude who is significantly saner than me. There is a strong possibility that this plan will fail. After a brief anxiety attack, I’ve narrowed down my options to ensure success:

  1. Guilt a male friend, with the aforementioned qualities, into having a child and splitting it. No marriage, no dating, just business.
  2. Become BFFs with a gay couple seeking a kid. I’ll mix my apparently shriveling eggs with one partner’s sperm and go 50/50.
  3. Bamboozle either a sister or female friend, who is also childless at the time, into some in vitro magic and again split the resulting baby. I mean a weekly three- to four-day vacation from parenting sounds awesome to me.
  4. If things are looking bleak, visit a sperm bank or join an online dating site and go on a poking-holes-in-condoms spree. This would require financial stability and the fortitude to go it alone, which is why it is number four on the list. Plus, after a lifetime of avoiding strange sperm it feels sketchy.
  5. Adoption. Too selfish for that one. I want a mini-me.

While my annoying evolutionary drive to procreate is like an ominous tribal drum beat in my brain, I wouldn’t be surprised or dismayed if I was the first person to birth a litter of kittens (via a test tube. I’m not a sicko).

An Uncomfortable Meeting aka I’m Slightly Psychic


Life blows my mind sometimes.

I’ve said it a million times, but I’m a firm believer in signs and that each odd twist of fate carries some meaning. Lately it had been bothering me that I spent 1/3 of my life with my ex-fiance and there was a chance I’d never see him again. It had been 6 months since we’d talked and a little longer since I’d had a glimpse of his face. Things ended abruptly. One day he was there and the next he was gone permanently.

A few days ago, I had a dream about him. It was so vivid and detailed. I hardly ever remember my dreams but this one left me shaken. The oddest part of the whole scenario, was that I just couldn’t see his face.

The next night I had plans to go to an enormous bar/entertainment complex. It’s not necessarily my style. I know that his band plays there sometimes and before I even agreed I stalked Facebook and found his schedule. I was in the clear and it’s not a place he would frequent even if his show was cancelled. I almost backed out several times, but I’ve been pushing my boundaries lately. I suppressed the nagging feeling that something strange was going to happen.

Within a half hour of arriving at the bar, I was standing around with friends when a guy walked up to the group.  I don’t know if I was in shock or what, but my initial thought was, “Damn. He’s hot.” Then, “Wait. He looks really familiar.” There was complete silence and everyone’s face changed. Shit suddenly got realer than the Real World. But I couldn’t process why.

As the guy hugged my friend, I looked down at his calf. I recognized the tattoo. All of the color drained from my face, I started sweating, I couldn’t hear a sound except for the pounding of my heart. It was him. I waited in a stunned daze as he made his way toward me. The world stopped and nothing seemed real.

He gave me a hug and I tried to smile. We exchanged pleasantries. “What’s new with you?” he asked. “Well Pandora Shuffle has really changed my life for the positive,” I replied. I don’t know why I said that. At least it broke the tension and his familiar laugh dissolved the space between us.

“Let’s go for a walk,” he said.

My friends, completely unsure of what to do, were talking to me, yet I couldn’t make out a word they were saying. I just walked away with him.

After his gig ended he had made his way to the bar (or whatever the weird adult Disneyland was), because he knew a band playing on one of the stages. Out of the thousands and thousands people inside and outside and the endless places to go for a drink in a huge city, the universe tossed us into each other’s paths. The odds of this occurrence are staggering. Strangely, it was much like the lightening, random way we met.

We sat on a bench away from the crowd in a quiet little corner alone. I only had one drink but I felt high as a bat. I didn’t care what anyone else was doing. I was just floating in this weird state of suspended realty. I wasn’t sure what to expect. He looked so different. What was his life like? Was he still the same person? Had I been replaced yet?

As we talked under the moonlight, it was like nothing had changed. He was my best friend again. We laughed and filled each other in on what we’d each missed. I felt a sense of relief. I’d imagined what it would be like should we ever meet again. This possibility was happening and it wasn’t anything like I had feared. It felt good. The topic of conversation inevitably turned to what had happened. I’m not going to lie and say it was easy or that I’ve completely dealt with everything and moved on. It was sad, but not more than I could handle.

I’ve been carrying this burden with me. Everything was my fault. He had every right to despise me and it killed me. There hasn’t been a single day that has gone by that he hasn’t crossed my mind. But when he told me that he didn’t hate me and I had to let go of my self-loathing, I saw in his eyes that he meant it. He freed me.

He’s still the same person I’ve always known and loved. He exists. Time didn’t stop. Talking to him felt right. Half of me was overjoyed while the other half straight up hurt. But it was okay. Things got even stranger when I had to sleep at his house (long story involving a lost cell phone, not knowing anyone’s phone number by heart, and losing my friends in the massive crush of people…not what you’re thinking).

“Do you think this is going to be weird? Is this the best idea?” I asked in the cab on the way there.

To tell you the truth, I didn’t care. My intuition and every cell in my body told me it was fine (I also didn’t have any other options). I wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye. I silenced my rational mind and just went with it. Was seeing him and talking to him going to make things more painful later? Probably. But sometimes these little moments are all we have. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with embracing the split second when everything is normal. If I constantly fear the future and what I might or might not feel, I’m denying part of being human. Underneath it all, even the aching is beautiful in a way.

He dropped me off the next day and I cried when I said goodbye. I didn’t want our hug to end but it did as all things do. It got really messed up between us. We won’t be together again, but in the past few days I’ve felt a sense of peace that has been eluding me. Maybe I really needed the closure and the stars aligned to let me experience it.

My brother brought my two-year-old niece over that evening. We blew bubbles, she called me a good “boy.” I laughed, gave her a kiss on the head, and thought, “Fuck it. I’m going to be okay.”

A Tipsy Toilet Confession


It’s Monday and I’ve been sucking down some wine. Whenever I feel like I need a serious pick-me-up, I think of a few things that crack me up and make life a little better. The first one is evil. My sister had this strange boyfriend that I wasn’t a fan of. So beyond strange with these huge lips, tight Speedo, and bad attitude. He said goodbye to my sister when she was leaving for Germany for several years and ending the relationship. My friend saw him on the train crying his eyes out after the last farewell. Not funny. But if you knew him, fucking hilarious. I almost went down in a plane. Everyone was praying and crying and I started laughing like a maniac thinking of him bawling.

The second is a hard confession to make. A few years ago when I lived in an apartment I received a new toilet (very exciting event). Two weeks later it stopped working. The plumbers dug deep and found a fork in there. That was the cause of the toilet destruction. Everyone blamed my former fiance’s nephew since he was an adorable terror. I went along with it. The truth is, I accidentally flushed the fork. It was in a bowl of old cereal and I didn’t see it. Off my chest. I never admitted the truth, though some suspected it.

For some reason Keurig cups have been blowing up every where in my house lately. There are coffee grinds in my purse, the floor, the carpet, the sink, the bathtub. It’s like I get my paws on a K-Cup and it explodes. I tried to empty my coffee remnants out of my bag down the toilet and several hundred pennies fell out with it. Who knew pennies would not flush until at least 30 tries? There was no way I was sticking my hands in the toilet and fishing for those things. So I just kept flushing. They’re gone now, but coffee grinds remain. If this toilet blows, I will go down denying it.

Pointless stories, but endless sources of amusement for me. If my sisters or brother (ultimate narc) are reading this and Pennygate 2013 happens, do not tell Mom it was me or I will shank you.

Life Skills in One Easy List


I have been told I have no life skills. There’s three types of people in the world: book smart, street smart, and that rare combination of both. I would go to school for years if it was possible, I take tests like a mother fuc*a, but when it comes to survival tactics, I’m lacking. I found this article on Buzzfeed that is an excellent common sense primer:

21 Incredibly Important Diagrams to Help You Get Through Life

Bam. You’re welcome.


Freeeeeeeddddommmm (in a Scottish accent of course)


I’m trying to find the positive in the midst of personal disasters and I’m starting to warm up to the idea of having no ties, aside from my cat. Instead of looking at empty rooms and crying, I see possibility. The back room of my apartment that was his former music studio is perfect for my home office. He painted the walls black, which looks surprisingly bad ass, and after seeing a photo of an office designed by Abigail Ahern (sick interior designer), I am going to try to replicate the dark walls combined with a hot pink desk look. In fact, hot pink and other “girly” colors will be making a comeback in my crib. I could even wallpaper every room with pictures of shirtless dudes holding kittens if I wanted to.

It’s not only interior design that makes me giddy. I really want to dive back into life and take on the things that I never had the chance to conquer. Now that marriage and babies are no longer on the horizon (I can adopt little nuggets anyway), it’s time to start crossing shit off of my life to-do list. My 31st birthday is coming up. I freaked when I turned 30 and started thinking of the experiences I never had. You can see it here. But my 31st year offers a whole new world of opportunity. I’m going to add to that list. So far, one down:

Forearm Buddha Tattoo

My fear or needles has been conquered.

Here’s my revised agenda:

  1. Go serious camping.
  2. Try skiing or snowboarding.
  3. See as many other U.S. states as possible.
  4. Go to at least one more European nation.
  5. Take a road trip to California (I hate driving so this might be a challenge).
  6. Continue making odd wall art.
  7. Take my yoga and meditation practices to a new level.
  8. Go to the gym regularly and get buff as hell.
  9. Do some hiking.
  10. Visit the MoMA again, but this time alone.
  11. Touch a mountain (this has been on the list for some time).
  12. Write as much of my own shit as possible.
  13. Record some of my grandmother’s life stories.
  14. Eventually, move somewhere beautiful.

I’m sure there are many more things to add, but until I win the lottery these will have to suffice. I must admit, I’m a little scared. I’ll have to get over my social anxiety and fear. But, my sister’s favorite quote made me reevaluate my pointless worries:

“Life is short, break the rules, forgive quickly, kiss slowly, love truly, laugh uncontrollably, and never regret anything that made you smile. Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.” – Mark Twain (though it has been attributed to Twain, this attribution hasn’t actually been verified. I’ll give it to him though).

What’s on your life list just waiting to be crossed off?

Quiet: My Life is a Library and Not a Cool One


I’m too broke to purchase a plutonium-powered DeLorean and hot tubs are just a UTI waiting to happen. So I guess I’m shit out of luck when it comes to a time machine. Otherwise, I’d jet back to my infancy for a life re-do. Unfortunately, I’m just going to have to be where I’m at.

In my emotional turmoil/mental breakdown I hurt people I love. Due to my abhorrent behavior, my ring finger is bare, my former fiance moved out, and after a ten year relationship, I’m alone for the first time in my adult life. It’s weird being in an empty apartment surrounded by things that we created together. It obviously wasn’t meant to be or I wouldn’t have subconsciously sabotaged the hell out of us. That doesn’t make it hurt less. He was my best friend.

The weekend after I met him in college, I went home and told my grandmother that I found the dude I was going to marry. And I almost did. I thought I was psychic. But premium psychics always say, “almost doesn’t count” when it comes to predictions of the future. Actually, I have no idea if they say that. I just made that up.

I keep holding on to all that was good in our relationship. I wish my selective memory would fuck off. The truth of the matter is that it wasn’t ten years of bliss. I haven’t been happy for a while. It’s not that he did anything horribly wrong. I just haven’t been happy with myself. I’m not the person I know I can be. If I can’t get my head right, no relationship will be successful.

I’ve never had the space to figure my shit out. I’ve had a boyfriend from the time I was 16. I don’t know why I’m so afraid to be alone. Probably because I’ll have to face my shadow. I consider myself pretty self-aware and I know all about my insecurities, judgements, fear, anger, and negativity. Awareness and constant self-reflection aren’t enough. It’s time for me to accept these qualities, stop acting on their impulse, and eventually free up the energy they have a stranglehold on. I’m tired of being a slave to my inner-bitch.

Who knows? I’ve had a lot of “a ha” moments that Oprah would find absolutely orgasmic. They don’t always pan out. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be back in the fetal position hating myself. But I have some work to do.

It’s taken me a long time to realize that just because someone has a penis it doesn’t mean they can save me from myself.

Meow: Lending a Helping Paw

Adorable Cat

My baby. License and registration right meow.

First things first. I want to say thank you for all of the support and love. It’s been moving and much appreciated. The same goes to all of the people in my life who’ve been there for me. I’m finally back after my long hiatus.

I did an outpatient dialectical behavior therapy (DBT) program. DBT is like cognitive behavioral therapy mixed with zen, so it was cool. While I wouldn’t say I’m 100-percent mentally stable, I am feeling better. I spent at least a month of my life on the couch from the side effects of new medications and then the withdrawal when they inevitably didn’t work. Bipolar pill cocktails are no joke. I’m still on the same shit I was when I went in, but now I have a whole world of skills to use when I’m feeling crazy.

Anyway, on to the felines. I heard of cats in nursing homes sensing when a resident was going to die and curling up on their bed with them until they passed away. I find that almost other-worldly and it makes me tear up a little. People always tell me that my cat is mean. She hates children, blocks their path when they try to walk by her, and then hisses at them and scratches their little hands and legs, completely unprovoked. She isn’t really into people.

My sister would come over and sit down and out of nowhere something would grab on to her ponytail and just slam her head into the back of the couch. It was reminiscent of a horror movie. But it was just my little Jasmine showing her love for her aunt.

She doesn’t like to cuddle. She plays rough. When she’s hungry and I’m sleeping she crawls up under the covers and sticks her claws into the bottoms of my toes. The things everyone views as her personality defects are the reasons I love her. I’m weird. Why wouldn’t my cat be a little eccentric? She’s my fur baby and has converted me into a raving cat lady. She loves me in her own way. She follows me room to room, albeit at a distance, cries when I leave, and waits by the door when I come home.

While I’m constantly kicking my intuition in the throat and second guessing myself, my regal cat’s intuition is on point. One might not expect a lot of empathy or compassion on her part. They would be wrong. As seen in one of my last posts, I’ve been sad. She hasn’t left my side. The whole time I was on the couch crying, sleeping, and/or throwing up, she rested right above me. When I curled up under my covers in bed, she nestled up against my legs. When I paced the house endlessly because of the hell known as akathisia, she paced with me.

They say petting an animal triggers the release of serotonin and dopamine in your brain. Well, I pet the shit out of her to soak up as many feel good chemicals as I could. I know it’s going to sound crazy, but that ball of fur, paws, and whiskers truly helped me. For that, I’m buying her a brand new cat fountain.

I have studied many philosophers and many cats. The wisdom of cats is infinitely superior.”- Hippolyte Taine

Old Hippolyte was wise as hell.

Bukowski on Politics

Charles Bukowski

Photo via The Telegraph.

Charles Bukowski is the shit. I can’t even describe how much his writing resonates with me. If I had been an adult at any time during his lifetime, I would have hit that. In light of election day here’s a quote from a 1982 High Times interview (Note: I would save whales and saving the world would be cool too):

HIGH TIMES: Back to politics: Even though you say you’re apolitical, some people see political themes in your work.

BUKOWSKI: They are entirely wrong. There is no political motivation in me. I don’t want to save the world, I don’t want to make it a better place. I just want to live in it and talk about what happens. I don’t want the whales to be saved, I don’t want the nuclear plants to be broken down and taken away. Whatever is here, I am with it. I may say I don’t like it, but I don’t want to change it. I am very selfish. What I mostly don’t like is things like, I drive my car down the freeway, I get a flat tire, and I have to get out and change the goddamn thing. I have to change lanes and there isn’t any lane on the right-hand side, and I have to get to the track. So you see, I have no profound feelings, I have no profound movement. I have nothing of this wanting anything at all. I just want to brush my teeth and hope my teeth don’t fall off. I hope to get a hard-on next year. Just simple little things. I am not looking for big things. I’ll settle for small things, like the winner of the third race at the odds of three, to one. That’s all I want. Nothing very magic. I don’t want to extend beyond my boundaries.