The Master Cleanse: What I Shit For Love

May 20
2013

The request.

“Cleanse with me,” said my live-in lover, Doug. I thought he was offering a sexy middle-of-the-day shower, something we hadn’t done since those blissful first three months of our relationship. That was four years ago in 2002.

I pulled my shirt over my head in record Paris Hilton pout-time.

“What are you doing?” he asked. “I’m trying to talk to you.” He thrust an unassuming little yellow book at me. I sheepishly replaced my shirt while he started in with that crazy Southern California talk. Something about cleaning his digestive system of all the horrible hormone-injected, mucus-filled supposed-food that he’d been shoving into his mouth for most of his adult life. All it would take was ten days and some discipline.

Four Words I Never Thought I’d Say

Mar 30
2013

I once covered my concrete cubicle at a soul-crushing job in red construction paper. The fluorescent lights and white walls were emotionally debilitating. The eternal power point presentations defeated me. Office gossip dulled the once-sharp edges of my brain.

Hence the red construction paper. It was a desperate move in self-stimulation.

Although it paid the bills in between acting gigs, after ten years in the corporate world, and this particular company for four, my general life enjoyment was simply shot.

Because My Mommy Said So

May 13
2012

It was the biggest decision of my life and I didn’t want to blow it.

I sat cross-legged on the old yellow carpet in my bedroom, surrounded by college applications. Notes were crammed into every margin available in “The College Book,” the bible for high schoolers looking for general outlines of schools across the nation. My father had taken me on several road trips to visit countless schools, during which I had taken more copious notes. Now the applications lurked around me like a sea of sharks and my notes were kelp to my need for a lifeboat.

A Letter From 2,800 Miles Away

Sep 11
2011

Ten years ago, I had been living in Los Angeles for just two years.
I wrote the following a few days after September 11, 2001. 

***

Dear Grandma New York,

I wish I was with you now.  I wish I could sit with you and hold your hand as you slowly recuperate. I’m jealous of the rest of the family who was – thankfully – there after it happened. And I am glad that they are there to comfort you as the doctors diligently repair your wounds.  But I am so far away, Grandma.  I can’t hug you and hold hands with all the people who line your bedside. Instead, I have to send my heart from here.

Please Read With Your Eyes Closed

Aug 23
2011

“Turn around.”

It was the ninth false start I had with my student, Julie, for this one-minute drama exercise. After 20 classes with her, I was familiar with her delay tactics. After standing in place for a half a breath, she’d walk to a corner of the room. I’d gently coax her back. She’d hide her face; I’d convince her to drop her hands. She’d spin in circles, I’d get her to stop…all of this took longer than the exercise itself, if she would just get to it.

College Reunions & Problem Buckets

Jun 07
2011

I won’t be traveling 3,000 miles to Saratoga Springs this month to tempt nostalgia at my 20-year college reunion. To think I graduated two decades ago is as perplexing as the fact that skinny jeans and boyfriend blazers with rolled up cuffs are considered fashion-forward again.

Since I won’t be visiting my renovated alma mater, I’ll miss out on clinking martini glasses while reminiscing with former classmates about how much Coors Light out of a keg tasted like stale urine.

Temporary Asshole

Jan 25
2011

I told someone off yesterday. Someone I care about and want to keep in my life. But I had been complaining about this person for days and I finally couldn’t take it any longer. I sat down and let my fingers fly on my keyboard. I type 70 words per minute; I was surprised I didn’t start a small fire.

Five Foot Two And Still Sane

Nov 08
2010

Right in the middle of the Rally To Restore Sanity, I wanted to tell someone off.

We had gotten to the mall two hours early to ensure a decent spot and settled near the beginning of the middle (insert political joke here) where the Jumbotrons were in view for anyone over 5’6”.  D.C. (my boyfriend, not the city) could see the screens clearly, but I spent much of the 3 hours either on my toes or wavering from right to left (insert flip-flopping joke here) to catch the ever-shifting sweet spot between people that gave me a hand’s width view of either screen.

No More Ms. Nice Blog

Sep 16
2010

When I started this blog I was told:

“Make sure you have a specific topic, or no one will read it.”

So I formulated my blog topic.  What am I passionate about?  Psychology and humor. Yeah, I thought, I’ll address one particular psychological theory or idea or study or piece of human behavior and couch it in a funny story.  Then everyone will think I’m brilliant and hysterical and a great writer they’ll all love me. Easy enough.

So I started my blog. Like a parent, I had ideas about what I didn’t want my baby blog to be:

Battling The Blobby Beast

Jun 09
2010

All throughout my primary and secondary education, I never raised my hand in class. That’s a good 12 years of never asking to be called on. To do so was to invite the wrath of something more terrifying than any bully, more embarrassing than the rejection of any cute boy. If I slid my hand in the direction of the air, The Beast would descend upon me, paralyzing me with fear…