Tag Archives: humor

All Energy Everything

Checkout this total product development fail I found the other day –

Cracker Jack, why you gotta give us coffee too? You already give us prizes!

Whenever I see stuff like this, I like to imagine all of the steps it took for this to go from an idea to an actual product in Duane Reade, during which no one was like, “um. Hey, guys? This is a terrible idea.”

There were at least this many steps, in some sort of order like this:

  1. Person had idea, decided it was good.
  2. Person edited presentation, decided to keep caffeinated Crack Jack idea on list of ideas.
  3. Person gave presentation, likely involving graphs and charts about how much people like ‘energy’ food.
  4. Other people decided this was a good idea, passed on to team of food engineers/ robots/ factory in china.
  5. Food is manufactured, taste-tested, moved on to packaging.
  6. Packaging (including the name “Cracker Jack’d”) was created and no one said anything about this being an AWFUL idea.
  7. Product presented to supermarkets/ stores everywhere. Product is purchased by these stores.

Either that, or there was a massive chocolate/coffee incident at the Cracker Jack factory and they decided to cover their losses by creating this. If that’s the case, I have tons of respect for them. Otherwise, WTF dudes?

I get that suddenly everything is supposed to magically energize us, even though it’s crap that’s giving us toe cancer, hair arthritis or, at the very least, lots of belly fat, but a line has been crossed. Coffee in my candied popcorn product? Or, whatever the hell those weird brownie things on the bag are? Java nougats?

I know that there have been some really important things happening in the news with civil rights, and coups and whatever, but THESE ARE THE REAL ISSUES, PEOPLE.  It’s like that old saying –

First they wanted to add a shot of espresso to my coffee,

and I didn’t speak out, because that seemed kinda nice.

Then they came for my diet soda,

and I didn’t speak out, because ‘ginseng’ and ‘guarana’ are fun to say.

What’s next? Is any junk food sacred anymore?

Will make it even more marketable to college students, although I assume the price may go up… Gives new meaning to ‘speed reading’?

What about the great American breakfast staples?

This may prove that I don’t know what color meth is… unless it’s green. I promise I have never seen nor done meth, guys.

And can you imagine how much Pizza Hut is going to go to town with all of this? They LOVE stuffing things into crusts. Don’t think they’ll stop at things that raise your cholesterol…

That blue and white thing is supposed to be a pill #powerpointfail

Little Ceasars is probably going to have to change their slogan to make it seem more energized –


Also, what will energy drinks do? Start adding food to their drinks? Our hearts are going to explode, guys.

Stop the madness. Quit buying ‘energized’ food. 

Peace, love and crack-infused ketchup, 


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Wishlist for 2015

With the rate that technology is advancing, I feel like I can wish for almost anything hard enough and by 2015, it’ll exist. Here are some things I’d like to have:

Hologram boyfriend- 

Sure, I have a boyfriend now, but I’ve heard rumors that unmarried women in New York are dumped by their significant other on their 30th birthday, and are then welcomed into spinsterhood and gifted a cat and a pair of mom jeans. This *might* be a rumor, but I like to be prepared. By my 30th birthday in 2015, I’m gonna need a hologram boyfriend, science. 

This has got to be right around the corner, I mean by 2008 we had the worst choice for a first public hologram ever, Will.I.AM.

CNN, I will never forgive you for this

Since we clearly don’t care that much about holograms, despite the fact that they seemed like they’d be THE HEIGHT OF SCIENTIFIC ACCOMPLISHMENT to 80s kids like me, there’s got to be some sort of DIY hologram kit in the works. Think about it: you’re going to a wedding or a holiday party and you don’t have a date (re: cats, mom jeans, spinsterhood)… Don’t fear! With the help of Hologram Boyfriend (patent pending), just glue your hologram projector to your shoe and voila! Instant boyfriend.

I’d imagine that the biggest challenge here is generating the movements and mannerisms of each different hologram boyfriend prototype. I’m not picky, though. I’ll reuse hologram Tupac.

Look at how much fun we had together last Christmas!

Of course, I’m a realist, so I understand that even human-hologram couples have their issues.

“Hologram Tupac! Where are your manners?! Put on a shirt!”

In the end though, we’d always work it out. Or I could turn him off.

Seriously, why hasn’t anyone made hologram boyfriends yet? To the computer genius who is reading this blog and one day owns the patent to hologram boyfriends, you owe me at like half of your net worth. You’re welcome.

Remote into a party

Ok, so maybe faking a relationship by the use of lasers isn’t your thing. I get it, you’re a romantic like that. There should still be ways to avoid all those social events you really don’t want to go to, or even ways to get the best of both worlds – interacting at a cocktail party, seeing everyone you want to see from the comfort of your own home.

My ideal version of this technology involves using one of those iChat type backgrounds as the foreground, basically superimposing my face into a thinner, made up version of myself. I’d love to “attend” an event looking ten pounds lighter, my hair perfectly coiffed, in designer clothing I can’t afford, all while sitting on my couch, wearing my favorite sweats and chowing down on a burrito.

Zombie Apocalypse endings to all your favorite shows –

If we’re all in agreement, we could make this happen pretty soon, guys. Think about it: It’s season 8 of your favorite show, and the plot lines are starting to get super boring. I say if enough criticism exists and ratings drop below a certain point, TV writers should be FORCED to set the rest of the show in a zombie apocalypse.

How much better would last season of How I Met Your Mother have been? They can set their own zombie apocalypse rules, the characters can survive and restore the world, but having Ted’s last line to the show be, “and kids, that’s How I Met Your Mother… When she shot your aunt zombie Robyn in the face with a bazooka right before she bit me in the neck. Obviously uncle Barney became a mad scientist and was able to get the antidote to her before it was too late.

It would be Legen-wait-for-the-zombie-apocalypse-to-end-DARY

Control top panty hose that doesn’t push all your fat above the control top –

I mean, science. Have you really not figured this out yet? I feel that by 2025 I should no longer have to buy panty hose size quadruple Z (which according the the size guide is for a 4’7′, 327 pound woman, yet it STILL gives me a muffin top). I’m getting really sick of the weird looks from the checkout girl at Walgreens.

Personal climate control bubble – 

Really, I’m surprised Brookstone didn’t come up with one of these a long time ago. So, one of the things about living in a driving city (ATL REPRESEENNNNNNTTTT) is that we never have to worry about the weather, except for those three minutes a day we spend walking to and from our cars. Most of that is done in garages though anyway. I’m pretty sure this is why the south doesn’t care about global warming. Outside is that thing you see from a window of your house or car while the air conditioning is gloriously showing your face with recycled air.

So! Rather than fix global warming (too many Republicans… seems hard), we should create climate control bubbles for everyone. While the primary use would be on the street when it’s raining — because fuck umbrellas those things are the worst — there are so many other uses! A.) In your office when the heat is turned on too high, B.) On the train when someone smells like Paris Hilton’s perfume, C.) In the snow, D.) In any public restroom, ever.

That eye makeup machine Milla Jovovich uses in The 5th Element- 

And while we’re at it those pills that turn into rotisserie chicken in the microwave, too. Actually, forthcoming – an entire blogpost dedicated to how amazing The 5th Element was.

Trying to find a picture of this scene by Googling, “Chicken. Good.” led me to way too many pics of delicious-looking rotisserie chicken and now I just want chicken.

Background music to the songs I make up in my head – 

After two choruses of “Where did you go, my house keys?!” the song I sing to all missing items I’m trying to find, I realized how much better it would be if No Mercy’s background vocals and that thumping pop synth would be really helpful. Particularly because it always gets stuck in my head and then I’m left singing “Where did you go, my Metrocard?” for hours afterwards and I look like a weirdo on the street.

Augmented reality should get even more real –

If you’re thinking, “AugmentedWTF?!” here are some examples – 

T-rex attack, rapper shark attack and blazing sour patch dudes brought to you by Snaps!

These pics are examples of augmented reality – basically something that allows you to superimpose graphics onto pictures of your stuff. With this particular app, you can get prizes and stuff for it too. OH AND BTW YOU SHOULD GO VOTE FOR IT ON THIS WEBSITE – http://projects.wsj.com/soty/rankings. Seriously, vote for Snaps!, it’s my friend Austin’s app.

BUT ANYWAY, Snaps! would be the perfect platform for what I want. Which is basically an augmented-er reality. My phone is with me for pretty much every choice that I make in my life, so if it could reach out of the screen and slap me for every bad decision I make, I would be a better person for it.

“Step away from the overpriced eyeliner”

Now that I think of it, Google Glass has probably already created all of these technologies. Can someone please send me a pair??

Peace, love and hologram Tupac, 


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Summer in the Cubicle

Summer is glorious. It’s pure bliss filled with swimming pools, beach trips, long days and summer thunderstorms that make the perfect soundtrack for a midday nap and – oh yeah – still having to go to work. Damnit.

I absolutely love the summer, but ever since I started working I realized how it’s a double-edged sword. During the winter, I’m excited to get inside, sip some free coffee and order food delivery to my desk for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I also have the perfect excuse to never go out during the week, and hop into bed by 9 PM on the weekends. Summer lures me out of my TV cave and demands that I spend almost every night going to dinners, events, drinks or social events. By the time summer is over I’m TOTALLY exhausted because I’ve completely overextended myself in order to soak up all of the summery goodness that is for the most part cannibalized by the annoying need to pay my rent and have food to eat or whatever. Everyone should get free rent/ free food for the summer. Am I right? Me for President, guys! I’ll make it happen.

Anyway, this summer I’ve been trying to make the most of it a little more so that I don’t spend all my time sitting angrily at my desk, cursing the fact that I’m located directly underneath an air vent. I will never understand why people find it necessary to make the inside temperature hotter than summer in the winter and colder than winter in the summer.

This is why we never have office margaritas

Here are some tips for keeping yourself feeling summery while you’re inside. I take no responsibility if you get fired.

#1 – Wear your bathing suit under your work clothes at all times. Double points if you use this to avoid doing laundry for another day.

#2 – If you’re hungover, go outside and throw up in the park instead of the office bathroom. There’s nothing like vomiting in the bushes and looking up to see an audience of bewildered squirrels. Oh, the magic of nature.

#3 – Instagram a picture of being outside, every. single. time. you’re outside. When you look back on your feed it will make you feel like you spent a lot more time outside than you actually did.

“Look guys, I’m outside!” “Here I am… outside again!” “This time I’m outside AND I HAVE FOOD” “Outside in black and white LOL”

PS, those are all my Instagram photos. So I am VERY GOOD at taking my own advice.

#4 – Use summer occurrences as an excuse to be late to everything work related.

  • “Dear work, the rain is making all of the subway trains flood. I am afraid I have to work from the park – er, I mean home. You know, because it’s raining so much.”
  • “Dear work, there is some sort of Dominican Republic/ Gay Pride/ Mermaid Parade going on and they’re not allowing me to cross 14th Street.”
  • “Dear work, Occupy Wall Street is back. I’ve decided to join them this year. #Occupy!”
  • “Dear work, ain’t nobody got time for this heat.”

#5 – Everyone loves the “It’s 5 O’Clock somewhere” approach. Except for maybe authority figures. So just to make sure you’re covered, keep one of those cocktail flavored gums on your desk next to your beverage in a smoothie cup.

“Oh, no. This is just a smoothie. It’s the gum that smells like booze.”

And, if all else fails and you are totally stuck in the office all summer long, you can just beachify your cubicle. After all, there’s nothing like the feeling of packing peanuts between your toes amIrightamIright!?

Ikea should sell this as a box set.

Peace, love and is it 4th of July weekend yet? 


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Where’s the Sign Up Sheet to Become a Celebrity?

So a few weeks ago I moved to the bedroom across the hall. The thing about moving rooms within your own apartment it’s almost harder than a normal move because I didn’t get movers. Also, I decided two years ago that I wanted to realize my childhood dream of having a canopy bed, so I bought one from Ikea. I regret this decision most days for the following reasons: #1 – The bed bugs loved the canopy when I used to have all this black tulle wrapped around the frame. #2 – Ikea.

Can we all agree that the creators of Ikea were malicious sadists? Seriously, when I think of the conversation that lead to the founding of Ikea, I imagine that in between rounds of torturing fawns one of the dudes was like, “Hey, you know what would be fun? What if we made a furniture store that was absurdly cheap.” and the other guy was like “Why would we do that? Hey, hand me those hot coals.” and the first guy was like, “Because if we make a furniture store that’s absurdly cheap, we can get everyone on the planet to think it’s awesome but actually create the world’s worst maze for people to walk through.” So the second guy was like, “That seems like an ok use of my time, but not murder-y enough.” And so the first guy went, “WELL HERE’S THE THING. Not only will the maze they have to walk through to get to the checkout be terrible, we will also name all of the furniture names in an unrecognizable language, and we will pump the smell of cinnamon buns through the store, despite the fact that it’s incredibly difficult to find the area in which the cinnamon buns are sold because it’s a furniture store, not a restaurant and we will make ALL OF THE DIRECTIONS FOR ASSEMBLING INCREDIBLY HEAVY FURNITURE IN HIEROGLYPHICS. AND THE CINNAMON BUNS WILL SUCK.”

And then the second dude was like, “Oh. Sweet. I’m in.”

“If you have a problem, just call us!” Have you guys every tried *calling* Ikea for help? THE WORST.

I spent most of a Sunday afternoon dodging giant pieces of canopy bed as they fell apart on top of me, cracking pieces of my canopy bed, looking up new beds online while I considered selling my bed and inexplicably ripping the paint off of my wall with a piece of the bed. Eventually I prevailed. Well, sort of… there were a couple of pieces of the bed that no longer seemed like they mattered so now they live under the bed, and I”m probably going to have to duct tape one side of the canopy because it’s broken in half and sagging over my bed. At the end of it all, I sent Chris a very long text describing all the ways I planned to dismantle and burn the hell bed, video tape it and send it to Ikea whenever I am finally able to afford a different, non-Ikea bed.

It looked a lot like this.

Anyway. The reason I’m telling you about all of this, is to tell you why it’s terrible that I started following Rihanna on Instagram. Really, I shouldn’t follow any celebrities on Instagram, but Mindy Kaling at least keeps it down to earth and makes it seem like she’s working hard for the money.

The whole time I was at risk of severing a limb with particle board made by Satan’s minions, Rihanna was in Barcelona. BEING BLONDE. Every time I’d check my phone, hoping that someone on Facebook would post about wanting to buy a canopy bed from Ikea, I’d see Rihanna… shopping at Chanel; sitting on stairs smoking a cigarette; wearing things with cutouts in them. Rihanna’s Instagram feed basically says, “Look at how much better my life is than yours.”

I think that was literally one of the comments on her photos. It was at least a hashtag.

When I was younger I wanted to be a celebrity because I wanted people to ask me weird questions about myself that no one asks you in real life like, “What do you was think the key to getting were you are today?”  Then I realized I can just write a blog and make the questions up for myself (new post idea: Getting interviewed by an imaginary Diane Sawyer). For a couple years I was like, “wow. Now I don’t need to be a celebrity. Look at me… having it all.”

And then Rihanna’s Instagram had to go and ruin it for me. I want to be a celebrity again. Celebrities have so much downtime. When Amanda Bynes threw that bong out the window and everyone was reporting on it, I was sitting at my desk like, “That lucky bitch doesn’t have to be in an office right now?! I’d kill to live on 47th street. Who has time to go wig shopping? ”

The rest of us have the raw end of the deal… don’t we? Celebrities are always complaining about how busy they are and justify it by saying, “I suffered from exhaustion last year. You know? I had to go to A SPA.”

I suffer from exhaustion every WEEK. It’s called Monday, celebrities. Seriously though, based on her Instagram feed, here’s what I think Rihanna’s typical day is like versus mine. These are the busy ones when she has a concert or something.

Given this new info (that yes, was entirely made up by me), I have been strategizing again. Trying to figure out how I can become a celebrity. Seeing as that I don’t really act, dance, sing or start fights with everyone around me, I’ve ruled out pretty much everything in terms of the performing arts and reality TV.

Do you guys have any thoughts? How else do people get famous?

Peace, love and death to Ikea, 


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Talkin’ Bout My Generation: Millennials

I really need to buy photoshop. This powerpoint/paint combo is getting exhausting.

I usually try to avoid engaging in whatever happens to be The Conversation on the internet (unless it’s Kanye-related, duh) because if I start taking myself too seriously I’ll turn into a douche faster than the baby gremlin turned into all the scary gremlins.

Seriously, how do the cute ones turn into THAT?

BUT this time I have to chime in – peeps be hatin’ on my generation. TIME MAGAZINE BE HATIN’, GUYS. Actually, I haven’t read the full article (I know, bad blogger!) because I have to be a subscriber or actually buy a magazine so this isn’t really a commentary on what they wrote. I could be saying the same things, I have no idea. This is a collection of thoughts I realized I have about Millennials that was spawned by all the awesome photoshopped versions of the magazine cover. Also, if for some reason I offend people or seem preachy I’m pre-apologizing with this picture of my spirit animal, the bear –

Like me, the bear is fierce and sleeps for half of the year. We both enjoy waving at people and being talked to in baby voices. (pic from http://www.bearbabbleonline.com)

Ok, here we go. I have to be honest, at first I was like “WTF is Time Magazine? I’m too busy looking at myself in a mirror and writing about my feelings on the internets to know about these things.” But then I had a flashback from a repressed childhood memory – my house used to have these booklets of paper that were somehow interesting to my parents. I get it, they didn’t have Angry Birds back then.

Doesn’t it seem like every two months there’s some new article about Millennials?

Quit having a big lesbian crush on us already

Did people write this much about Gen X? No seriously, as a Millennial I don’t read anything I didn’t write myself, so it’s difficult to figure these things out.

As a generation, we’re pegged as lazy, entitled and narcissistic. My opinion is: Yes. I know people my age like that. I have at times been all of those things. I’m probably being at least one of those things right now, but there are a lot of other ways to describe Millennials and I’m not talking about the fact that we ALL hate the new Facebook.

Here are the things that I think are the best and worst part of our generation.

BEST: We know how to use a computer 

Seriously, older people, if I hear one more of you say “I’m just not a tech person” I’m going to go ballistic. The Internet is easy. You guys understood how to use card catalogs and kept rolodexes, you can certainly figure out how to update your browser to the newest version. My 80-something year old grandmother has a Facebook account.

WORST: Selfies

Translation for older people – a selfie is a photo someone takes of him/herself, usually making a “duck face” so their cheek bones will look more defined. Example –

We could do without 99% of these.

 BEST: We’re figuring it out

Graduating college in 2009 felt rough. Graduating with a Music Business degree felt ABSURD. The moment I realized that was when I was sitting in a college classroom and my professor, who was one a music industry hot shot, said “I dunno you guys. It’s different now… you’re just going to have to figure it out.” I’m pretty sure the entire class shared one thought at that moment – WHY THE F ARE WE PAYING $30K A YEAR?

I totally bailed on the music industry because that seemed hard, but I’m amazed by how many of my peers really did get music business jobs. They’re the very people who are figuring it out, and hopefully building it back up.

WORST: We think we’re “special”

Through nothing but good intentions, our baby boomer parents were too nice. Our parents were so good to us. We were told we could be whatever we wanted. Our finger painting skills rivaled Picasso. Exposure to the real word is a harsh reality for a lot of us. I think I spent my first few years of college being like “Y U NO THINK I’M MUSIC PICASSO?” For me this also happened with sick days at work. I didn’t understand why I no one believed that calling in for “a tickle in my throat” wasn’t code for hangover. It took me awhile to realize that no one but my sweet, loving parents cares about my ailments.

ADDITIONAL WORST: Overcorrecting to prove you don’t think you’re special 

There are people who go the other route and act irrationally strong – “If I pass out in the meeting, just slap me in the face. I’ve got a touch of menengitis, but it’s NBD.” Go home you sickly jerk.

BEST: We take on and deal with massive debt to get a higher education 

I’m so unbelievably lucky to not have any college debt (parents, u da u da best), but the reason I thought of this point is from watching one of my college roommates take on probably $100K in debt to get a music education degree. After she graduated, she got an office job that paid OK and quit after three days because she knew it would eat her soul and she wanted to use her degree. She worked at a restaurant for several years so she could work a side job doing what she loved for basically no money. She paid her rent, made loan payments and got an Amex so she could earn miles. She showed me her budgeting spreadsheets and I couldn’t believe how much of a financial boss she’d become in a matter of months. After a few years, she got a full time job teaching music.

WORST: We don’t have a big, unifying activist movement

Once, on an OkCupid date, a dude referred to “getting stoned and getting Family Guy back on the air” as a great activist feat of our generation. I deactivated my account the next day. Maybe it’s because a lot of the major barriers have been passed. Maybe we’re lazy? There’s gay rights and Occupy Wall Street, but I don’t think we’re doing any big Vietnam-esque stuff. Are we? Am I missing something?

BEST: We’re awesome at nostalgia

For stuff like Web 1.0 and the 90s, not like farms. Stuff like the Geocities-izer and basically every BuzzFeed article that’s not about cute animals.

WORST: We’re narcissistic

I’m really only saying this because it’s a major complaint against us. Isn’t everyone? If your diary from when you were twenty was publicly accessible, wouldn’t it be about you? Mine is in the form of a livejournal somewhere, and it’s definitely all about me. I can’t tell you how much time I’ve spent trying to find the link. Whenever I find it I will post.

I’m going to end on a positive – SERIOUSLY, WE’RE FIGURING IT OUT.

When I got my first job offer, I was sitting in a bathroom stall at my hostess job. My iPhone had pinged, and I was hoping that maybe someone in New York, the city in which I was already paying for an apartment despite living in Georgia, would hire me. Gen X people have told me about this thing called “hiring bonuses.” Like, people would PAY you to take a job. I cannot fathom that happening to anyone now. Every time I interview for a job, this is my thought process: “How much can I deduct from what I really think my salary should be to beat the person who interviewed before me without getting evicted? God I hope they didn’t go to an ivy. I’m so screwed. Can we fight to the death or something? I think I could take him.”

Jobs are hard to come by and the rent is too damn high. We’re told all the time that everything is hopeless. Even so, we are singing, blogging, tweeting and YouTubing our ideas out there. Are some of them shitty and self-involved? Hell yeah! Are some of them so awesome that they go viral? Hell fuckin’ yea. Besides, sometimes after a long day of working, it feels good to be a little narcissistic and look through all your old FB photos. So sue us. But seriously don’t because we don’t have any money.

Peace, love and who run the world? MILLENNIALS. (Ok, not yet… but one day?), 


PS – Here’s another picture of a bear.

(Pic from amusingplanet.com)

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A couple weeks ago, I had a physical. I’m not proud to say it, but it had been YEARS since I’d gotten any sort of check up done prior to the start of this year. The physical was the last thing on my list, because it was the most terrifying to me. So when I went back to the doctor and he pulled out my chart, the conversation went like this:

“Ms. Peón, it seems that you have…” there was a long pause, and my paranoid hypochondriac brain snapped into action –



Premature shingles – it’s probably from going to bed early too often, your body thinks you’re 87

A rare form of cancer that affects only the hair follicles on your knees


Hillary Duff arms – no matter how thin you get, they’ll look fat like that forever

You’re actually a hermaphrodite, we just never noticed

Nicklebackenitis – this rare ear deformity where all music slowly starts to sound like Nickleback songs

Gangrene – you know this was bound to happen

Acute onset adult tourettes

A twin you absorbed as a fetus that’s now growing inside you as your own baby

Something science hasn’t discovered yet, but it looks baaaaaaaad

By the end of the ~2.5 second pause, I’d accepted the hair follicle cancer and already was feeling proud of myself for the way I was going to handle it. I’d become a women’s rights activist, fighting against the oppressive societal construct of shaving one’s legs. I’d change lives. XOJane would interview me – “Sure,” I’d say while browsing knee wigs in a specialty store in the East Village, “I never had hair on my knees before. But I didn’t UNDERSTAND the pressures I was caving to. Women need to celebrate the hair they have. It took being diagnosed with this terrible illness for me to realize it, but it’s my hope that for future generations it won’t have to come to that.” I’m so brave.

“Ms. Peón, it seems that you have… a SEVERE vitamin B12 and D deficiency.”

Oh… that makes sense.

His follow up question made me feel good about myself, although there’s no reason why it should have.

“Are you a vegetarian?”

“Um, no, not exactly. Sometimes my boyfriend and I try to be vegan during the week.” I’M SO VEGAN I GAVE MYSELF A VITAMIN DEFICIENCY.

“Oh, well that could be it. Other things like spicy food and alcohol can do it too.”

“…It’s definitely the vegan thing.”

The interesting thing about finding out there’s something “wrong” with me that I didn’t know about is that I immediately started using it to justify my shortcomings.


NO WONDER WHY I’VE BEEN HAVING WEIRD DREAMS EVERY NIGHT. The dream last night about the tattoo I got on my hip of a pelican riding a unicycle. Totally a vitamin deficiency dream.

So THAT’S why I haven’t looked just like Blake Lively this whole time…

I just want you guys to know that this is quite possibly the WORST photo ever taken of me. I was 20, and someone gave me a raptor-esque hair cut AND my hair at the time was kind of purple AND I had gained some weight during study abroad, probably from eating whatever it was I was eating in the photo. You’re welcome.

So anyway, now I have to use some weird prescription nasal spray to like, mainline vitamins or something. Sorry I didn’t have a regular post for today making fun or rap or something, IT’S BECAUSE I HAVE A VITAMIN DEFICIENCY.

Peace, love and knee wigs, 


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The Cicadas Are Coming and It’s Going to be The Shit

One of the things that I loved about growing up in small town Georgia was what a BIG EFFING DEAL everything was. It snowed ten inches? The blizzard of ’93 will live in infamy. Hurricane Opal hit Florida? We had no school because of wind. Some crazy dude climbed to the top of a crane and the SWAT team had to lure him to the edge of the crane with water, taser him and catch him with helicopters? Ok, that one was pretty crazy. I loved the feeling of community that came from being in a smaller place. If something happened, bad or good, it happened to the whole town. Everybody was talking about it, so much so that I have vivid memories of making friends at a generator-lit Wal-Mart during Ice Jam 2000. Maybe I just like natural disasters that are given names.

Anyway, that’s why I read Gothamist every day. It reminds me that despite the fact that I’m living on an island with like a gagillion people who will probably stab me if I take too long to swipe my metrocard when the express is at the station, it’s still an island that’s (physically) smaller than my hometown of Snellville, GA.

I love reading every morning about the soda ban, the Citibike battles and the newest restaurant that’s serving Korean-Russian-Trinidadian fusion out of a tire that washed aboard a boat that washed into a warehouse in Red Hook during Hurricane Sandy. I want to be part of a community, and Gothamist makes me feel like I’m part of the coolest (most expensive) community ever. Other than whatever people are doing in like, Dubai, but I don’t think I have the energy for that anyway.

If you’re not paying attention to news about the Northeast right now, all I can tell you is this –


As a Georgian, I’m kinda like… you guys ever heard of locusts? Or, I dunno, bugs? Basically everyone is freaked out (or ironically freaked out, I can never tell) about the fact that cicadas go dormant for 17 years and then come back just about the time the trauma has subsided in order to torment people with the sounds of their incredibly loud mating calls. According to Gothamist, “their 90-decibel calls can rival the sound of a subway!”

I am still not impressed, possibly because I live on The Street That Is Apparently The Only Bus Route To Boston, so it is constantly loud. But the other reason I’m not impressed is because I believe in New York. This amazing city can handle 9/11, blackouts, hurricanes and anti-semitic Sesame Street characters. Do you really think we’ll crumble under the mating call of the cicadas?

In the words of the Nappy Roots, “Aw naw, hell naw ‘main.” We’re gonna rock the shit of this insect infested summer.

NYC loves rare shit.

Last year someone made a dinner out of rats. Do you really think we’re not gonna eat the fuck out of these cicadas? A couple of weeks ago I read a series of articles about how “ramps” were overrated, which lead me to something about how the “ramps” were in season. I dunno if I’ve ever had a ramp, but it looks kinda like a scallion so I imagine it’s not THAT different. But New York loves rare.

All I can say about cicadas V. ramps is SCREW THE RAMPS. THIS SHIT IS ONLY AROUND ONCE EVER 17 YEARS.

Can you even imagine? The absurd cocktails and infusions? 

In researching this post (lol, because I research), I Googled, “Can you eat cicadas?” Yes. Yes, you can. I would like point out the fact that because cicadas shed their exoskeletons that there are multiple textures associated with the cicada.

“Have you tried our Cicada Crush? It’s like a grasshopper but with cicaca-infused creme de menthe. It’s divine and oh-so-rare!”

Spicy Cicada Crunch Roll, anyone?

And what about the jewelry? 

You know that every boutique everywhere is going to start selling gold-dipped cicada carcasses. Mary Kate will get one immediately.

Cicadtronica = the new Seapunk. 

Don’t hate on my poor music production skills – there’s a reason I’m not in music anymore. I can just imagine hipster bands everywhere, sticking their iPhones out the window at night, sampling cicada noises and putting crazy reverb on their calls. Seriously, have you listened to Seapunk at all?

So yeah, New York, don’t stress. I have faith in us making The Summer of The Cicada the best summer ever.

Here are two jokes I came up with that didn’t fit into this post but because it’s only every 17 years I”m going to get to write about cicadas, I’m gonna use them here.

#1 – I’m going to be singing this a lot this summer – “The park has cicadas. C-I-C-A-D-A-S!”

#2 – Where are the cicadas going? IN ONE DIRECTION.

If only the cicadas flew over from England, this would be even better.



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Lies Britney and Xtina Told Me

The summer between 7th and 8th grade, my family went on a road trip that started on the West coast and eventually wound throughout Arizona, Nevada and New Mexico. There were moments of total excitement, like seeing the sun rise over the Grand Canyon with my mom, but I mostly remember being bored in the back of the rental van and begging my dad to turn on the radio to whatever pop station was within range. Because we lived out of the country at the time, summers back in the US were all about re-culturing myself. The second we were past customs, I’d convince my mom to buy me a copy of Teen People and I’d clutch it tightly like it was my tourist’s guide to pop culture.

The summer of 1999 was truly a magical time for 13 year old Tiffany. I discovered my first real role models: Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera. For the next 5+ years, they were my guiding lights. I bought every CD, every DVD, every magazine and devoured anything I could find about the two of them. They were so young, so beautiful and so talented – I wanted to learn how to be exactly like them. Unfortunately, no one explained to me the art of photoshop, publicists or that the lessons Britney and Xtina were teaching me were lies. Real life is not a 1999 pop music video (thank god!), and the day someone bought me my first indie record, I was set free.

The lies – 

If you’re doing any less than 500 sit-ups a day, you should probably just kill yourself or accept your future as a worthless fatass. Remember how crazy Brit-brits workout routine was? I used to do hundreds of stomach crunches every night before bed in 8th grade, because I wanted her abs so badly. No one told me that in order to be able to see those abs, I’d need to lose the 20 pounds of fat on top of them first.

Red and black are legitimate colors to put in your hair.

I think most teenage girls live under the assumption that copying the haircut of their idol will somehow transform the into looking like their idol. I knew there was no way my father was going to stand for me dying any part of my hair red, or any non-natural hair color for that matter, since he defined it as “deviant behavior”. I did, however, try my hardest to get my stylist to dye the tips of my hair black. The conversation went something like this –

“I just want some black in it. You know, like Christina Aguilera’s hair.”

“Your hair is brown. You won’t be able to see it and it will mess up the texture.”

“Ok, well can you at least cut it so it makes a V in the back?”

“I am not going to cut your hair like a stripper. You’re 16.”

When someone breaks your heart repeatedly, the best revenge is learning how to dance on a chair.

Texting hateful things at 3 AM is always the solution, duh.

Adding “bitch” to the end of sentences is a good way to announce myself. As it turns out, my boss doesn’t appreciate when I enter meetings, strike a pose and say in my breathiest/attitudiest voice “It’s Tiffany, bitch.”

Being driven crazy to the point of being unable to sleep isn’t a good thing. Really all of the lyrics to “Crazy” were terrible. They sound like a desperate cry for help from some battered woman or maybe a drug addict. “I’m in too deep?” GURL, GET YOSELF AN ADDICTION COUNSELOR.

At a certain point, I was going to have an occasion to which I’d need to wear one of the following items: polyester midriff baring tops, leather assless chaps and a “shirt” that was really just a scarf woven around my tits. 

I imagine being a chaperon at a middle school dance in 1999 was a terrifying and revolting experience.

Justin Timberlake is the coolest. Ok, this one wasn’t a lie. JT has been and will always remain the coolest. If you’ve found this for some bizarre reason, I LOVE YOU JT.


In my teens, my love life was going to be an overdramatic series of ups and downs. Boys would chase after me and make themselves “What a Girl Want[ed]”. At a certain point, I’d break some poor boy’s heart and have to justify the fact that “Oops, I[‘d done] it again!” by telling him I “was not that innocent.” After breaking up with my super-sexy boyband-esque first love, I’d find myself pushing my boundaries in a club with “Boys [feat. Pharrell Williams]” and at the end of it all I’d learn I was really just a “Genie in a Bottle”, waiting for someone to come, come, come on and let me out. 

“Every time I try to fly, I fall.”

Peace, love and indie kids have it so much easier than us, 


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You Go Girl!

Disclaimer: I could just as well have named this post “A Lot of Drake Songs That Tiffany Likes.” I love people’s Get Pumped Up playlists. I think they say more about a person than any other playlist. It’s universally understood that you don’t fuck with someone else’s Get Pumped Up playlist because what contents lie inside it are private. Additionally, no one is going to grab your iPod at a party and be like “I choose to play your Workout Mix. That sounds like the best choice!” As a result, it’s the only playlist that gives its owner free reign to put whatever he or she wants. There’s no need to make sure it’s cool, or varied. It doesn’t have to ebb and flow like a playlist named after a season (**Fall** is always my best season-inspired playlist).

Well, friends, because we’re BFF, I’m sharing my Get Pumped Up playlist with you. I know you’re hoping to discover I secretly love Glee ballads or heavy metal. I’m sorry to tell you that my playlist is no more than a reflection of exactly who I am: A large, black, millionaire drug dealer.

Jay-Z – “Hate”

So the first thing that you need to know about my method of psyching myself up is that haters are a major part of it. Who are my haters? I’m not really sure. I don’t know if I have any. I mean, I’d assume that some people are like ‘God I hate that girl. What is up with her sandwich obsession and why does she apologize and turn bright red every time she very slightly bumps my foot or leg with hers?’ or some variation of that, but I doubt they care enough to be actual haters.

I think the reason that I want haters is because I know how much I kind of love the people I hate. For me, hatred equals  obsession. My hate-ees(?) range from celebrities to That Girl from That One Class in college who was constantly trying to prove that she should have tested into a higher level of music theory outright (dude, you took the test. You didn’t have enough Harmony skillz for Harmony 2. Quit asking about Ionian scales already, we’ll get to it next semester). I follow these people more than my best friends because of how hungry I am for more ammunition. I am giddy in my hatred and I can only hope that there’s at least one person out there in the world who hates me enough to stalk the shit out of me. You hear that, hater(s)? I LOVE YOU TOO. [Update – in between writing this post and Tuesday I have discovered someone who wrote a pretty bad review of my eBook and the website it’s on keeps tweeting about it. SO I guess I sort of have a hater, at least for right now. Win?]

Ok, so back to hyping myself up. Because I don’t know if they’re real of not, I have to focus on who I think my haters are and then I hype myself by thinking about all the ways I’m “showing them”.

Yeah, mean bag lady from the supermarket. Look at me now. Jogging.

Drake“The Motto”

There are some great, nay, perfect hype up lines in this. “Go uptown New York City big,” is a good one. It’s where I discovered YOLO, which was a wonderful thing for a few moments before the internet or hipsters or something ruined it. Whatever, I still love YOLO. But the reason this song is one of my ultimate hype of songs is because of the line “How ya feel/ How ya feel/ How ya feel/ 25 sitting on 25 mil.”

While I am 27 sitting on the 25 cents I have in my Bank of America savings account, and even that only exists because I have the Keep the Change program, sometimes I feel awesome and I think I can relate to how awesome Drake feels.

Drake & Rihanna –Take Care

This song makes me feel good about being young and making bad choices (parents, shield your children from Rihanna at all costs). Because being in a relationship is (wonderful) boring, listening to this song takes me back to the last time I was single, which was also boring, but I like to remember it as being dramatic. Lines like, “What’s a life with no fun / Please, don’t be so ashamed / I’ve had mine, you’ve had yours / We both know / We know,” and “Dealing with a heart that I didn’t break.”

So here’s the part in the blog post where you’ve started judging me. REMEMBER WHAT I SAID AT THE BEGINNING. Pumped up playlists are great because they’re terrible, shameful reminders of all the ways in which we take ourselves and our lives too seriously.

Young Jeezy – “Put On

I don’t know if anything pumps me up more than songs about Atlanta by rappers from Atlanta. I don’t actually know what constitutes the act of ‘putting on,’ but I assume it has a something to do with showing the haters that Atlanta is the best.

What now, person who grew up in Cincinatti who got the last sesame bagel this morning? I’m putting on for my city significantly harder than you are putting on for Cincinatti. Are you even putting on for Cincinatti at all?

JoJo – “Get out

There’s something so girl powery about this song. The closest thing I’ve ever had to being cheated on was when the compulsive liar I was “if I DID want to be in a relationship it would definitely be with you”-ing at the time had some sort of make out/hickey competition after I’d gone home to go to sleep because I had to get up for work at Waffle House in the morning. I don’t think it really count as being cheated on, but again in my love of dramatizing past situations in my mind I like to think about this experience as having actually been a music video in which I stood on some sort of stage in front of all of our friends and sang this, interspersed with B roll footage of my laying on my bed looking skinny and sad.

Drake – “Money to Blow

Best line – “I am what everybody in my past didn’t want me to be”

Guess what freshman year judge of my vocal proficiency exam who called me not a very musical student? I’m a project manager now.

2 Chainz – “I’m different

Because I am different, goddammit.

Rihanna –Good Girl Gone Bad

Seriously, why would anyone ever let their child listen to Rihanna? This is another dramatizing my past song. I’m pretty sure that I have not gone bad in any of the ways that Rihanna is warning men I may be forced to go bad if they become “The Reason” by always going out with their boys or something. I don’t think I really understand what this song is about, actually.

Ke$ha –Tik Tok

This is on everyone’s pumped up playlist… right?

T.I. – “Tell ’em I said that

Along with its menacing beat, the key line in this song for me is “These n(words)s ain’t G!” Back when I did floral sales, I used to play this on the way to meetings to get myself in the zone to sell. I’d stand there on the train, dressed in a pencil skirt and holding a giant binder full of flower pictures and imagine the meeting. I was going to give a presentation so good that at the end the restaurant owner would lean back in his chair and think, “Wow. I never thought about it before, but my callas lilies really aren’t G, are they? I’ve got to buy this chick’s flowers.”

T.I. – “I’m Back


Lil Wayne –Get High, Rule The World

I retired this song a while back, but I think it deserves to be noted. First because this list doesn’t adequately express my love of Weezy, but second because there was a year or two where this was my anthem. It was definitely during my stoned music school phase when I liked to delude myself into believe that if I were to get high, I might still be able to rule the world. If I did my own mixtape version of Lil Wayne’s version, it would be “Get High, Get a Mediocre Score on my LSAT Prep Test.”

Ne Yo -“Miss Independent” ( the alternate option is Webbie’s “I-N-D-E-P-E-N-D-E-N-T” depending on my mood) –

There was a big “She Work Hard for The Money” theme in 2009 pop songs. I think Keri Hilson had something to do with it, but I was way into it. The other thing that happened in 2009 was that I moved home from college and right back into my parent’s house. If there really were a song for me, it would be something like “C-O-D-E-P-E-N-D-E-N-T / You know what dat means? / She got her parents house/ she got her parents car / they get a tax break / she got a bachelor of arts.”

Even now, I can’t listen to Ne Yo croon about this gorgeous, well established woman and think “that’s totally me.” I pay my own bills (sort of) and sometimes I put on a pencil skirt and tuck in my shirt, but I usually discover it has some stain from whenever the last time I was feeling like a Boss and treated myself to Starbucks, which I promptly spilled on my Boss-gear. When it comes down to it, the only “own thing” I have is $2,500 in credit card debit. That’s allllll mine.

Oh! One other reason why I get pumped up by Webbie’s take on self-sufficient ladies is because it’s a song with spelling in it. AREN’T SONGS WITH SPELLING THE BEST?? I swear the only reason I supported Fergie’s solo career was because I had so much fun spelling with her.

Honorable mention: Drake’s “Make Me Proud“. This song has SO MANY of my favorite pumped up lines, and I love the idea of being loved because I may one day make the decision to run on the treadmill and only eat salad, but then Nikki Minaj comes in and starts bragging about her vagina and it ruins all of it for me.

Song that should not be on anyone’s playlist and frankly should not exist: The Black Eyed Pea’s “I got a Feeling”. If you hear this song while you’re getting ready to go out, don’t go out. Your night is going to be a bad night.

Peace, love and peace and love to all my hatttttttersssssss, 


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I Will Always Be the Worst at Crushes

Given all of the stuff that’s been going on with my EBOOK (yes, did you not notice yet? I HAVE AN EBOOK. IT IS HERE AND EVERYWHERE ELSE I’VE LINKED IT. EBOOKEBOOKEBOOK).

Anyway, I trailed off up there because I wanted to promote shit (buy my eBook. WRITE A REVIEW)… given all my dating eBook stuff, I figured I’d talk to you guys a bit more about what I’m like when I’m single and attempting to date people I meet not off the internet.

If I could describe my lifelong experience with dating in one sentence, it would be “Awkward desperation with bouts of irrational overconfidence.” Confident or self-hating, in retrospect I am embarrassed by all of it. Broken down, I’d describe the phases like this –

My first crush on a character in an Animorphs book. This was safer than having a crush on a real boy, because I didn’t even have to sexualize my crush or try to lure him with my own sexuality. Along with being not real, the character was trapped in the body of a hawk. Some of the most romantic and intimate moments of my life were had with Tobais, the hawk-boy, in my own imagination at age 12. I kind of wish I’d stayed in this phase forever. Shit was relatively uncomplicated.

Most subsequent crushes were on boys who didn’t speak to me. If my first real crush knew my name, it was only because people were making fun of me (more on my first crush here). Crushes from afar continued for most of my teens. My understanding of sexuality came from this one ten second clip of this episode of Dawson’s Creek that I saw in the “TV room” in my basement where Joey and Dawson were making out (while laying down!) on the bed. I replayed that scene in my head, imagining all the boys who would never kiss me (or even know my name) for the next 6 years. I didn’t watch many PG-13 movies.

Eventually I discovered gay boys… this was the best part of high school. Gay boys are one of the best things that can happen to fat and/or awkward and/or theater girls. All those things tend to go together, but sometimes it’s a mix and match. The first time I met one of the gay boys, I was in love with him for about two years. The thing about gay boys is that no matter how much frustration you feel because you really wanted that whole Joey/Dawson make out thing to happen with them, you can’t fault them for giving you a little bit of hope and confidence while all of the other boys are busy not knowing your name and trying to recreate scenes from Jackass.

Around 18 I started “dating”, or something like that. I’d call it hooking up, but it often didn’t get that far. Going to Christian college added another level of complication to things. I have thought more than once in my life, “Was that Bible Study like, as friends… or did it mean more?”

At a certain point, I did start making out with people and was like “OMG IS THIS WHAT LOVE IS LIKE?” It took me a few years to learn that no, love is not like that. Love is boring and wonderful in a “let’s watch 10 episodes of SVU in a row because we both appreciate Ice T and sex crimes” kind of way. These relationships were often more exhilarating than real love. I could spend 27 million hours dissecting them with my BFFs. I think I spent the fall of 2003 to the fall of 2010 trying to decipher about four sentences boys said to me with my best friend. I didn’t realize until way later that love affair I was having was really with my best friend, and her ability to dissect one sentence (usually, “If I DID want a girlfriend, it would DEFINITELY be you.”) into 43 different possible interpretations. 

“I’m good at sex!” I look back on this period and feel the most embarrassed. After my first real (and pretty terrible) relationship, I decided to overcompensate for my resulting feelings of inadequacy by becoming this “sexually liberated” 20-something. I’d also lost some weight, so I was drunk on some newfound self confidence (and just plain drunk because my tolerance was severely lowered from starving myself). I thought I was awesome at dirty talk; I thought everyone was hitting on me; I sent hundreds of drunk texts that ranged from aggressively slutty to aggressively crazy… I’m surprised any of my friends who knew me during this period still speak to me.

After graduating college and entering life in the real world, I realized having crushes feels just like high school all over again. This weird thing happened after I’d gone through my I’m-too-sexy-for-my-dresses-that-are-a-reasonable-length phase. I realized that the only way I’m comfortable with a romantic situation is when I have already made out with a person. This means that I have to make out with a person BEFORE I know I’m into him. This means I have a window of about one hour after meeting someone and even then, it’s helpful if I’m drunk. A lot of my “relationships” have started with me thinking, “this blurry figure inching towards my face seems cute and cool. I want some cheese fries.”

Having made out with someone is my opportunity to override my tendency to become the same awkward idiot I was at 16. If I meet someone I like and spend enough time around them pre-make out, I’m doomed. For example, In my history of “real” jobs, I’ve had giant crushes on two previous coworkers (Please note that I said PREVIOUS, current coworkers. I read that sexual harassment poster in the kitchen). The first giant crush happened despite the fact that I had a boyfriend. Due to a combination of guilt and fear that I would forget about said boyfriend and kiss-attack my coworker’s beautiful face, I talked about my boyfriend non-stop. “Oh, you also like Ray Lamontagne? Yeah, I LOVE him too. You know who doesn’t like Ray? My boyfriend doesn’t, but god… you’re great – uh, I mean he’s great. Ray Lamontagne is great. Ha ha… ha? Ok, I should go call my boyfriend now. I have a boyfriend, who I love and have to call.”

The second giant crush was even worse. I had to spend a lot of time with this person, and if he ever thinks about me he probably thinks I was a kinda dumb. Conversations were something like, “Hey Tiff, want to meet at eight?” “Really? Do you think that it would be ok considering that we work together? Wait? What? Oh, yes, at EIGHT. Sorry, I’m so stupid I thought you said… nevermind. Eight is perfect. Gooooooo company we both work at where I have to see you every day!”

In hopes that it was all the coworker-ness getting in the way of my “game”, I willed myself to develop a crush on an acquaintance in my group of friends. It was shockingly worse than liking a coworker. At least with the coworkers I had an excuse to start a conversation. Nothing oozes sex appeal like saying talking about work. “So. Our margins this week. Am I right? Your place or mine?” With the acquaintance I found myself edging creepily over to the circle he’d be in, chugging my drink in hopes that it would give me a shred of confidence. Weekend after weekend, I’d have chugged so many vodka sodas while trying to come up with a way to start conversation, that by the time I had my opportunity I’d be so drunk I was teetering back and forth on my heels trying to come up with something to say. He probably thinks of me as That Drunk Girl Who Never Remembers What I Do For  A Living Because It’s The Only Question She Ever Asks Me.

This is why online dating was great for me! Remember how I have an eBook about online dating? Seriously though, if you can manage to have one non-awkward conversation with your crush, I applaud you. You are doing better than I ever did.

Peace, love and Joey/Dawson kisses, 


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