Category: Motivation

There’s always a reason why you shouldn’t. Shouldn’t spend the money. Shouldn’t be so frivolous. Shouldn’t miss work. Shouldn’t be irresponsible. Shouldn’t act so hastily. And a million other reasons why you shouldn’t do what you’ve been wanting to do. The real question, of course, isn’t whether you should or you shouldn’t. Because when it comes to something you deeply, ferociously want–shouldn’t doesn’t exist. The real question is: How? This past weekend, one of my dearest, bestest, I’ll-distract-the-waiter-while-you-shove-the-bread-in-your-purse friends decided

In preparation for my upcoming trip to Costa Rica, Panama & Colombia, I spent $258.92 at Zara Chile yesterday. I walked out with three new pairs of daisy dukes that I will inevitably think look better on me than they actually do, as well as a ripped up white-washed jean skirt, and a top or two. (Hey–if you’ve ever been to Central America, you know that YOU CAN’T WEAR PANTS. YOU JUST CAN’T. It’s a no-pants zone, folks.) But despite

I sat in a plaza yesterday, behind La Moneda–Chile’s version of The White House. Diagonal paths come from all directions and meet up in the center, before darting off in opposite directions. People walk gruffly, generally ignoring one another–cell phones, busy faces, stern looks, fast paces. And just like in plazas everyday across the world… …And that would be the way I would begin the story if I were poetic and fluffy and really liked cliches and other happy horseshit.

I’m a pretty laid back gal. One time, Steve Patterson spit in my face in the 9th grade, and even then I wasn’t overly upset about it. (Come to think of it, what the hell?) But, like any human being, I have buttons. The most obvious is clearly when anyone mixes up “affect” and “effect,” because, you know, ONE’S A VERB AND ONE’S A NOUN. Another thing? This whole “I’ll shoot you an email” trend. No no no, actually, you’re

Hi, it’s me. I’m drinking wine. (Shooocccckkkkeeeer!) I’m also listening to my sweet, sweet man voice in an interview I recently gave that addresses that big, fucking looming question we’re all wandering around asking ourselves: Is this it? What do you do when that question pops up? What do you do when it’s not what it’s cracked up to be? What do you do when you feel like a big, naked butthead of an orangutan? (Officially the only place on

Can we talk about the fact that I dislocated my thumb this weekend while trying to pull up my pantyhose? Who does that happen to? Surely Princess Di never had these types of problems. But me, certainly, and I’ll tell you why: Because those pantyhose were way too fucking small for that thing I got back there called an ass. Pair some stubborn pantyhose with an even more stubborn wearer, and you’re bound for injury. Despite saggy pantyhoe syndrome (you

It’s 5am. I’m checking out of my hotel in Buenos Aires, and I’m hoping the $80 eye cream I bought is ACTUALLY HELPING ME NOT LOOK LIKE I JUST CRAWLED OUT FROM UNDER A MOSSY, EARTH-STENCHING, FUNGI-COVERED ROCK. Mostly because I knew Andrés would be checking me out–hopefully in more ways than one. Andrés isn’t actually his name, as far as I know, but I’ve secretly dubbed him that because I imagine that if he were on a soap opera,

My best friend since the first grade (a brilliant graphic designer) just surprised me with this ever-so-cool poster, out of a post I recently wrote titled, “Battle Cry of the Crazies: For Anyone Hustling For More.” Had to share. And now, it’s Tuesday afternoon. I have a meeting with Miss Lit Agent (big plans coming up with the memoir–to be shared soon!), and I’m drinking champagne at the moment (which is the best idea I’ve had in a while.) Tonight

Wear every strand of pearls you own. Put on your brightest red lipstick. Have more fun than everybody else. And make no apologies for any of it.

Don’t defy the odds. Manslaughter ’em.