Rules–particularly the dogmatic variety–are most useful for those who aren’t confident enough to make their own damn decisions. For the rest of us, there’s vodka–so we can cope with the decisions we were foolishly wise enough to make. So help us, Grey Goose. Amen. -Excerpt from my forthcoming book, The Middle Finger Project You didn’t think I forgot about my 2012 resolution, did you?
“She’s so proud of your traveling. She wants you to live the life she was afraid to live, but always wanted. You were always her greatest work of art.” Those were the words she said to me. She was my mom’s friend back in the moments of white Mustang convertibles, flirty bell bottoms, heart-filled hopes and dreams laced with determination. At a time when my mother, a free-spirited artist and renaissance soul, first began to lose who she was. At
Yesterday was my birthday. I flew from Ecuador to Chile on Friday so I could spend my birthday with my best girl friends in the whole wide world. Sure enough, they surprised me in the airport with glittery welcome back posters, prompting me to scream like a hyena. I had no idea they were coming. Champagne followed in the taxi, of course, but then I, however, had a surprise for them: I had hired one of Santiago’s most talented hair
Like: Cobblestone Dislike: Heels + hot coffee + cobblestone (oops) – Like: Free wifi in every plaza Dislike: Thinking I should work in cafes in every plaza, and then getting hopelessly distracted by shirtless soccer players on TV (oops again) – Like: The equator Dislike: Forgetting the bottle of wine to drink ON THE EQUATOR – Like: Kissing Dislike: Kissing Ecuadorian men I, ahem, shouldn’t – Like: Safety Dislike: Car alarms that make me want to hurl myself out a
26 Reasons Humans Are Doomed: Pet Peeve Edition Those heathens who stand on the left side of the escalator. What are we, savages? What the fuck is airplane mode? Socially illiterate jack offs who don’t pick up on the verbal cue that I WANT TO GET OFF THE PHONE. Unauthorized double dippers. Forms that make you fill out more personal information than when running for President. Speaking of which: All passwords must end in the letter J, contain at least
I’m currently gnawing on a big, squishy, ripe red tomato. Right now. As I type this. I’m forking salty chunks into my mouth as I hope (but not pray–I’m pretty bad at that) that tomato seed juice doesn’t dribble all over my keyboard. Before my current lusty, red hot tomato affair, I was getting a massage. I woke up at 5am to write, like I do every day, worked all morning until 2pm, and then showed up at a
I like lists. Don’t you like lists? I mean, who doesn’t need a good list in their lives? That said, in the name of honoring their holier-than-thou nature, today is officially list day on TMFproject. Dun dun dun DUN! Sound the alarm! Cue the horns! Signal the ponies! There’s really just one problem with list day, however, which I quickly discovered when I sat down, coffee in hand, to write aforementioned (and highly academic) list: What to list? A troublesome
So I’m not sure what you did yesterday, but I, for one, witnessed somebody drown. You’re probably thinking I’m joking, because who mentions something like drowning so nonchalantly? But I am not, unfortunately, joking. And while I’m calm now, yesterday I was anything but. It was sunset, and I was with my Costa Rican girlfriends at a rustic beach front restaurant, slurping margaritas. They had coconut flakes. It was delightful. Here is an extremely blurry, non-professional photo I snapped with
Darling – I just wanted to send out a dirty little love note telling you that YOUR WORK IS HOT. YOU ARE HOT. AND YOUR LIFE IS ABOUT TO GET HOTTER. Blind faith is sexy. Get some. BE SOMEBODY. Love and a Tuesday slap on the ass, Ash
Before I explain the origins of this remarkable photo, I’m pretty sure we should think up some awesome captions together. I’ll go first. Anything but Donkey Kong! Too many boobs! Stop tickling me, Rudolph! Father Time eats his first pot brownie. Protesting razors since 1000 B.C. Don’t ask me why I have the need to torture us all with this kind of stuff. I’m pretty sure it has something to do with the 5th grade, when Mr. Martin, the guidance
