Corona Diaries 3

SATURDAY MARCH 28, 2020 2:53 pm

Our puppy Jagger is sleeping and I realize it’s my chance to sit down and write. It’s been hard to do anything for myself with an 11 week old English Bulldog in charge. He doesn’t like to be in his crate unless he’s narcoleptic, so I just let him ruin virtual workout classes by attempting to rip my hair out or pee on the yoga mat (which he did both of today). It’s a small price to pay for moments like now where I look over to see my precious prince peacefully napping in his cute pink bed making little bulldog snores. He’s perfect. Even when he’s not.0-3.jpeg

I’m thru my massive anxiety spell I think. I hope. I panicked for 7 days straight because I lost my sense of smell and taste, causing 238 people to send me articles about how that’s a corona virus symptom and letting me know I had it. My smell and taste thankfully came back a few days ago so I’m feeling much better. It might’ve been all in my head. I’m also a hypochondriac so it’s a pretty difficult time for people like me. I hope your thoughts and prayers are with me.

Every morning I’d wake up feeling like a baby rattle shaking me from the inside out and after having a level 10 panic attack which made me think I was going to die, I called my psychiatrist who promptly upped my anti-anxiety meds and prescribed me with some Ativan. I haven’t taken any of the Ativan yet and hope I won’t have to since it’s a slippery slope for my sobriety, but it feels good to have in case of an emergency. Just the security of knowing it’s there is calming in of and itself. That’s the hard thing about sobriety and getting pills, you have to be really honest with yourself if you really need the pill, as opposed to just wanting to take it for “a little anxiety” that likely will pass. Only for major physical panic attacks. What’s really lowered my anxiety is staying away from all corona-related articles and videos. I still receive them incessantly, but try not to open, read, or watch every one of them all day long, maybe just 3 out of 20. I need a balance of staying informed while keeping my sanity.

On a lighter note, a pink furry Pamela Anderson-90’s-esque robe I ordered from Pottery Barn Teen arrived that’s hideous but I decided to keep because returning mail seems too annoying in the current climate. And now I have a fun robe to take Jaggy out in.0-1.jpeg

I miss going outside. I sit on my balcony to get sun, and sometimes go outside on walks when I can, but Jagger can’t go on walks until he gets all his vaccines. So I’ve been staying inside and watching him while my Husband is out and about, drinking coffee, making calls and writing in his car. He wakes up at 6am to be with Jaggy and then I take the afternoon shift. I’d rather sleep in. My skin needs to repair itself.

Some days I look cute and some days I look like a middle-aged housewife with no makeup and dirty hair, shuffling around in Amazon pink fleece slippers while I clean up dog shit and chop onions. It just depends on my schedule that I don’t really have.0-2My day looks like this: Wake up around 10am, change Jagger’s pee pads, let him bite me for about an hour while I check my phone, fight with my husband about how I can’t respect his boundaries while he works from home, eat an almond butter cookie I baked 2 days ago for breakfast with an oat milk latte, AA meeting on Zoom or Workout Zoom, puppy playtime, wash 1000 dishes, cook lunch, look at my stomach in the mirror and feel insecure about how much cheese I’ve been eating, read a book outside in the sun while Jaggy naps by my feet, google recipes, receive 132 group texts from my family about the Corona Virus, get mad at myself for not writing or working out enough, think about taking out my arts and crafts supplies to make Jaggy a sign above his water bowl but never getting around to it, resent my husband for not being homeso I can go on a walk while he watches the dog, clean Jaggy’s pee or poop off the carpet indoors at least 3x, make dinner and photograph it, send those food photos to my family group chat and a few friends who didn’t ask to see the photos, tell my Husband we should have sex “soon”, watch a movie or the Tiger King doc, try to put Jaggy to sleep and ignore his cries in the crate which breaks my heart.

Thursday March 19th, 2020 10:30am

(*I wrote this short entry before we got Jagger, just found it on my computer)

Having chocolate covered strawberries and an oat milk latte as I watch the pouring rain. It was hard to sleep, knowing a puppy might be arriving today. The girl who’s bringing him keeps dicking us around.

I feel like I can’t trust anyone who’s selling a puppy. I have a hard time trusting people in general, I’m not sure where that came from. Obviously childhood, like everything else, but from who?

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Corona Diaries 2

March 18th, 2020. 3:26pm.

I’m writing from our balcony in the sun on a beach chair surrounded by dirty empty flower pots and an old lighter fluid bottle. Should really clean up out here and make it nice. Fire up the mini grill. Maybe tomorrow. Everything in the corona pandemic can happen tomorrow, except for starting a diet, no time for that. I’m wearing socks with slides and an oversized Aviator Nation hoodie with the hood pulled over my head to protect my eyes from the sun. My energy is Sexy Beast but I don’t have a pool.

Didn’t get to write yesterday because we drove to Anaheim on a whim to get a puppy, but when we got there it felt too shady so we left. We thought we were seeing miniature English Bulldogs which are made from a pug and a bulldog, but they were just normal bulldogs made from the two runts of the litter, trying to be passed off as smaller bulldogs. A dog catfish? Not on my watch.

The puppies were cute but the owner had us meet him an industrial complex where he had a “clothing business.” Felt like you should get puppies from a farm with tons of other happy puppies frolicking in the sun, not on a cold concrete floor with 2 puppies at a time while they stand over you, watching you in a light puffy jacket, calling overseas to do black market deals on the new Silk Road. The paperwork also looked photo shopped, but who knows what legit paperwork even looks like. I don’t. All I knew is my husband and I both got a bad vibe from the guy, who seemed like he was in the mafia and dodged all of our questions like a criminal defense attorney who began every answer with “Well…”

Bummed, we left and got In and Out Burger, and scrolled thru new puppy ads between bites of lettuce wrapped Double Doubles. Getting a puppy feels like getting drugs. It’s a great high. You get super excited; a huge dopamine rush floods your body as you excitedly text back strangers from Craigslist to see if they’re firm on the price or are open to pandemic pricing. Bartering is my second favorite high. It’s the 49% Jew in me. Today we texted with some new people and are promised a visit tomorrow by a teddy-bear-looking Maltipoo. Steven suggested we name it Pumpkin. I think about making a sketch with the pup called “Battleship Puptempkin” where the dog slides down the stairs on its new pink bed, dodging squibs from Steven in a top hat.

For lunch I made rosemary roasted asparagus with lemon basil scallops. Desert was chocolate covered strawberries. Made a Youtube Video of me making them. Why not?

Watch here: Chocolate Covered Strawberries Cooking Video

Steven agreed to wash the dishes which is nice. We’re trying to do an extra good cleaning for the hopeful arrival of our new puppy tomorrow.

Last night we watched David Fincher’s THE GAME with Michael Douglas. It was so good, we were shook. I was afraid to go to sleep. A good movie will do that. Started a movie club today on Facebook with some friends and am looking forward to see if we ever settle on a choice by the end of the pandemic. I finally showered and washed my hair today, put on some makeup and a pair of jeans. Wore a bra to register as a woman. Maybe we’ll have sex later.

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Corona Diaries Day 1

“You look cute” my husband says as I sit across from him at our kitchen table while we work alongside each other in peace for the first time. He normally never works around me and says I distract him, but right now, for the first time, he’s the one distracting me. A confident excitement sweeps over me as I happily type away. What’s the occasion? The blog is back.

It’s Monday March 16th, 2020 6:11pm and we are mid-Corona Virus.

My work at the Comedy Store ended on Friday- they closed their doors and I’m out of a paycheck. Some kind fans sent me a little cash on Venmo to continue creating my podcast, which I appreciate, but now that my job at the Store or stand up gigs aren’t bringing in any cash, it’s a little concerning. I’m trying to not focus on the finances and focus on the hobbies I haven’t allowed myself to do for the past few years since I’ve been obsessed with having a career. But now that I can’t get on stage and creating Corona Virus memes for social media only brings so much joy, I’m getting back into writing this blog and cooking.

Corona just made me realize I’m a fucking chef. I’ve been having some pretty good meals. I’ve done two big Whole Foods runs so far and got fresh produce, but they’ve run out of everything in boxes. No sweat. I’ve been able to buy proteins and vegetables which is all you need to become Julia Child. Fuck your cans of beans and frozen pizzas.

Tonight I’ll be making chicken parm and chocolate covered strawberries. I was supposed to go to Hawaii tomorrow on a big vacation with my husband’s family. To prep for it, I got lip injections (LOL so what), a gel manicure and was on a calorie-restricted diet for 5 days which led me to lose 3 pounds. Looking good indeed. But now that I’m stuck inside I’m back to eating Italian food and I’m sure eventually I’ll be baking cookies again. Chocolate covered strawberries felt a little more controlled and rational though, I mean they’re fucking berries that happened to fall into some chocolate, how could we not love them? How could we just leave them behind? We won’t. I won’t. But my husband will, because he’s still on a diet. He won’t be enjoying chicken parm either, because he won’t have the breading. Being a chef has been a little lonely during the coronavirus when there’s no one there to tell you how good your cooking is.

But he will enjoy the basil butter scallops and roasted asparagus I’ll be making tomorrow. I live for planning and reading recipes, it’s my housewife porn. Maybe tomorrow I’ll put on makeup and a sexier outfit. I’ve been in pajamas for days.

Right now I’m wearing his white waffle Clockwork Orange-esque long underwear pants and a pajama top, I’ve already worn this outfit like 2 days ago, but I’m trying to re-wear some clothes if they don’t have to be washed. In the past I would just wear something for a few hours and throw it into the hamper, but I’m trying to be more cautious about that incase something weird happens and I can’t wash my clothes as much or something. It’s a weird time where you feel like you have to prepare for the worst but you don’t even know how to prepare. I’m trying to follow my gut which keeps telling me stock up on stuff, especially dish soap and cleaning products since I’ve been using them the most. Who knows how long we will be trapped inside for.

Anyways, our Hawaii trip got cancelled and now my husband is stuck with me inside our apartment. He keeps trying to escape to his friend’s places (not on my watch -codependent police), but I’m having fun just staying indoors unless I’m going to a market to get provisions. I’m in full Nancy Myers mode because I’m a chef who says provisions now. I need some more scented candles. Life isn’t that bad in corona times. I also just took a lavender Epsom salt bath with coconut oil because my body Is achy, forgot to mention I had a cold flu too. We joke that we have Corona – I hope we don’t. We have colds and achy bodies but hopefully it’s just a cute little cold flu and not a deadly one caused by bats. We’ll see.

8:58pm Update: Where does the time go? The days seem to go by so quickly. Never made the chocolate covered strawberries. Will make tomorrow. Damn I want them so bad though. Made parmesan crusted chicken cutlets with homemade honey mustard sauce and sautéed spinach. Was truly delicious. Bad headache now. Body isn’t as achy since I took a 500 mg Naproxen. Can’t stop cleaning. I feel like I spend most of the day washing dishes. I guess my new job is a dishwasher. I’ll have plenty experience on my resume as one by the time we can go back to work. Had 2 podcast episodes edited for this week. Recorded one today over the phone with a high end escort in NYC. Good episode. Now we’re going to watch the movie The Game. Be back with more tomorrow. XO

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Do you trust me? Because right now I truly feel like helping you get gorgeous, glowing skin in 2018 and if you’re prepared to look that much better please follow me on this journey. I’m obsessed with beauty products and have tried almost everything except for slathering bird poop on my face (yes, that’s a thing!). These are 3 products I currently use and J’adore. I honestly like the second 2 the most, but the first one is inexpensive and I want poor people to have better skin too! Let’s GLOW!
I am not entirely convinced this is incredible, but I’ve been using it daily and it really does produce a pretty glow! It’s a daily toner with Glycolic acid and it’s only $15 at Target. Why not just throw it in your basket and slough off 2017?
I have probably bought 8 of these in the past year. It’s only $39 which is super affordable and makes your skin look radiant AF. I always put it on when I have someone to impress that day. My facialist (Sandy at Ole Heriksen – AMAZING) told me to use it twice a week.
Okay, I’ve always had good skin to be honest, but these took it to the NEXT LEVEL. I will never stop using them. NEVER. I wrote this whole thing in general just to tell you about this product. They’re $148 (or $88 if you buy less but who wants less of something that does so much more?) and figured I may as well include a few cheaper options. I use these 2-3x a week and it’s been an incredible game changer for minimizing fine lines, clearing my skin and making it look super smooth. I’m in love. If you’re looking for love in 2018, start here and these radiating peel pads will take care of the rest!
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Photo on 12-15-15 at 12.51 AMA busty blonde I know who owns a modeling agency texted me one day to offer a free spray-tan session at a nearby salon. I hardly see her, but she seems to have hook-ups around town so I didn’t question it. “They do models for free, just say you’re a model when you get there,” she instructed which made me feel a little uncomfortable because no cool model would actually get a spray tan. Even though I don’t consider myself to be a model or post photos in workout clothes holding Tea Detoxes, I consider myself hot enough to get free stuff and was down to look staycation-bronzed. Plus spray tans are like $75. Who doesn’t love free shit? Literally wasn’t even considering being tan beforehand. Jk I want to be tan all the time because it makes me look like a healthy QT with an active lifestyle and not at all someone who spends all day inside isolating while complaining about being lonely.

I arrived at the salon hidden by overgrown shrubbery with poor parking options and they greeted me with, “are you a model?” I never thought they’d ask. I wanted to say no because I know I’m 5’7” and so did they, but for the sake of this free tan I lied, “yeah sure” and they told me to go upstairs. The technician was waiting for me.

When I arrived the technician was in the middle of a video chat and waved me in, whispering that I should get undressed. I slowly disrobed while minding the video chat and surveying the space. The fuck is she video chatting for? I was standing there naked out of frame, waiting to be acknowledged. “Ready?” She asked, not signing off the chat.

“Who are they?” I asked, referring to the two over-done plastic Asian-American women in Oklahoma smiling on the other end of the camera.

“They’re the technicians who are learning about the spray tan product.”


“They’re going to watch. You didn’t know? We’re teaching them how to use our product.”

So weird how my friend happened to leave this part out of the free spray tan.


And then I was like fuck it. This is weird but now I’m undressed and I want this tan. I want to look like I went on a vacation. I really love vacations.

“Do you want to put on a paper thong?”

“Nah.” I didn’t want the paper thong. I needed that full body tan.

I walked over to where the spray would take place and stepped onto these sticky pads that keep the bottom of your feet from getting tan. She moved the camera towards me as these strangers watched silently. She started to spray me slowly and as the cold air hit my body, I watched my skin turn an instant shade of Long Island Jew. She told them what she was doing as she moved across each limb and I wanted to say, “it’s cool you don’t have to pretend anymore,” but I let her do her thing. The tan turned out okay. No clue if those other people were even in an actual salon.

And guess what? I went back like four times.


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How To Get Your Teeth As White As The Oscars

Why am I writing this? Because I love oral care and you should too.


Look at me


Look at my teeth



Your smile and teeth is one of the first things that people notice and judge you on. Everyone judges everyone so you might as well be like “sorry I’m gorgeous!” and then they’ll be like… “carry on.” 0E54FA1900000578-0-image-a-3_1437410880708

Having a nice bright smile is super achievable if you’re not a lazy disgusting slob. Everyone likes someone who takes care of themselves- thats how you get to have sex with the lights on and breakfast served in bed. If you want to be hot and superior to everyone, I suggest following these super simple tips to get your teeth on pearly point. You will likely get a promotion and raise with your new teeth, so I hope you like corner offices.

My number one tip is FLOSSING.girl-flossing-teethFlossing means showing off AND getting shit out of your teeth. I have been obsessively flossing since high school because once a popular jock sitting on the hood of his dads Porsche told me I had a poppyseed in my tooth. I was so mortified that I’ve carried floss on me at all times ever since. I’ll never forget when I went out clubbing in Miami at 17 without a purse and tied a string of floss on the side of my thong Survivor style bringing the one thing that mattered most to the island. I floss every single time after I eat, which my dentist notices and therefore I am the favorite. You could be the favorite too! If you’re not flossing you’re letting plaque and food build up between your teeth which has never been cool and I’m sorry that you’re at an Oral Bottom.




If you could brush after every time you ate that would be the dopest. Make sure you have a good brush and replace it every 2 months or whenever it looks haggard.
Brushing two times a day was a weird rumor that someone who didn’t want you to be your best started. Brushing (at least) 3x a day is only if you want to be a sought after object of desire. I think my record was 6 times a day and I have no regrets, just blocked phone numbers from how gorgeous I looked.

TOOTHPASTE – There are plenty of toothpastes out there to help enhance and whiten your teeth. My personal favorite is Arm and Hammer Baking Soda and Peroxide. It tastes like success and and childhood attention from your parents (I would imagine).


MOUTHWASH –  It’s one of the quickest and only ways to feel fresh as fuck. It helps to kill bacteria, bad breath and keeps your mouth v clean. I highly suggest rinsing after each time you brush, eat and throughout the day for a quick pick me up.


Crest White Strips- Every few months I’ll use these for a touch-up. It removes stains from drinking tea and my bulimic past. It’s the fastest and easiest way out there to whiten your teeth.


Baking Soda. It’s not just for cooking crack anymore. Wet your toothbrush, dip it into a little bowl of baking soda, then brush your teeth for a couple minutes. Do this a few times a week and no one will ever mistake you for Valet again.


Straws. Coffee and tea are one of the leading ways to stain your teeth, so if you drink thru a straw it helps to keep them white.


-I don’t drink coffee because it tastes gross and makes your teeth yellow. So does soda, which is only meant for fat children from the south.

-Cigarettes are for losers and you should quit them because they make your teeth look like sticks of butter and butter is only cool on movie theater popcorn.


-Dentist visits are important because we all need professional help with cleaning. I think you should go twice a year.

-If none of this seems to work for you, I can’t help you. A professional whitening service can but I don’t know anything about that because I floss after every meal.


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I was exhausted when I ordered my Uber at 1:40am while finishing up a 6-hour shift at work. It was my first night out of the house after being sick with the flu and I had been holed up lonely as fuck in my apartment for the past week surrounded by glasses of ginger ale and baked potatoes on some randomly specific Jewish sick stomach solution someone suggested I try.

Ready for bed after a long night, I popped a non-addictive anti-anxiety pill that makes you drowsy and waited 3 minutes for my Uber drive Clayton. An old silver Cadillac Deville pulled up and I got in with slight hesitation because he looked like a pimp, and I’m not being racist- he just had a pimp energy.

He immediately began questioning me about my life and I enjoyed that because I’m self-obsessed. On some Psychic shit, he sensed that I’ve been depressed, which had me practically on the verge of tears during our rapidly growing emotional and intimate conversation. I felt safe opening up to him and he genuinely wanted to hear everything I had to say. It was an objective opinion outside of anyone who knew me and I appreciated his intellectual insights. I can’t tell if he was building me up so I would stay in the car, or if he really meant his words, but by the time we pulled up to my house it was apparent that the conversation was not ready to be over.

A new ride popped up on his phone.

“Oh now I have to get Robert,” he sighed.

“Fuck Robert,” I responded, making him laugh.

“You wanna take a ride and continue talking?” He offered.

It was late, I was exhausted, but something inside of me wanted to stay. I craved his East Coast Style ‘give-it-to-you-straight’ life advice and wanted to take an adventure. I had been cooped up sick inside my apartment alone all week googling ‘reasons not to die’ followed by ‘how to be a stronger woman’ followed by ‘best eye cream 2015.’ I needed something to spark excitement and fear inside of me. I got into the front seat and we drove to pick up Robert.

We continued talking about my issues, even though I already did that with my therapist earlier that day. He quoted the Bible in ways I’ve only heard in Quentin Tarantino movies. He told me how he once picked up a girl from the Playboy Mansion to bring to a famous short actor’s house in Beverly Hills who’s the face of Scientology for some Risky Business. By day he was an interior designer from Baltimore who’s been in business for 28 years and has only been in love once.

He looked me in the eyes at stoplights as shadows hit his face and told me my past does not define me. He told me that I was a highly intelligent person who is allergic to stupid shit, which in turn leaves me depressed when I try to comprehend why stupid shit happens. He told me to stop being so hard on myself and that I’m not the person I negatively tell myself I am. I was eating it all up and just wanted to hear more words or wisdom and he continued to do so between passenger pickups.

I had fun messing around with the passengers. When we pulled up and they saw me in the front seat, I told them we were filming a hidden camera show. No one believed me. We picked up mainly gay guys in West Hollywood who had been out partying. One engaged couple that was significantly different in age by 20 years was completely trashed and going to Mexico in the morning. Another guy was high on coke and said he left the party he was at because his asshole wasn’t clean enough to hook up. Another group we picked up at IHop were mean drunks and thought they were actors, but we knew they weren’t- they were just hipster Filipinos in an acting class. We drove around West Hollywood to Korea Town to West Hollywood to Downtown LA.

At one point Clayton and I both agreed we had to pee, so he pulled over on the side of the road under a dark bridge and handed me some baby wipes. “Let’s pee outside,” he suggested excitedly getting out and standing behind the car. He let out a loud sigh of relief as he peed which most older men do, and then I noticed he opened up the trunk, for a crowbar to murder me with I presumed and stayed in the car. “I’m ok,” I said preserving my life.

Up until this point you would think I wasn’t kidnapped and willfully went in the Uber, which is true. However, the night took a turn of events when HE WOULDN’T LET ME LEAVE.

I told him I wanted to go home but he told me to stay. He stopped at a hotel for me to pee to ease my comfort level and make me feel taken care of. I thought about running out a back entrance of the hotel, but it was so late, I just wanted a ride home from the driver who promised it.

At this point it was 4am and I was over it all. I was out of energy, the compliments and life advice died down and I was ready for bed. The conversations had peaked and I had nothing left in me. We were very close to my apartment and I asked him to take me home. A little bummed, he agreed and said he was done driving. But then not a moment later, he sneakily accepted another passengers request.

“What the fuck? I want to go home.” I was pissed.

“I don’t want to let you leave!” He cried, driving to pick up the passenger.

(editors note: KIDNAPPED)

“I’m going to just get out and call another Uber, I’m over it.” I replied, feeling guilty for hurting his feelings but putting my foot down. Just a few days earlier I was on my couch reading a self help book about paying attention to your needs before worrying about others and I felt adamant in applying what I had learned. Ok, I barely got past the introduction but I knew what the whole book basically was saying by reading the title.

He picked up the pace. “No!’ He cried out laughing, “I just enjoy your company too much! This is the last passenger I promise.” I didn’t believe him. I felt uneasy and anxious. Each time we drove a further distance I felt closer to trouble wondering what the fuck I was doing.

We picked up some dumb bitch that came out of her house with a suitcase that set me into some serious apprehension. Suitcases only mean one thing.

“Where are you going?” I immediately asked her from the passenger seat when I got in.

“Is this Uber pool?” The dumb bitch asked.

“Yes…” I lied. Clayton asked me to say it was Uber Pool and to not tell this particular passenger that I was on a Ride Along aka KIDNAPPED TO THE AIRPORT AGAINST MY WILL.

“I’m going to the airport,” dumb bitch replied, “I have a flight that leaves in an hour. We have to go NOW.”

“I’m not going, take me home now,” I told Clayton. My tone said I’m not fucking around, but neither was Clayton because he kept driving.

“I got to take her to the airport. Please come with me!” He cried out.

I didn’t fucking want to. He picked up on that. “I’ll pay you. How much do you want?” He asked.

“Give me $20.” Now I’m a PAID KIDNAPEE.

He agreed to the payment. He went back to complimenting and building me up, telling the dumb bitch in the back that I was an amazing person to fill me up with reason to wanting to stay. The whole thing felt very Stockholm Syndrome with a dash of codependency.

Towards the end of the ride I really just thought about opening the door and jumping out. I grew afraid that I was never going to be able to leave. He was driving at 105mph and I didn’t think I could jump out safely although I watched the road wondering what it would be like to hit the pavement at that speed.

On the ride to the airport I began reaching out to my friends to tell them what was going on. They were worried. One offered to pick me up at the airport if I jumped out, but I stayed on the ride. As promised, Clayton took me home after the airport, making my arrival time 5am. He never paid me $20. We exchanged numbers but I will never call him again.

I woke up the next morning off 6 hours of sleep and felt like shit. I felt like I ate McDonalds or had spent the night doing cocaine – both are similarly awful feelings. But despite how tired I felt and wanted to fall back asleep, I was able to wake up and have a productive day because somehow Clayton got into my head and I felt that much more better and hopeful about my life.

SIDE NOTE: I had been joking about wanting to be kidnapped for years and my friend said I manifested it. I may be kind of exaggerating when I say I was being kidnapped, although he legit would not let me out at the end until he was ready to.

The Wikipedia definition of KIDNAPPING is: In criminal lawkidnapping is the unlawful taking away or transportation of a person against that person’s will, usually to hold the person unlawfully.

I mean……

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Am I making volunteer phone calls or posing on a disconnected phone at a Memorial Day party? You decide.

Am I making volunteer phone calls or posing with a disconnected phone at a Memorial Day party? You decide.

In the midst of one of my standard monthly depression spells I read online that you can become happier by volunteering so I halfheartedly researched my options and decided on a kitten rescue because I have a fear of intimacy and cats treat you like shit.

After a trendy Hollywood 12-step meeting one afternoon I drove to the cat sanctuary in Atwater Village to attend their required orientation, which would thereafter permit me to tell people, “I’ve been donating my time to rescuing animals amongst other charitable actions…by the way where are you summering?” when they ask what’s new with me. I hate when people ask what’s new with me. What are they expecting to hear? I’m not going to play this game where we one up each other; I would rather just say nothing and be self-effacing… until now when I can pretend I’m suddenly a virtuous person and saving lives  🙂

I pulled up to the not so glamorous Kitten Rescue Shack, a sort of ‘Kitten Projects’ if you will, to meet a small group of women with good hearts and a pension for the Old Navy Summer Sale sitting around in a circle on white plastic chairs. I joined the group by sitting on the cracked cemented floor because there were no other chairs and listened to a bunch of useless facts about their foster house that would definitely never help me with anything in the future, kind of like learning Latin for the SAT’s. Apparently there were over 10,000 volunteers but I had a feeling no one ever came back there after we were given a tour of this most likely disease infested kitten trap house. This sanctuary was so bad it needed a sanctuary for the sanctuary.

I asked about what if any diseases can these feral cats transmit to my beautiful body and the volunteer leader played down Ringworm like it was nothing. She made ringworm seem like someone who had Herpes but has been on Valtrex for years with no breakouts lately and fucking without condom was a go. My soon to be exposed in the summer time skin isn’t going to be tainted with fungal infections, it’s hard enough to fight them off in West Hollywood as it is and I don’t have health insurance right now.

It was time for the tour of their facility; an introduction into a disturbing episode of Hoarders where cats ruled the property in some weird post apocalyptic animal kingdom and its volunteers were disease-prone human captives refilling their kitty litter with Chicken Feed (no joke that’s what they used). It was basically a rendition of Grey Gardens starring Cats and I was watching the movie with the filmmaker and couldn’t figure out how to politely leave with a sense of urgency without being offensive.

The air was belligerent. I straight up held my breath and almost passed out from suffocation without a hot guy in sight to make it excusable. I legit could’ve gotten sick by just standing still from an airborne disease. It was the definition of filth. The lady leading the orientation told us that if we saw a blanket that was covered in cat vomit or shit to “just turn it over.” Not to replace it. Not to wash it. To turn it over. Is that regulatory? Aren’t we supposed to be saving them not keeping them covered in their own shit? It felt like drug-addicted parents who didn’t change their babies’ diapers. If this was a Restaurant Rating System they’d be like, “we actually don’t have any Z printed, we’d have to order it.”

Hissing cats turned their heads as we walked by revealing a Cyclops, which held a menacing gaze that said, “don’t come around here no more.” You got it. It was like I fucked a girl’s boyfriend and all her friends stared me down a party to let me know they know but just get the fuck out of here or they’re going to kick the shit out of me. A cat that literally looked 1000 years old just sat there expressionless. I think it was the first cat in the entire world. It was the cat Sassy from Disney’s Homeward Bound who just never found his way home and now he’s in this dirty shelter in Atwater Village and my childhood is ruined. Some cat’s fur was just way too fucking long.

I didn’t know how to help these cats or this place. I had to just get the fuck out of there, it was too much. I lied and pretended I had to leave early and just bolted. I got a burrito at a nearby Mexican place and just sat there staring into space like I had seen some shit. A waiter came over and asked if I was ok. “Huh? What? No, I’m not… I need more pico de gallo.” How do I become a good person? I know someone reading this is thinking, “Get in there! Make a difference!” But that was just way beyond a project I was up for. I was there to brush and cuddle kittens, not save the fucking world and die in the process. I’m down to volunteer but I’m not in it the same way other girls are that’s fine with me. Those girls can take on stuff like this, Instagram photos of them making pies and running marathons. If you need the info on where it is let me know.

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I live in an apartment complex with several crazy tenants and Cops are called constantly to the scene of the domestic crime of the week. This week’s call was because my schizophrenic neighbor thought this crazy meth couple had a gun and the gracelessly balding psychotic controlling boyfriend was going to shoot the stylish and tight-bodied yet manic-depressive escort girlfriend.

I ran into a group of Cops outside my building as I arrived one morning by Uber in a walk of shame outfit from the night before, clutching a chocolate croissant that I made the Uber driver stop to pick up at Le Pain Quotidien, after coming from a crib where I just fucked a dude who’s Bar Mitzvah theme was “Watching TV.” That theme choice is kind of why I fucked him though. I love strong Bar Mitzvah themes.

Makeup-less and drained from sex, I hung out with the cops talking shit and getting their advice on my latest run-in with the schizophrenic neighbor who had called the Cops today: The night prior I got off work around 11 pm and was walking up to my apartment when this crazy bitch was HIDING IN THE DARK SHADOWS WAITING for me. I gasped when I saw her and said, “Oh you scared me there,” she replied, “I know. I meant to.” Um…………………………………………….…ok? Then she accused me of jingling pipes at 3am in the basement. I let her know I didn’t smoke meth. Who jingles pipes? No one. Bitch went full retard. Then she threatened me that I would be in big trouble if I did it again. Bitch I never even been in the basement, that’s some scary movie shit. Who goes in the basement? The only basement I’m going in is if someone has chains, whips and a strong Bar Mitzvah theme.

So I was just getting the cops advice on that issue, which their reply was to move, but I don’t feel like it because I’m super into my apartment and there’s mirrors in my bedroom on the closet doors and I constantly need validation that I look good naked from them mirrors. I know I got ghetto there, when I’m angry I like to get ghetto, it brings me back to the realization that I’m from a white privileged upper middle class family from Westchester, New York. My town was so Jewish that this girl in my grade got a Tiffany’s bracelet when she got her period. Anyways, the Cops thought I was fun and extended an invitation for a Ride Along because they said I would be good company.

They were also super down to watch me do stand up and handed me several of their business cards to follow up with them so we could continue our new friendship outside of my apartment complex. I emailed the COP (he asked me not to use his name in this story, just gonna call him COP) about the Ride Along and we scheduled it for a few days later.


I arrived at the West Hollywood Police Station at 10am and parked in the Official Business parking space as directed. I wore black skinny jeans, knee high leather boots, a navy cashmere sweater and a leather jacket. Hair was down, face caked in sensual yet suitable makeup, minimal lip color to blend in with the other female cops. Left the Chanel bag at home to be more street, but I don’t own any Pedestrian purses so I put everything I need in my jacket pocket, which consisted of $40, my ID, dental floss and lip-gloss. I don’t go anywhere without my floss. When I was 18 and would go clubbing and to expensive dinners with older men in South Beach, I would just tie a piece of floss on the side of my thong when I had no purse. The more you know.

I checked in at the front desk and had to sign a waiver agreeing to risk my life. Fuck it. Ride or die.

Displaying IMG_5094.JPG

About an hour later I realized the COP had a bulletproof vest on and I didn’t – so I felt like 50 Cent and was ready to set a new record of 10 bullets deep if shit got crazy on the street. After signing the form, the cop brought me thru the back and I saw the holding cell, used their shitty bathroom, and tried to go in the Evidence room but he wouldn’t let me. The station was boring as fuck so we went in his car to start the day.

I waited in shotgun while he went to use the bathroom and took a shotgun selfie in the police parking lot.


COP’s car was kind of dirty inside and had tons of bags of nuts. Nothing wrong with protein. The Cops leave the Cop cars in the lot and drive their regular cars to work in the morning, except the stations captain drives a black Dodge Charger around all the time because he’s stylish yet inconspicuous.

Then he came back to the car 10 minutes later because I think he took a shit and said he needed breakfast. We went to Astro Burger so he could get some kind of wrap that I watched him eat on top of the trunk of his car in their parking lot. I had tea. Cop life.

I asked him a bunch of questions throughout the day and this is what I learned:

He starts work at 6am and works until 4pm, and usually does a 10-hour shift everyday. He wanted to be a cop since he was around 15 and grew up in a bad part of LA. He watched his dad get arrested when he was 3 and that triggered him into wanting to be a cop. Now he’s 32 and has been on the force for 8 years.

ME: What annoys you as a cop?

COP: People’s driving habits and doing what they want.

ME: Where do you go to the bathroom since you drink so much coffee throughout the day?

COP: Everyone goes wherever they feel comfortable. Sometimes 711. No one has ever turned me down.

ME: What’s the deal with donuts, is that a real thing cops eat or a stereotype?

COP: I try to stay away from donuts. I like cookies. They’re my weakness. Do you eat donuts? You look healthy.

ME: Healthy means fat, are you saying I’m fat?

COP: What?

ME: Do you ever drive by someone really slow and stare them down just to fuck with them?

COP: All the time, that’s our job to observe them.

ME: Do you wear a seatbelt or nah?

COP: Of course

ME: How much does your belt weigh?

COP: 25 pounds

ME: Do you get a lot of free massages?

COP: I don’t get massages unless their happy endings.


After he finished eating we cruised around for a few hours looking for people to bust. He said there are always a lot of troublemakers in the parking lot of McDonalds on La Brea and Lexington. What kind of loser hangs out in the McDonalds parking lot? I hope all of my ex boyfriends do and eat old food out of the garbage and get fat and have Psoriasis and high blood pressure. We also had to drive by several parks and watch people who were in there to make sure they weren’t being shady. He questioned a few homeless aka transient people in one of the parks who were nodding out. He looked them up on his computer to make sure they didn’t have any warrants out. One of them had some fine for Cocaine. Cocaine is the finest white bitch I’ve ever tasted. But homeless coke probably isn’t as glamorous as Hollywood Hills party coke.





The COP was low key playing rap music on 93.5 and was surprised when he heard I love rap and had assumed I was a basic bitch who liked Katy Perry or Taylor Swift, which was stereotypical and untrue. “Nah, I like rap,” I said, and then he became attracted to me I think. I can never tell if people like me. But I think he did.



The whole day was pretty boring honestly, nothing cool happened. I guess it’s hit or miss like working as a stripper and not knowing if a money customer will come in or not. We pulled over 3 people – the first two people were for stupid reasons and I felt like he was just trying to give me something to witness. The third person he pulled over had their car towed for expired registration. All we did was drive around weird alleyways and streets I’ve never seen looking for trouble. He was really interested in my past as a party girl.

Looking shit up


We used the bathroom at Sunset Marquis, where he often frequents to use the restroom. We went to 711 as well to use the bathroom and I got VIP bathroom access into their disgusting Employees Only room. Cop Perks.



It had been 4 hours of aimless driving around and I got bored and wanted to bounce but he didn’t want me to leave. I said I had to go home and do laundry and he offered to take me home so I could put the clothes in and then get back in the car, but I declined.

He said it’s much better at night and we will do it again so I can see more action. I guess West Hollywood is just boring but I was grateful I got to go and see what it was like nonetheless.


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1. He was drinking vodka alone when I arrived at his home at 3pm, sure it was a Sunday at the beach, but he continued drinking nonstop until midnight. RED FLAG.
2. He doesn’t like drama, but we all know anyone who says that has a lot of drama. RED FLAG.
3. He asked me several times why would his neighbors be so nice to him. Why wouldn’t they? RED FLAG.
4. He needed his neighbors to see me in my bikini and paraded me around on the beach. RED FLAG.
5. He kept telling me stories about girls who were obsessed with him that he doesn’t like in return. RED FLAG.
6. He told me about tons of girls he’s hooked up with, yet he said he also doesn’t hook up with anyone. RED FLAG.
7. He gets his blood tested every 6 weeks. RED FLAG.
8. There was piles of a woman’s hair on his bathroom floor. RED FLAG.
9. There was tons of women’s products throughout his home, including in his personal shower, but said it was all his kid’s nanny’s. RED FLAG.
10. He met a girl from Estonia with Asperger’s on Seeking Arrangements and got a $500 blowjob. RED FLAG.
11. A girl he “wasn’t dating” pissed on his bathroom floor because she was mad he brought another girl home. RED FLAG.
12. He brought me to a restaurant where a girl who’s “obsessed with him” was at and kept secretly going to the bar to get more drinks behind my back to entice her that he was on a date. RED FLAG.
13. At one point he was so drunk he didn’t remember what he was drinking when ordering a refill to the waiter. RED FLAG.
14. At the restaurant, Suzanne Somer’s walked by and he grabbed her aggressively by the wrist and whispered something in her ear. She walked away afraid and he said she loves him. RED FLAG.
15. After dinner he said he got a text from two different girls at the restaurant. One of them said he deserves a girl like me. DOUBLE RED FLAG.
16. He said he hates guys with tons of body hair, but he clearly shaves all of his body hair because his skin is spiky. RED FLAG.
17. He shaved off all of his pubic hair. RED FLAG.
18. He laid on top of me with all of his body weight and licked my mouth with his tongue. I told him I didn’t like that. Then he held me down and shoved his tongue down my throat, trying to steal my soul. RED FLAG.
19. I crashed the front of his Bentley and he didn’t care. GREEN FLAG.
20. He left our table during dinner to smoke cigarettes at least 5 times and he’s not European. RED FLAG.
21. I slept over because I was tired and far from home. He was snoring the entire time and had restless leg syndrome but I at first thought he was jacking off next to me in the bed because it was shaking so much. RED FLAG.
22. When he ran out of Evian, he had only DASANI left. RED FLAG.
23. A fugitive on the run for attempted murder on his wife’s family called him at least 10x throughout the night. RED FLAG.
24. He looks like David Beckham, is very successful and single. RED FLAG.
25. He takes HGH and testosterone every other day. RED FLAG.
26. He peed all over his ex wives families feet at a family reunion by a camp fire. RED FLAG.
27. He graduated high school the year I was born. RED FLAG.
28. He didn’t want to go to the Malibu Fair. RED FLAG.
29. He thought Jared Leto was a girl at the restaurant we were at. RED FLAG.
30. He said he wanted to date me. RED FLAG.

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