Protect Your Energy

Getting off the plane the complete opposite of fresh faced and quietly shitting myself that after 14 hours I was going to have to drive 55 minutes on the opposite side of the road to my Airbnb, I’d arrived in L.A. and I was excited.

Fast forward 72 hours and that excitement turned into WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS PLACE!?

So, what happened from the time I got off the plane ready to hell yes all over L.A. to hell fucking no?

The energy. 

How To Find Your Voice

The phone rings. One time. Two times. The third time she picks up. I haven't spoken to her for a couple of days but that's cool. That's how we roll.

I ask how she's going.

I'm fine she says.

But there was hesitation. There was this weird intonation at the end like she was asking a question to herself... Am I fine? Like she was trying to convince herself she was fine. She was flat. Her voice usually bubbly was lower in pitch. Monotone almost. And there was a weird wobbly-anxious-edge to it.

I heard it. I felt it.

What's Your Olympics?

Meanwhile, back in 1988...

Meet Eddie.

A dude who got the thing he wanted more than anything in the world:

To compete in the Olympics.

And I'm not talking about one of the elite athletes who've been shipped off to the best training camps thanks to their parents, who've had the support of their country backing them, who've had access to the best.

I'm talking about the kid who wasn't good at any Olympic sport, but never gave up.

Giving All The Fucks In The World

Not giving a fuck.

It’s the phase that badass rap dreams are made of.

It’s the epitome of what society should be aiming for.

It’s a motto for how to live your life.

Apparently, it’s life changing to not give a fuck.

And it’s just been drawn to my attention that even though I’ve got a reputation for not giving fuck, I’m here to tell you this:

I give a fuck.

Why I Look Hotter With Make Up On

I want to look good.

But when it’s over 25 degree (celsius) I don’t want to wear make up or spend 20 minutes with my head under blasting hot air. 

I want to wear heels.

But fuck sore feet.

I want to have an office that costs $10,000 to deck out, thereby making me look like not only have I got my shit together but I'm totes inspiring. 

But I live in a rental house and my office is currently what used to be a 10 year old girls room with purple walls.

I want to shop at Chanel.

But every time I’m in the city I’m wearing a nike hoodie and sneakers and a top that has some sort of unidentifiable stain because I'm one of those eaters.

I want it all.

The make-up-free, and fancy-free life.

And I want all the fancy too.

Where The Boyband Obsession Began

It was 1997.

Having been a late adopter with Friends, I was rocking the Rachel do, except, because I was an awkward almost-teen, I didn’t know how to style the thing so it looked like more like shaggy than chic. 

It was a Saturday morning. I was at my friend’s house. TV Hits was playing in the background where pop hit after pop hit was played until there it was, the unmistakable guitar riff, the syncopated beats that to this day no one can seem to cover, and the sweet vocals of the one and only Taylor Hanson.