Bring it, boys.









I gave my new, untouched Match profile to a good friend who has had nothing short of AMAZING success from her own Match experience. She is so well-versed in this, another friend of ours put this successful lass in charge of her own profile, and I have since attended her wedding to her Match. Amazing. So what do I have to lose? You’re hired. Because God knows I don’t have the wherewithal.

Not really thinking it through, or buzzed from an adequate amount of pinot, I gave my username and password away. I woke up to said awesome lady’s note:

She:“Ok, so I winked at like 7 guys …”
She: “If any of these guys I winked at reach out to you – you MUST respond. Deal?”
Me: [Christ on a cracker…]

It’s only been 24 hours of relinquishing control, something I’m supremely uncomfortable with. Like…sweaty, pulsating, throbbing eyeball uncomfortable.

But if anything, it’s a huge much-needed ego boost. For the last several days, I’ve been feeling as though I live at 3421 Rejection Street, Apt #1. Domino’s delivers here.

I loved getting an email from my new Match General Manager with a “DAMN GIRL! Have you seen your inbox?” followed by a scale of 1-10 on my new potential beaus. Today is a good day.

I’ve Never Read A Maya Angelou Book….BUT

….I’ve had a quote of hers, handwritten in my twenty year-old script, framed in my apartment on a scrap of torn memo paper when I first heard it and it resonated. Two quotes of hers in fact.  The other quote is next to my bed; we’ll get to that. The first:


We make a lot of excuses for people.  But they show you who they truly are when you JUST LISTEN.  They can try to talk around it, attempt the smoke and mirrors.  But all you have to do is be quiet and listen.  Not to words, necessarily, but to their every innate method of movement. They are giving you every opportunity to run in the other direction. They want to wave a white flag on your behalf, giving you any out they could possibly invent.  I’ve been, oh how should I put it, incredibly fucking stupid for not listening to this advice.  The individual in your life who you’re making excuses for is holding a billboard that says, “I AM NOT THE PERSON YOU THINK I AM.”


Their actions, or lack of actions, show you every day.  Loud and clear.  Megaphone-howling, pyramid-climbing, polyester-wearing, screaming at the top of their cheerleader lungs, “BELIEVE ME.”  Sometimes with a marching band with streaming flags and teenage acrobats, but that’s usually for bowl games.  Sometimes with a silent glance, but one that, with a recipient’s clear, dare I say, sober, head, it is as loud as the bagpiper at Spanish Bay.  And we all love that guy.  But, yeah, he’s loud.

We’ve all come across a lot of liars.  Often we’ve been that liar.  From a little white, whispery one that slithers from lips without a second thought to the creation of another persona of a human being that isn’t truly us.  We’re all liars.  Go ahead, say you’re not.  LIAR.

It’s a quote that gets me through tough times.  Because it reminds me that we’re all just human beings.  We make mistakes.  More often we tell the truth.  Yes, I just called everyone liars three sentences ago; stay with me.  I believe that people tell the truth; and then they alleviate a potentially high-risk situation by pretending it was just something said in passing. But, it is we on the receiving end of a truth we don’t like who choose to define it a different way. A way that fits us, a way we can analyze into a completely different box, and cram it into that (GET IN THERE), box that we’ve chosen to, (HOLD ON!), make it fit.  (LOOK AT THAT, I KNEW IT!)   And we make them out the hurtful truth-tellers to be bad people.  They’re not.  They’re bad truth-tellers.  Because they don’t stick to it.

There are some that tell the truth and their truth is amazing.  It fits your truth, and wow you’re on the same page, with the same timing, and, are those butterflies?  This is a rarity.  So, you know what, a-holes?  I mean, ahem.  You know what, lovely people in the world reading this?  When you find it, open your eyes.  There’s not something better coming along.  If you’ve found someone you connect with, who makes you laugh til your sides hurt, who challenges the very core of your being, who wants you to find work you love, who wants you to travel, see the world, so you can tell your kids about it….you know what?  I’m sure the next gal at happy hour will do just that. Dime a fuckin’ dozen, we are.

God knows my friends have been put through the ringer, both male and female (if you’d like a list of these people who have caused said ringers, I have it both chronologically and alphabetically, so please be specific. WARNING: I bear no responsibility for you being on this list).

But I think we hear what we want to hear, what fits our ‘schedule.’  When we DO hear their truth, we move some words around, add some inflection, analyze it until it has too much meaning, and then come up with a whole newly defined strategy with zero basis in its origin. And this is why I now choose to go underground and live with mole people in the NYC subway.

I kid.  Unless, well, give me a week, I may sell all my shite on Craigslist and my sassy new chevron living room rug to Goodwill. [Friends, take note: I will need someone (I’m looking at you, Kelly) to remove my boxed wine from the fridge, someone (oh sister,Therese) to delete my Netflix Watch List because no one needs to see how often I watch Masterpiece Theatre and Battlestar Galactica, and only Alex is allowed to go through every piece of paper and discern who can read it. Please, no excitement, there’s nothing in the nightstands, I’m way too straight-laced  – although suggestions can be sent via email or in the comments below].

Anyway, back to the point.  When people show you who they are, don’t make excuses for them.  Believe them.  They’re telling you their truth.


The second quote that is in my apartment:


Oh.  OHHHHH.  This is a doozy.  I need a moment.



Ok, I’m back. I’m going to make t-shirts with this sentence on it.  I’m going to be THAT girl wearing THAT T-shirt: new goal announced. Yeah, June 2014! $12.99, get ’em here!

Seriously, though…I put people before me.  Actually, let me rephrase that.  I put the wrong people before me.  I’ve had many well-meaning people (“You’re fantastic…you’re sensational…you’re one of a kind, BUT…”), and I have put more sensitivity and thought into what they want to eat for dinner than a cumulative thought as to what charities I’m donating to this year.

And now I want to take a butter knife and pull a Van Gogh.  But at least, I’m being honest.  I dare you to find someone more so.

I feel my online dating friends, the less successful ones than those that have met their literal match on Match, can understand this the most.  And I am most guilty of this.  We spend so much time thinking about the wrong people, mainly because we think they’re the right people, and shocker, they don’t deserve the amount of time and energy we’re spending on them.  Truthfully, if I spent the same amount of time following my dream of being a writer, or putting my mind to curing homelessness in San Francisco, or creating a new cable company so that Comcast can go to cable hell….as I spend on thinking about guys who don’t deserve it….well, Bay Area, you’d all be getting HBO for free.

There are so many good people in the world.  People who will and DO love us unconditionally, think we’re sexy, fantastic, awesome, witty, hilarious…the list goes on an on.  And there’s no “BUT” following any of those statements.  “But” negates everything said before that.

You just are sexy, fantastic, awesome, witty, hilarious.

What should follow is: “And I’m lucky to know you, and can’t wait to spend more time with you.” Find that person.  The rest, we’re spending too much time on.  Good….night.


{Gratitude} Lately – May 29, 2014


Lately, I’m grateful for failing at #selfies because I’m getting licked in the face relentlessly.


For remembering what joy drawing brings me.


For Netflix for providing genius.


For the best distraction from my never-ending inbox.

Screen Shot 2013-11-02 at 12.58.11 PM

For people who get it.


For taking a risk and having it look awesome!

Napa Solo

What better way to start a day than with a cup of Blue Bottle, a beautiful Audi with a purring engine, and visiting a dear friend’s new baby.  What a little cutie.  I think she liked me. I mean, I was there for an hour, and she pooped twice, I see this as a good sign.


Then, I got on the road to Napa.  I’m not a car person; I don’t really know the logistics, or why people go nuts over a turbo boost engine. Possibly, because I’ve never owned a car, living in NYC for as long as I have.  When I zipcar, I get a VW Gulf or a Mini Cooper, $10 an hour, easy to park, boom.  Of course, my favorite to-die-for car is a black BMW 328i.  BMW does an incredible black and a horrible red.  So I guess when it comes to cars, I pick up on looks.

Getting behind the wheel of this car today, I’m embarrassed to say it took a full six minutes to figure out how to start it.  I wish I was kidding.  I was beginning to think it was the parking brake that was an issue, but there was no parking brake to be seen.  Where is the big stick that’s supposed to be in the middle that releases all motion of this $%^# car!  After another sweaty, swearing 5 minutes, relented and pulled out the manual. To turn on the car.  Oh, it’s the electromechanical parking brake, of course! Twenty minutes after arriving to the car, I hadn’t even pulled out yet.

I consider myself a smart person.  I did well in school, got a 3.9 in my MBA program, and can carry a political conversation with the best of them.  Opening the sunroof?  Obviously, that’s Mensa territory.  When I stopped and got gas, you would have thought I was trying to fill up the Starship Enterprise.


But once I got rolling, I literally was laughing out loud at the 0-60mph in 6 seconds on Rte 29.  What an amazing feeling.  I now understand why people stare at engines. Purrrrrrr….I’m sold.


The next opportunity you get: go to Napa by yourself. You get all the $20 tastings for free, you get invited to a Stag’s Leap’s sommelier’s home for dinner, and get adopted by families along the way. Plus, winery dogs.  If I am every reincarnated, I want to come back as a winery dog.


Otis was my main man…


Then, stop and get In-N-Out.  Animal-style.  I don’t know what it means, but it will be served at my wedding.


….A day to remember.  And I’m not sure I can go back to a Volkswagen after this.

Gratitude – November 10, 2013


Dear Sunday, you allow me to spend the whole day doing laundry, drinking champagne, and watching Bravo.  It’s like we’re meant to be. Dear bacon, I will always have a place for you in my heart, and in my fridge.  Dear butternut squash soup, topping you off with a little nutmeg warms me to my toes. Dear Old Navy, I worship your $20 stretchy jeans in every color of the rainbow. Dear yoga, thanks for still being there despite our breakup a few months ago. Dear Penn Hamman, we’re so happy to have a baby girl in the mix!  Can’t wait to meet you, little nugget! Dear black lab tied up outside my apartment, don’t tell your mother that it was me that gave you a bone.  Dear covered bridges, why do I find you so romantic? Marry me.

Things My Brain Is Thinking About When No One is Looking – Part IX

  • Why do websites consistently default my birthday year to being in the 1980s? Screw you, little man inside my computer.
  • On that note, filling out surveys and forms and no longer being a part of the 18-34 culture anymore is jarring.   Nothing cool is marketed to me anymore.  What are 35-49 year olds supposed to like? No cool shows on cable, no fashion on the runways.  I’m washed up.
  • Yesterday, I bawled my eyes out watching a Janet Jackson movie.  I’m an emotional person in touch with my feelings…but seriously….
  • I’ve started unfriending people on Facebook.  If you’re reading this, it’s likely you made the first-round cut.  Cheers.  Why start backing off from my 500 Facebook friends? I believe you are as good as the five closest friends you keep. So I’m cutting some of the slack.  Not because I don’t like you.  But because I don’t take the word “friend” lightly.
  • We create our own “luck.” I’m not saying that there’s no such thing as fate, but I believe that choice is far more powerful than chance in determining the meaning behind our failures and successes.
  • I’ve always been an Anglophile, but I’m watching a lot of BBC and Miss Marple lately.  Now I’m too afraid to visit the English countryside because the chance of getting murdered there seems to increase exponentially. I’m now convinced that more people die in the Cotswolds than on Skid Row.  Thanks, Agatha Christie.


  • But I am going to start using old British phrases like “You’re looking at me like I have bats in the belfry” and “Bob’s your uncle.” Although I’m confused why “bollocks” means “shit,” but “dog’s bollocks” means “great.”  My email is if you know, I’m really curious.
  • I overheard the following phone conversation at SFO the other day.  It’s still making me think: “Well just get the gun and shoot him.  It’s in the drawer of the nightstand.”  Uhhhhhmm, what?
  • I used to believe in soul mates, in “The One.” And now I think  “The One” is “The One” because you say they are. That’s really all it takes.  Just faith.

Things My Brain is Thinking About When No One is Looking – Part VIII

My train of thought today –  I really should use my power for good.


  • Tonight is bar trivia night.  I lerve trivia.  And I know stupid shite like Debbie Gibson’s middle name (Ann), that a rat can last longer without water than a camel (longtime NYC residents unite!), and that Leonardo da Vinci could write with one hand and draw with the other simultaneously.  More importantly, my team’s name is “We Don’t Care about Your Kids,” and I didn’t even name it!  Ah, kindred spirits.
  • It’s possible I’m wearing mom jeans today. I can’t decide.  I suppose if their fashion status is questionable, the answer is yes.
  • Speaking of mom, I’ve been evolving these past two years into her clone. Habitually, I use the word “slacks” instead of pants, calls people “pills” when they’re being annoying, and strongly believe that “Nothing good happens after midnight.”  I go through two books a week on tape and constantly tell Mac the dog that “the kitchen is closed” whenever he looks at me and wants more food. It’s like instead of Revenge of the Sith, it’s Revenge of the Sheila. She always said we’d end up like her.
  • Speaking of Star Wars, why are they making three more Star Wars movies?  I love me some J.J. Abrams and all, but why, why are we doing this?  Have we learned nothing between the years 1999 – 2005?  It’s like that saying, “Fool me once, shame on me.  Fool me twice, and I will toilet paper the entire campus of Lucasfilm.”
  • As an unemployed person, I have a request (and let me point out that I know you mean well and are being polite). BUT – please stop asking me “And how is the job search going?”  It’s unsettling and makes me want to hit the bottle.  I WILL TELL YOU. Thankfully, through this process I’ve learned that “I am not my job,” because losing a job would mean that I, too, as a human being are lost.  Even though this identity struggle has not yet involved barbiturates, it kind of makes my self-esteem plunge south.  Then I want to ask the following of you:
    • How is your parents’ divorce going?
    • How is that STD treating you?
    • Lose that last ten pounds yet?
    • Did you get fired?
    • When are you ever going to get married?
    • Or my favorite…. Are you pregnant?

Again, I know you mean well.  Thank you.  I recognize your well-meant interest in my personal and professional well-being. Now stop.

  • Why in the sam hell (another ‘Sheila-ism’) are iphones made of glass?  We put men on the moon 60 years ago, but we are making our phones out of GLASS? Things we poke at while jogging, shove to the bottom of our purses, and give kids to distract themselves.  Glass.  We childlock a shoe closet, but we give our children in a high chair a glass object with which to throw around.  Fortunately, when I got my iPhone5, I remembered I was a klutz and signed up for the “I will definitely drop this within the next 3 minutes” insurance, and so only had to pay a small fortune to get it replaced. If I can offer you any advice (in addition to “Never get involved in a land war in Asia”), get the monthly insurance. Because Steve Jobs didn’t like plastic.
  • Speaking of Jobs, have you seen the trailer for the Ashton…oh, I can’t be bothered, I have to get ready for trivia night.