Don’t guilt trip me. I’ve been a bad blogger. Trust me, I know and I’ve put myself through, like, what I can only imagine is an OJ Simpson post wife-murdering-and-getting-away-with-it sized guilt trip because I’ve neglected my beautiful blog. But unlike OJ, I’ve been too busy to even stage a police chase as a cry for help. Instead I’ve carried the burden of my guilt like a trooper and now just ask for reconciliation via this super post. Super what? Awesome? Doubt it. But I’ll try to make it super something.

So what have I been busy doing? Well for starters, my life’s work– aka grammin’ like a boss.

Follow me on Instagram ya’ll, @wdupross

Because who doesn’t want to know what coffee mug I drank out of this morning and what dress I’m thinking about maybe purchasing, right?

Whatever. Please just grizzly bear with me. Its a steep and slippery and vain slope I’m on right now via Instagram. But this too shall pass.


I’ve also been spending my time thoroughly dedicated to our gurl and her valiant efforts to prove she is a normal human being. Guys, I’m talking about Britney and, guys, she’s not doing a very good job. Have you turned on the television recently? Have you seen the artist formerly known as Shaved-Head-Britney on this season of the X-FACTOR?! And if not, did you know that its taped live and therefore the artist also formerly known as That-Girl-That-Cheated-On-Justin-Bieber-Senior (aka Justin Timberlake) must speak? LIVE?!

Aside from the part where petite Celine Dion takes the mic and gives me the goosies for her diva singing, Britney is the best thing about that show. But also the scariest.

Pah-reach, Celine Dion Incarnate.

Like I hold my breath every time Britney speaks. Like I’m almost positive there is a medical team standing by on set just for the sole purpose of grabbing Britney for a 5150 if necessary.

P.S. If you don’t know, a ‘5150’ is police dispatch code for “Gurlfrand is bonkers and we’re gunna pick her up and put her in the Cedars Sinai Hospital bonkers wing for a good 3 days.” That’s what happened in 2007– the Year of Our Britney– remember?

Hai der gurl.

But we are just gunna keep saying our prayers that my fellow Louisiana ghoul is keeping-on that straight and narrow (read: her agent turned fiance continues to feed her lines any and all times Brit Brit must speak in the presence of others) and no one lets her near a yellow highlighter ever again.

Uh oh.

Because that’s what happened here right? I mean I remember the days of boredom in Ms. Cassidy’s 7th grade geography class when I would casually turn to my pink highlighter for entertainment. Now I look back fondly on all that time I spent as my own beautician, slowly passing that pink marker through my hair only to later sweat off those iridescent pink streaks during volleyball practice in our non-air-conditioned South Louisiana gym. Obviously, this is what happened to Britney, except her highlighter was yellow and tight-shirt-titties-Simon-Cowell was the one boring her and she didn’t have to later pass out from heat stroke at volleyball practice. Obviously.

I tweeted her the other day to tell her what a good job I thought she was doing but she didn’t respond.

Feeling it.


I’ve also been really busy keeping up with The Ross Family group text. Or as I like to call it– Ross Family Catversations.

It all started when Mom and Dad went to the Eagles/Saints game at the Superdome and Emily and I insisted on cat commentary after MISSYGURL sent us a picture of raw oysters.

Prostitute cats are awesome. No? Well apparently my parents didn’t think so either because they silenced their phones for the remainder of the football game whilst Sistercat and I got this catversation out of our system.

But parental approval aside, good times were had. And sometimes we bring the cats back just for old time sake. Or in my case, just to be an asshole about cold weather (because in, like, Los Angeles where I, like, live there is no cold weather) …


I’ve was also really busy (for four full hours of mah life) giving my everything to Oprah’s Favorite Things. Obviously I’m big on staying up with current affairs– aka Oprah. However, I’ll be the first to admit that I had some real issues with her idea of ‘giving’ this year. First let me say that she chose to give to military families AND FOR THAT I applaud her. However, giving truffle oil and cheese and a mirrored cutting board to military families? OPRAHGURL, give them a years worth of mac and cheese to feed their babies. Its easy. Its convenient. Its not truffle oil.

The satisfaction of 3 minute Easy Mac aside– know what my favorite thing about the whole show was? Oh the part where Oprah kept doing ‘The Oprah.’ Guys, seriously. Over the past few years people have risen to fame because of their Oprah impersonating ability alone. I will even admit to falling into “The Oprah” on occasion because, really, who doesn’t like making toast for their roommate and then delivering said toast with an enthusiastic, “Tommmmm–aaahhhh Caaahhh-rrruise wanted you to have this TOOOHHH—OOOOHHHHSSST.” Duh. Bottom line: her ability to add syllables to words is uncanny and we all need tah rah-spect that.

But whilst watching the latest, ‘Favorite Things’ broadcast I was under the impression that Oprah fancies herself the best ‘Oprah’ impersonator of them all. Its like she is making fun of herself…and at completely inappropriate times during the broadcast. For ex-ham-ple, she was testing out potential favorite things in her favorite things test lab and she ran across a soap dispenser (yes, a soap dispenser) that she was not fond of. Instead of a simple, “no thank you,” Oprah found it best to express herself via a hearty, “I don’t like it, NOOOOOO I DOHHHHOOOONNNN’T” right in one of her Oprah-elves’ ears.

I would find the whole exchange hilarious had anyone but Oprah been a part of it because obviously that person would have been doing an exaggerated Oprah impersonation. But Oprah was a part of it. SHE WAS THE ONE TAKING THE OPRAH IMPERSONATION TOO FAR. So, like, what is she doing with our minds here guys? If the jokes not on Oprah anymore than who is it on? Stedman?

Regardless, we should probably just pretend that we never had this conversation about Oprah inceptioning us because Oprah can do things to people who question her.

So for now…



I’ve also been quite busy campaigning for tour guide of the year.

Mother as well as Mimi and Meg (otha motha and otha sistah, respectively) decided to pop on over to sunnnnay California for a visit and we had a hell of a time, y’all.

Our adventures were Lord of the Rings epic. And aside from actually casting a ring into the depths of Mordor, we just about did it all. However, I have to say that seeing Barbra Streisand at the Hollywood Bowl was probably the highlight. I sang her songs all week leading up to the show and even dressed up as Babs herself (circa Funny Girl) for the actual concert. Basically, I was really fun and not at all annoying to be around.

“Don’t tell me not live, just sit and putter…”

My other favorite part of their visit went down like this:

Weeks before MISSYGURL’s visit I asked her what she wanted to do while she was here and if there were any shows she wanted to check out. I had already lined up tickets for Ellen but was basically telling her I’d make some phone calls (and, yes, I hate myself for just using the term “make some phone calls”) to get her in the audience of whatever show she wanted. So I’m thinking shes going to say Leno or Conan or Chelsea or, hell, maybe even The Talk. Nope.

Wait for it…

Mumsie wanted to go to Young and The Restless.

So  I called one of my Hollywood Fairy Godmothers and got my momma on that set to see her “story,” damnit! She and Mimi toured the whole Y & R world AND even saw TWO scenes being filmed.

And I know you probs hates it when I get sentimental but, fah real, my momma is the biggest proponent of my crazy person dreams in Hollywood Land so to be able to finally give back to her felt good. Besides, making MISSYGURL almost pee her pants with excitement at seeing Victor’s new house was daaaaahhhh best.

We also casually ran into Dog the Bounty Hunter and his walking boobs (aka his wife) at dinner. And it wasn’t even really a highlight. I just wanted an excuse to bring Mrs. Dog the Bounty Hunter’s boobs to your attention. Because I don’t want to believe this is real but I saw it (them?) and it is.

How she walks upright is beyond me.


And then of course I’ve been super busy worrying about Lindsay Lohan? Why? Have you heard of Liz & Dick? OF COURSE YOU HAVE.

Back during my innocence (childhood) I was a BIG FAN of Lilo. But who wasn’t? The Parent Trap, the handshake from the Parent Trap, Mean Girls, every piece of dialogue from Mean Girls– that’s it guys, that’s my life up to age 15. So I was really excited to see Lindsay make this so called “comeback” gracing the small screen as Elizabeth Taylor on the one and only Lifetime Network. Now, to be fair, my expectations were’t TOO high because this is Lifetime we are talking about BUT I did have hope. I mean really, if Britney can comeback from 2007– The Year of Our Britney– then why can’t Lohan?

But it was not to be.

Attempted acting.

Granted Lilo tried. And maybe it wasn’t her! Maybe it was the networks fault! Maybe the timing was just off! I DON’T KNOW! But whatever it was, it just didn’t work. And I figured that out about 5 minutes into it. So what did I do? Naturally I live tweeted the shit outta that junk.

And you know how live tweeting is. Hectic. But on top of the usual pressure of live tweeting I also had to contend with the heat of being at a viewing party at my boss’s house with former boy band-ers, famed reality personalities and TV musical stars alike. So I guess in the excitement of the moment I disregarded the difference between THERE, THEY’RE AND THEIR.

By the time I noticed my folly I had 4 retweets. It was too late. I just had to let that grammatical error go off into the Twitterverse by itself and hope for the best.

Nope. Two online publications picked up the tweet.

I mean this was tragic and awesome at the same time. Tragic because I GRADUATED WITH AN ENGLISH DEGREE. Awesome because Patton Oswalt and I were held in the same twitter-esteem in a somewhat silly magazine.

But over the course of the day I slowly got over it. Obviously I don’t care about grammar so much on my blog so whatevs about a little tweet.

But then something else occurred to me. Does anyone have eyes on Lilo? Multiple news outlets are reporting that she is super torn up about her berating on Twitter. And of course I’ve convinced myself that I’ve now contributed to her self-loathing and if she does anything stupid post-Liz & Dick fallout I am somewhat resposible.

I’m sorry.

Tumultuous day to say the least.


Okay back to the business of being busy but I hope you’ve enjoyed this post– one that the majority of I wrote directly following a Liz & Dick  drinking game last night. So, yeah, pretty tipsy.

Oh and I really do promise to be better about blogging. Truth is I have been writing LOTS lately just not here. Howevs, I solemly swear to give mah blog some TLC.

See yah again rahhheal soon, y’all.

Golden Birthday Adventure Wrap-Up: Goodbye South, Goodbye House

The time has come, my little friends, to talk of other things

Of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings…

Alice in Wonderland

I am the Walrus! No I’m not, just kidding. I is not the Walrus BUT I do love a little rhyme-time here and there and I thought the beginning of the Walrus’s poem from Alice in Wonderland was just way too apropos for this moment.

Because its true. Its time for me to wrap-up my little back down South adventure series and get back to blaggin’ about my usual nonsense. However, before we depart entirely (and trust me we are departing ENTIRELY in the next post featuring a little story about a trip I took to the Kardashian end-all-be-all Mecca aka their LA Dash store) I’d like to wrap up my ‘back down South’ adventure by sharing a few more precious moments.

No, not referring to the giftware collection of precious moments porcelain figurines. Think its safe to say I’m done with any small porcelain figurines for the time being…but YA’LL GET EXCITED FOR CHRISTMAS CLOWNVENTION 2K12.

I’m no expert but IS this moment really “precious”?

Anyway, on with the show! So once again, lets get cooky y’all.



Hanging with these two yahoos, Mumsie and Popsicle.

Not going home for 9 months is just the worst HOWEVER there are minor perks. Like my parents being so friggin’ excited to see me that they create a fun filled agenda of field trips and activities. They wore me out.



BECAUSE ITS SUPER MAGICAL AND DOES NOT HAPPEN IN CALIFORNIA. Basically its water that falls from the sky but Missygurl told me the technical term for it is “rain” and that she “is sick of putting up with it.”


Going to ‘Hokus Pokus Liquor.’ Okay, I’ve got to break this one down for you guys.

  1. ‘Hokus Pokus’ is spelled with K’s. For why? Well I don’t know but I like it Mr. Rebel Speller Liquor Shop Owner.
  2. The sign says to go here if you need a ‘Spiritual Advisor.’ Spiritual Advisor at a ‘spirits’ store? What a play on words! Once again, I like it Mr. Clever Liquor Shop Owner
  3. Is it just me or does the ‘ghost,’ with his arms spread out wide and his legs a-danglin’ so he is in the shape of, let’s just say a “T,” look familiar? What are you trying to tell me Mr. Liquor Shop Owner? Should I take this as a sign of some sort?
  4.  Whilst picking out a t-shirt to purchase (OBVIOUSLY GOTTA BUY THE T-SHIRT FROM HOKUS POKUS SPELLED WITH SOME Ks) an older and very tan lady with mousey blonde hair shooting off in every direction walked up to me and asked, “Do you work here or what?” I guess I’m going to go with “or what?” She seemed pissed and started muttering under her breath so obviously I took this opportunity to get out the old iPhone notes app and follow her around the store.

Does anyone work here?! Who works here!? You work here. Come here you. I need some help.

Ohhh yes ma’am. You said it, however, I think the liquor store is probably not where you’re going to find the kind of “help” you need. In fact, its probably exactly the opposite of where you’re going to find it.

She orders the liquor store cashier to follow her. She leads us to an aisle, starts pointing every which way then says…

Now listen. I don’t like coffee.

Good. Not a coffee shop ma’am. We are on the right track.

BUT I like coffee if it has liquor in it. Pacifically, tequila.

I’m sorry, Pacifically? Is this some sort of Tequila from the Pacific Ocean? And should I even begin to open up commentary on the fact that you’re mixing coffee (a drink you don’t like…) with tequila? So you’re basically just accessorizing your alcohol habit? No? Oh okay my bad. Please continue.

And I want a good tequila. I want one that works.


And I want one that comes in a good box and imma take that box home with me and I’m gunna use it at Chrismahtime to gift wrap some socks.

So we didn’t ask but thanks for volunteering that sock information because now we are super curious. The equally intrigued liquor store guy asks her what exactly does she mean when she says she is going to gift wrap socks in a tequila box.

It means exactly what I just said. I’m gunna put socks in this box and someone is gunna get it all gift wrapped at Chrismahtime and they going tah thinks its tequila but its not going tah be tequila its going tah be socks. I’m gunna deceive them.

Cue both myself and the liquor store guy doing the ole cocked head eye squint as we think this one through.

Then I get it and it all comes full circle. Hokus Pokus. Spirits. Witchcraft. ECETRA. She’s obviously a witch. A ‘deceiving’ witch, no less. And in that case, you go gurl! But please don’t attempt to operate a motor vehicle.

Stick to the broom, Hermoine.


Many-a-local telling me how horrible the Lafayette traffic is.

Good one, you guys. Hysterical, in fact, considering Los Angeles Traffic is killing me softly with his song.


While on the topic of driving… We all know my loyalties lie with her majesty, my BFF the Pretty Pretty Alien Princess Prius BUT it was pretty yahdorable when Missygurl introduced me to her new car, “Pretty Prius’s big sister the Toyota Venza of Venus.” So my mom not only joins in on the insanity but now we also have a family of cars from outerspace.

What did your mom do today?


Whilst getting my teeth cleaned getting asked where I went to school. I told her I went to ESA for high school and then Vanderbilt. The teeth cleaning lady said she didn’t know Vanderbilt was a boarding school.


I tell her its a college so, yeah, I guess in a way its kinda like a boarding school.

Her turn for a big ‘HUH?’

Sure enough, after much explaining on both her and my part, she had never heard of a university called ‘Vanderbilt’ (with a ‘R’) and thought I said I went to Vandebilt (no ‘R’) which is a Catholic high school in Thibodeaux, Louisiana and definitely not a boarding school.

Guys, I can’t even…I mean…But I already said I went to ESA for high school so why would I…So you thought I…But seriously, ya’ll…I mean…VANDERBILT IS IN THE FREAKING SEC.


Go Dores


Judice Inn. Yes, on my birthday too no less. I know not everyone will get this, heck I don’t even really get it, but these tiny, not necessarily super appetizing looking burgers from this tiny, hole-in-the-wall restaurant are magical. Sometimes I dream about eating them and then wake up and realize I’m 2,000+ miles away. And guess what? IN-N-OUT AIN’T GOT SHIT ON JUDICE INN.

Favorite meal. On my birthday. BOOM. DONE. COUNT IT.


Any and every time I got asked any of the following questions:

  • Does it REALLY never rain in California or are they just saying that?
  • Do you know any celebrities?
  • But just how poor are you?
  • Do you drive a Prius?
  • How big is your bedroom?
  • Does anyone out there eat Chick Fil A?
  • Do you know any homeless people?
  • Do you know anyone who has a marijuana card?
  • Do you know ANY Republicans?
  • How many asian people do you know?
  • Is everyone out there gay?
  • I bet you drive a Prius, don’t you?
  • Are you sure about this whole “California” thing?

And my favorite, “So when are you moving back?”


ALSO, just to be fair to my Louisianians, the Californians ask me some pretty ridiculous questions too. My favorite to date?

“Do you really like eating those little red roach things?”

Took me a while to figure out what exactly I was being asked but, yes, I do enjoy eating crawfish.


Going to a 10 PM movie with my best friend, Goose. Super excited when we arrive and see no one else in the theater. BUT SUPER BUMMED to see we are late and the movie already started. What’s a girl to do? Easy. Just go ask the theater to restart it. Tell them you’re in from California for just a few days, all you want to do is see this movie and ITS YOUR 24TH BIRTHDAY!

But didn’t you just show us a student ID from Vanderbilt in Tennessee?

Oh, you’ve heard of Vanderbilt?! Finally someone has heard of… NO WAIT THATS BESIDE THE POINT PLEASE JUST RESTART THE MOVIE FOR MY BIRTHDAY.

Dazzle, distract, make the movie lady forget about the Student ID fib.

She obliges. Goose and I enjoy a nice bottle of cabernet sauvignon I snuck into the movie via my oversized purse.

But then I fall asleep for the last 15 minutes of the movie. DAMNIT. FOILED AGAIN.

To be honest Gus and I were probably late for the movie because we were trying to teach Lincoln how to take selfies beforehand.



Got my eyes dilated. Pretended I was Gaga on the streets of Lafayette in the stunner shades the Optometrist provided me with.


Being a child again– aka not having to drive or pay for things or worry about the electricity bill running all day or any other nonsense adult things I have to put up with whilst being a nonsense adult thing in Los Angeles. However mother did keep me on my toes by making me do some manual labor and, keeping up the whole “Imma Kid Again” charade, I pitched a minor fit. Missygurl documented the event.

Fat dachshunds laughed at me.


Stopped by Lake Charles for a quick visit with my grandparents, affectionately referred to as Ganny and Podge.

Let me just say my Podge has always been a boss. Football coach turned principal and father of 4 has worked his entire life and now he just can’t stop. He tried retirement. It did not work. So where does he choose to spend his days? The funeral home.

Yes, the funeral home. Ohhh and he thinks its hilarious too. Makes jokes about how he is going to end up there one day anyway so he’s “just getting comfortable.” Anyways, he told me he was sitting in the back pew during a funeral service recently and a now middle aged man who had played on his football team back in the day walked up to him and said, “Coach Moore I thought you were already dead!” My grandfather decided this was a prime opportunity to play ‘Ghost of Football Coach Past.’

And you thought I was goofy.


Also while at my grandparents house I took the time to peruse some old photos and I have just one question.


Young Wilhelmina, left. Young Missygurl, right.

Guys. How in the world could Missygurl (aka my mother) let this haircut happen to me when she went through the same torture herself? It just doesn’t make sense.


My Louisiana sky, ya’ll.

I mean really.


Last but not least, we’re gunna get real y’all…

When my parents said they bought me a plane ticket home for my birthday I was ecstatic, HOWEVER, I soon found out that free trip home came with a twist. Mumsie and Popsicle wanted me back in Louisiana to not only celebrate my 24th year on Earth but also to pack up my worldly possessions.

Yup, they decided to move out of the house I grew up in and they needed me to prance on over from California so that I could go through my old stuff and put it in boxes. I see what you did there parents…even wooed me with first class plane tickets. Very. Clever.

Now we’re all adults here and I get it. It just doesn’t make sense for them to stay in the house. Its too big and they want to be able to travel more and be able to visit my sister and I more without being too tied down in Louisiana. Makes sense, right? I can be reasonable about them moving, right? I can totally be an adult about this decision, right?

Google Earthed my own house. That’s whats up.

Wrong again, Willy.

And here is the ridiculous part. Take a guess when it hit me that I was really saying goodbye to the house I grew up in.

Maybe when I was driving away for the last time?

Perhaps when I walked out the door for the last time?

When I packed the last box?

While I was taking one last photograph of my bedroom?


In true Queen Wilhelmina fashion it hit me whilst on the throne.

Yes, while peeing for the last time in the toilet of my youth. I just completely broke down.

Nothing like a good pee to get those emotions out, y’all.

So there I was…yes, number one-ing…and, yes, sobbing…in the bathroom of my childhood and my mother comes running up to my room because she hadn’t heard me cry like that since circa 96′ when I busted my chin open doing one legged “flamingo” spins on the freshly mopped flower store linoleum floor.

By the time she got upstairs I had taken the time to pull up my pants up and sprawl myself out on the floor of my bedroom. So really putting a dramatic spin on things, Missygurl found me face down and crying like a banshee.

And when she said (read: screamed over my sobbing), “What’s wrong, Mina?” I managed to turn over and really tell her how I was feeling. You know, really use my vocabulary.

“Its just that– MOMMMMMMM.”



Try again.

“Mommmmmm it just hit–and–”

Okay, champ, you got it this time.

“But MOOOOOOOMMMMMM this is the exact spot where…I grew up and MOOMMM… this is exactly where I was reading Harry Potter when Dummmmbblllleeedooore diiiiiieeeeeeeed.”

Yeah, so out of all the things I grew up doing in that house and out of all the memories and all the unforgettable times, the first thing that came to mind was that this is where I was when a fictional character died.

Sometimes I just don’t even understand…

But you know what homies? All said and done and sobbed and cried out, I don’t have to understand because I feel pretty great. Do you know what it feels like to be 24 years old, after years of practiced emotions and reigning it all in to “be cool” and then to just LET. IT. ALL. OUT?

I mean really cry like a toddler…?

I highly recommend it once in a while.

I think crying for the house was just an excuse to let go and let myself feel any and everything I was keeping pint up inside. Moreover, now that I’ve let it all out I’m okay with passing the house on to another family– hopefully one that will have as much fun as us Ross’s did.

And as if there was any question, we definitely had a ball.


So that’s it. Goodbye South. Goodbye House.

Back to wonderland.

The Golden Birthday Adventure Continues: CLOWN ON THE TOWN

The downside of moving away from home for college and then also career? Not a HUGE abundance of friends back home when I visit. But don’t go feeling sorry for me. I’m no Robin Williams circa 1996’s  Jack– the story of a man-child who lived closed off in his parents home and who the ‘real children’ of the town threw toy eyeballs at.


When I’m home I do get looks (but not toy eyeballs) thrown at me but I can kind of understand why people would take a second look at someone perusing the aisles of Target wearing a giant cat face shirt and sporting a massive topknot on toppa yah head.

AND I WILL admit to my lady-child status but, I, unlike Jack, am obviously not afraid to live outside the bounds of my parents’ home. I very much like to venture into the booming metropolis of Lafayette, Louisiana, see what the people are up to and make my own fun AND MY OWN DAMN FRIENDS. And I will tell you exactly how I managed to do so on my latest trip home but, first things first, we got to give my hometown a bit more credit then I’ve been giving it of late. So just for one minute pretend I’m Adele and I’m singing Hometown Glory.

See I just went ahead and made that super easy for you to imagine.

“Rooooooooounnnnnd my HOOOOOOOMMMMMETOOOOWNNN.” – Me as Adele

In all honesty Lafayette really is a fascinating place. It’s full of culture and ambition and music and ideas and even some deep Southern thinkers of the Faulkner and Harper Lee variety. Its a whole different level of realness than whats found outside our parish limits.

Granted, Swamp People is also filmed a mere 30 minutes from my home but what can I say? Win some, lose some and then you “choot em’.”


Despite all that good Cajun culture and food for some strange reason one of the HOT SPOTS to be on any given Friday night in Lafayette is a Mexican restaurant called La Fondas. But here’s the thing about La Ronda’s and if no one else will, I’ll say it- the food at La Fah is NOT SO GOOD. So why then do the fine people of Lafayette hit this establishment week after week?

Umm hellur my friends, we’re talking about South Louisiana here. Alcohol. And La Fondues SO kills it in the ‘beverages’ part of their business.

In fact, growing up I had always heard about a famed drink called a mix-up or a halfsies or a twirly whirls or a two colored or something like that. Whatever. I just remember thinking of it as the ‘Red and White’ and hearing it was so magical that you had to be real careful in its presence or it would ‘KNOCK YAH FLAT ON DAH FLO.’

The other thing La Fondies is famed for are the birthday clowns. Say what white gurl? Yeah, I know but hear me out. When you celebrate your birthday at La Fondly’s they always give you a small, adorable and somewhat frightening porcelain clown along with your birthday cake. I really don’t question it. You do your thing La Fonzies and I’ll do mine.

AND YOU KNOW WHAT I DECIDED MY THING WAS GOING TO BE FOR MY 24TH BIRTHDAY DINNER?! YOUR THING, LA JANE FONDAS, YOUR THING. Plans were made to hit La Fondness with my mumsie and popsicle, my second famsies (Mimi and Robert) and, last but certainly not least, THE GREATEST GOOSE IN THE WORLD (Gus). Before we peaced out Mom warned me that I might be overwhelmed by how many people frequent La Donda on a Friday but I figured it would probably be no big thing.

How’d it all go down? Was I overwhelmed? Did I get a clown? Did I get a ‘Red and White’? Well its all kinda blurry BUT THANK MIRACLE BABY JESUS FOR iPhones. Amiright or amiright? Found some pictures the next morning.

So here we go, kiddos. The Search for the Great “Red and White” Begins at the Ross House:

We’re off to a usual start: Gus arrives at the Ross abode. I attempt to frighten him. Gus is not entertained. Missy cannot focus a camera.

Promptly depart (false). Arrive to La Fonderella’s on time (false). Gus still not entertained (true).

Realize Missygurl was not-a-jokin when she said La Fondue would be ‘full of people.’ Overwhelmed. Avoid eye contact.

Maybe there really weren’t that many people there but who knows BECAUSE THE WALLS ARE PAINTED FULL OF FACES TOO. ITS DECEIVING, YOU GUYS.

Must stay focused on the task at hand– putting the myth to rest aka finding the great and powerful ‘Red and White.’

Turns out not to be that hard…




And just like that I’m no longer overwhelmed. Totes making eye-contact and even venture into actually speaking with other human beings. AND THERE ARE JUST SO MANY. Some I recognize from my past as a deviant child, some probably just from Facebook. Point is, I’m feelin’ it, ya’ll. Back down South with my people, ya’ll.

The notorious Keebler of my youth joins the party which, just in case there’s doubt, is now officially in full swing. Gus has become somewhat entertained.


And then like the fat kid I am, my birth is not celebrated with a cake but with a small chocolate mousse. And apparently you can only have one of those little clown men if you order a cake…

“CALL ME AFTER YOU START A REAL WORKOUT REGIME.” -Cake (the food, not the band)


Cannot contain my excitement. All children in vicinity now fear me.

The usual suspects MAKE. IT. HAPPEN.– Missygurl and Mimi got me a clown.

Remember that episode of Honey Boo Boo Child (the voice of a generation) when HBB was given her pet pig, Glitzy– “the best gay boy pageant pig ever” that she “hope mamma don’t eat, because mamma eat everything. she fat.”? Oh you’re not watching Honey Boo Boo Child? THEN YOU’RE NOT LIVING. THAT CHILD IS BRILLIANT. But the point is, it was just like when HBB got her Glitzy gay boy pageant pig. SO. EXCITED. He can even be my version of Glitzy, the best gay boy pageant porcelain La Fonda’s clown ever if he wants to.

(He wants to)

Best friendship ensues. I provide him a comfortable home in my clutch.

One more ‘Red and White’ later and Porcelain (the Gay Boy Pageant Clown) peeks out of his home to make a point.

“Yo gurl. Its your Golden Birthday. Why are we going home? Let’s hit the town.”

Porcelain devises plan to stop at, ‘Corner Bar.’

I confer with my cohorts and we all agree. We need to go big. #YOLO, right?

So that’s how it happened and here it is my frands. The real excitement of the evening. THE ADVENTURES OF CLOWN ON THE TOWN.

Lets get cooky.

Keebler and I sing to Porcelain once en route to the bar. Clown on the Town LOVES IT/CLAPS ALONG WITH THE BEAT.

Clown on the Town makes grand entrance at Corner Bar. But believe it or not, I make grander entrance as the girl carrying, taking photos of and speaking to a small toy clown.

Clown on the Town attempts to order a drink but cannot get bartender’s attention. I don’t tell him I think his short stature is to blame because I once read in Cosmo that men don’t like being told they are short (I’m sure this theory applies to short toy clown men, as well).


Clown on the Town’s next move proves to me that he really is my kind of people.

Can’t get bartender’s attention? That’s fine. Clown on the Town becomes his own bartender.

Gin and Tonic, please Sir.

Confirmed. Clown on Town makes attempt but has no game with the ladies. Resigns to the life I have given him as my very own ‘gay boy pageant porcelain clown.’ Glitzy and Honey Boo Boo OFFICIALLY have competition.

gAy for effort my little friend.

Grappling with his new sexual identity C on the T would like another Gin and Tonic, puh-lease.

Clown on the Town hearts the G & Ts.


Loving life and fully embracing ‘gay boy pageant clown’ status, Porcelain the now fabulous Clown on the Town adopts Missygurl as his Best Gurlfrand. Like any good gay boy pageant clown, Porcelain encourages Missy to “WORK IT GURL.”

Unzips Missygurl’s top in effort to add, “sass factor.”

Clown on the Town decides some tunes are in order but becomes VERY UPSET when he can not find the dance club remix of, “Send in the Clowns.”

I don’t know what to tell you.

I promise him that we can watch Barbara Streisand’s live performances on YouTube when we get home. He is appeased.

Further distract Clown on the Town from jukebox disappointment by telling him all about sistahgurl, Emily, up in NYC.

Unbeknownst to me as I share “The Best of Emily” stories with Clown on the Town, we gain our first admirer (see: background, button up shirt, victim of camera flash red eyes).
Gus still not at my level of entertained.

Clown on the Town steals my phone. Drunk texts Emily.


Clown on the Town adventures to Keebler’s chest.


Still a gay boy pageant clown and decides he would much rather get the dish from Mimi.


Uh oh. Time to break the seal. Just hope no one minds my tiny boyfrand joining me in the ladies’ bathroom.

Good news. Bathroom empty. Clown on the Town takes this opportunity to request a quick mirror picture tutorial. SELFIE LESSON!

I oblige. We werqs it.

Can’t decide if we are more vain than Kimye (Kim Kardashian and Kanye)? Tough call

A kind citizen of Lafayette recognizes that it is, in fact, my day of birth. Buys me a drink. Clown on the Town says its “our drink.” Forced sharing.

Good thing I’m nice.

The ‘adults’ decide its their bedtime but before they leave the ‘children’ (and clown) to our own devices Robert offers his law services based on where it looks like our night is heading. We promise to make an effort to not get in trouble.

“The best kind of friend is the kind that will defend you in court.” -Clown on the Town

Don and Missy also reiterate that Clown on the Town needs to behave himself.


But then Don sneaks in a high-five, reminds us to #YOLO and promises to pick us up at the end of our shenanigans.




Opts for riding dirty down the boulevard instead. Good second choice.

Do. your. thing.

We arrive at our second Lo-cal and the door guy takes no time letting me know I am insane.

“Thank you for the compliment and can you please provide a wristband for my toy clown too.”

He obliges. Giggles.

Clown on the Town is good to go for Round 2!

Once inside, Clown on the Town makes a few friends and INSISTS on buying the next round.


So apparently Clown on the Town allows me to treat everyone.


Bartender. Again.

Tries cigarettes for the first time.

Goose advises against cigs.




Clown on the Town thinks this is hilarious…

Also hilarious? KARMA.


Gus holds Porcelain’s hair back.

BUT DON’T WORRY GUYS. Clown on the Town rallies and heads back to the bar to make more friends.

I honestly have no idea who this man is.

Then things get a little out of hand…

Clown on the Town puts my shoes on.

First my credit card now my shoes?

Clown on the Town tries to kiss me.

I oblige.

Gus? Not so much.

Still homies though.

And they look damn good.

But then Clown on the Town face-plants.

You’re cut off buddy.

Time to go home but we have somehow been locked out.


So what are we suppose to do?

3:00 am dachshund playtime, of course.

Ridin’ dirty again.

“Mad at me? Am I in the doghouse?”


Discover we broke Clown on the Town’s foot. Gus and I feel horrible.

But then Clown on the Town requests tour of Emily’s bedroom– his idol and future best friend.

Gus obliges to make Porcelain feel better about the foot thing.

Swinging from trees.



What the frig?


But then later finds Gus again and claims to be too scared of the other clowns to sleep in Mimzy’s room.


Next Morning. Hates life. Loves coffee.

And I think its safe to say I am done with Clown on the Town or any clowns for that matter.

…or maybe just beginning?

Time will tell. Maybe next time I am in town and need to entertain myself?

Just a brainstorm: “Send in the Clowns” Christmas 2k12. Christmas Clowns on the Town 2k12. Clowncon 2k12. Christmaclownmas 2k12. Clownvention 2k12. La Clowndas Does Christmas. Clownristmas. Clownventure. Clowntimes.
Yeah, think I’m done. Gunna end it on ‘Clowntimes.’ Great ideas.


The Golden Birthday Adventure Begins: A Trippy Trip Through The Airports

Well gyns, what can I say? Its my muther-effing birthday.

And, yeah, I’m rolling into 24 like a boss– or much better than I rolled into 23, anyway. But thats mostly just because I was kinda fat last year.

Good news gorillas: 24 is a skinnier year thus far. Whooooo-WHOOOOOOOOOP.

Bad news barracudas: 25 is definitely looking like I’m going to revert back to fat. I’ve had no less than 4 S-bucks cake pops and 2 non-non-fat caramel lattes this morning. Whatever,  its a rotational system of fat years and skinny years, happy years and sad years, single years and marriage potential years, blacking out my mirrors years and taking clavicle popping mirror selfies years.


This year being my golden birthday (24 on the 24th, try to keep up) I decided I deserved something I really wanted and I could think of nothing I wanted more than to spend some Q-time with dear old mummsies and poopsicles.


So I hopped on a plane at LAX with my… yeah, sorrz, I won’t go there. Miley Cyrus teen supah star throwbacks aside, I did hop on a plane Wednesday night to take the red-eye back down south. Howevs, quite out of character, I was feeling some anxiety about the flight and consulted my local LA doctor for some advice and in typical LA doc fashion, boy did he give me some ‘advice.’ Miley Cyrus still a teen but with peroxide butch haircut references not aside, I took one xanax.


Yeah, haters gunna hate but it was my first time and a FREAKING DOCTOR TOLD ME TO. If you have a prob with that you can just get over it, yahdogs. It was a one time deal. Trust me on that, and here’s why:

This is what I remember. Arriving at LAX. Deciding it would be fun to wear sunglasses, look towards the ground and answer any and all questions with as few words as possible so as to appear famous. Sitting in my seat on a plane to Houston (yeah, the booming metropolis of Lafayette, Louisiana does not yet provide overnight direct flights to and fro) and then a stewardess coming by and tapping me on the shoulder and telling me it was my turn to “deplane.” Okay first of all, “DEPLANE” is not a freaking word and second, seriously, WHAT. THE. FOCK. Didn’t I just sit down?

Nope. I have no recollection of ever being in the air and I very well might have apparated like a Harry-Potter-boss and just don’t even remember casting the spell.

What’s going on here, Hairs?

So then I found myself in the Houston airport and I had about 1 hour before my flight home started boarding. Let me just say that was a hazy hour. Walking, alone, was a challenge. I just kinda propped myself against the wall as I walked down the hallways. AND THERE WERE SO MANY HALLWAYS. SO MANY LETTERS. SO MANY TERMINALS. And it just so happened that my fantasy-island-definitely-not-up-to-safety-codes “plane” was located at gate B-84-K. Um, I’m sorry, what? Can one of the golf carts just take me there? Oh wait guess what guys. The golf carts with the people yelling COMING THROUGH do not COME THROUGH FOR YOU AT 3 IN THE MORNING WHEN YOU’RE “A LITTLE DIZZY.”

But my smartz prevailed through the haze of my drug-induced situation and after a train ride in the wrong direction and then one in the right direction I finally found the terminal. But at this point I’m wiggin’ out like the immigrant character that is Tom Hanks in the terminal. What language are you people speaking? How do I get to the other side? What is ‘american dollar’? Can I paint something? Oh and mind you, I’m still proppin’ myself up against walls.

We iz just like some lost Polish speaking puppies, right Tomsies?

For me, finding my gate was like when Michael Phelps won his 40th Olympic gold medal– mostly meaning I beat my chest and howled. Victory was mine.


And then disaster struck. Of course of course of course.

A gentleman of the country decided to take it upon himself to join me. One second I’m muttering the prologue of The Canterbury Tales to stay awake (yeah, I still know it and in friggin’ Middle English, no less) and the next thing I know there’s just this dude sitting next to me. OUT OF NOWHERE. I did not see him coming. What DID I see? His tribal tatoos (yes, plural), various patterns of camouflage on various pieces of his ensemble, a bedazzled belt buckle and a hefty wad of tobac he was making no attempts to conceal or even keep from kinda sorta falling out of the side of his mouth piece by disgusting piece.

I’m sorry did you need something from me? Theres no way you’re possibly over here to ‘chat me up,’ right? I mean let’s review: its 3 in the morning, I’m rockin’ a top knot like I’m smuggling a family of squirrels up there, no make up, a shirt bearing an oversized cat face, I’m muttering what probably sounds like she-devil speak under my breath and OH YEAH, I’M OUT OF MY MIND ON THE XANAX. All good things, ya’ll, all good things.


Alas, my new companion tells me “he recognizes me from somewhere.” I ask him where he’s from. He tells me he lives in North Louisiana (East Texas) and then he tells me a few more details about himself and his past. I put the pieces together and realize we were not in high school at the same time so we couldn’t have seen each other at any sort of high school sporting competitions or student council bonanzas, “he don’t get to Lafayette that often,” and “he never been west-a-Texas.” So yeah, I don’t know this dude. AND THEN IT HITS ME.


Does homeboi “recognize me” from the only other place I let my light shine? The televisions? The three times this spring I was on the show for seven second increments?

Werqs it.

No, this is too good to be true. This “never been west-a-Texas,” toe-bac chewin’, bedazzled belt lovin’ man could not possibly be a fan of Kathy, right?! Or even a Bravo watcher, right?! Do I even ask? Maybe it’ll be better to just let this live in infamy– I can just assume he does, in fact, recognize me from the show and is, in fact, a KG fan. And then I’ll forever remember him as the very southern, very straight open-minded gentleman that loves our gurl.

Self control aside since the day I was born, I ask.

“Do you know who Kathy Griffin is? Or have you seen her talk show?”

Wait for it…

“Someone gave that red-headed bitch her own gah-damn talk show?”

Glad we cleared that up.

Yup, they sure did and ITS AWESOME, THANKS.

Then we cleared up a few other things. He wanted to talk politics. He told me not to “lose it to the liberals outta ways out there in Cali-forn-knee-yah” (too many syllables, hombre). He had a few other choice comments and then went off on a 30 minute history of his life. Thank god, cause I was super curious… It was really a short history though. Definitely didn’t require the full 30 minutes but I think he had a flair for embellishing a bit. All good things, ya’ll, all good things.

So then finally I was saved, as if God himself was speaking through the airport intercom. It was time for me to get on the plane and my new friend was NOT on my flight. But, always mindful of being cordial despite any other ‘issues,’ I turn to this man and say, “nice to meet you, have a nice trip.” And when doing so I finally noticed what was going on here…

His eyes were at half-mast and supah blood shot. And down below the sockets was some blimp sized puffiness. Very clear to me now. My new friend was ALSO having a bout with some “doctor’s advice.” Howevs, I do not think we were rolling in the same deep if you know what I’m saying. If you don’t know what I’m saying let me just spell it out for you– I took one xanax on my doctor’s orders for flight anxiety. I’m thinking this guy took a bottle of xanax on top of some meth on top of some alcohol on top of some red-bull on his own advice. One more time: all good things, ya’ll, all good things.

But whatever. I say goodbye and turn to leave but then he asks, “can I get your number?”

“No I don’t think that’s really going to work out.”

“Well can I at least Facebook you. I just posted a bunch of pictures of this huge-ass rattlesnake I killed while digging a pipeline. I cut off its rattler and am keeping it in a jar.”


Guys. Lets just listen here and now. What’s my number one deal breaker? Snakes, ya’ll. (See Post RE: GIANT SNAKES ROAMING AROUND LOS ANGELES)

He begins scrolling through his phone to pull up a picture of said “rattler.” Hazy but not stupid I see what he’s doing, tell him “don’t bother I’ll see it on facebook,” and also say “look me up, my name is Willy Jones” (which technically is a half-truth because Willy is a variation on Wilhelmina but, really, Willy Jones is all I could comes up with on the spot? Yet somehow he believed me…?). Then I got the FACK out of dodge.

I hope he has a long and fulfilling Facebook friendship with any and all Willy Joneses he so chooses to friend.

Good luck you guys!

Basically it was a, “you had me at hello” situation but only, “you lost me when you called my boss a bitch” or maybe just at the bedazzled belt or maybe when you told me you life long dream was to win “at least just one MMA match” in your backyard.

So then I got home. MISSYGURL and Don fed me real Louisiana food and my taste buds were all like, “hey yo Mina, you’ve deprived us in California, yahbetch.”

You just haven’t lived until you’ve tried the boudin eggs benedict smothered in gumbo from French Press in downtown Lafayette.

I finally got to see my pups, yelled at my father for over-feeding them (supes fat little wiener dogs) and I introduced them to the dog-face shirt that I wear in their honor.

For my next magic trick my lovely assistant Don will be hoisting overfed Dachshunds in the air whilst I introduce them to the big guy.

And now its my birthday and I’m going to go eat some cheeseburgers.

Peace out, ya’ll. And seriously thanks for the bday wishes. My only birthday wish is for everyone everywhere to stop using the comic sans font. Thank you.

The most melancholic dachshund, Lincoln, and I will be sharing this bottle of red later.


P.S. Seriously don’t worry about the X. Over it. And I mean that. Not kidding. Really. Seriously. Like legitimately. Like legitimately seriously. Actually. Not lying. Nor kidding. Nor ‘joking around.’ I’m serious. Seriously.

Justifying My Cheating Ways: A NEW Sister Adventure!

Hey gurlfrands. No I did not hop in my spaceship and visit my people up in the outer realms. Though it may appear that I did just that due to my extended absence. I’M SORRY. I’ve had unexpected and exciting projects fall in my lap and I kinda sorta neglected everything else. Actually, one of the other projects is a blog. So in a way I was kinda cheating on my main squeeze, BUT THAT DOES NOT MAKE CHEATING OKAY, KSTEW. AND, YES, I DON’T EVEN UNDERSTAND WHY I CARE BUT I CARE AND YOU BROKE MY HEART WHEN YOU BROKE HIS AND IF HE NEEDS ME I’M HERE FOR HIM THAT’S ALL.

A very recent photo of Emily and I.

So if you didn’t already know, I have a sister, Emily. She is only 14 months older than me but like way way way cooler. She lives in New York City, works in fashion, is blonde and is generally a pretty great girl. But Emily, not unlike myself, is very career focused at this point in her life and therefore doesn’t have all the time in the world to call me and catch up on the phone for hours at end or even minutes. The whole I’m in LA and shes in New York and there’s a three hour time difference doesn’t really help either. So we weren’t the best communicators and therefore sisters for a while there.

Time Zones, ya’ll.

OH AND DON’T YOU KNOW OUR MOTHER LET US KNOW IT. Missygurl, conventionally known as ‘Mom,’ was actually really sad that Emily and I weren’t talking to each other very often. She thought we were drifting apart and losing sight of how important it is to cherish our sisterhood (sistership?). AND YOU KNOW WHAT, MISSYGURL WAS RIGHT. THAT IS SOME SADNESS.

Mother. Happier times.

But here’s the thing. Just because Emily and I recognized we were drifting apart as sisters doesn’t mean we suddenly had free schedules and no time difference to deal with. Work was still present and last time I checked the whole EST/PST thing exists.

AND THEN IT HIT ME. A MOMENT OF GENIUS. A WAY TO STAY CONNECTED AND APPEASE MISSYGURL AND THEN PROBABLY EVEN MORE. My sister and I set up a place where we share daily “show me yours, I’ll show you mine” posts– everything from ‘What’s in your wallet?’ to ‘How do you make your bun full and fluffy?’ comparisons (PS– Emily actually hides a sponge inside of her bun. MIND BLOWN).

It is a way for us to peek into each others’ lives, get sisterly advice and stay connected. What I find even cooler is that with her being in NYC and me in LA, its a fun way for us to see the similarities and differences for workin’ gurls trying to “make it” in the Nation’s two largest cities.

The new shared Ross Sisters blog has also led us to amazing discoveries. Like how we both wear giant animal face t-shirts to bed, AND WE HAD NO IDEA UNTIL THE BLOG.

And, yeah, when we both have to work on a Saturday it’s no fun but at least yahdorable dresses are. Style sharing!

SO ANYWAYS, on Fridays Emily and I always like to kick it old school and do a little thing we call ‘Flashback Fridays.’ Its the time for us to talk about the good old days. I was writing last weeks ‘Flashback Friday’ when it occured to me that I was neglecting/cheating on HereSheGoesAgain.


Another recent photo of Emily and I.


W : LA : Flashback Friday

Who zones out while pulling a very cheaply made $3 razor across their skin? Me, of course. In a rush at the drug store and not willing to wait for the cashier to unlock a Venus Embrace from behind the bulletproof case that apparently razors are now kept in at drugstores…I decided to just grab what was easiest. Which happened to be a $3 off brand MENS razor. Sometimes I’m smart but other times I’m just plain genius.

This next move I file in the ‘sheer brilliance’ category. Speed showering so as not to miss the beginning of the US gymnastic team’s all around finals– which mind you I HAD already watched the highlight reel earlier in the day on YouTube so there was really NO POINT AT ALL for me to rush seeing as I ALREADY KNEW WHAT HAPPENED, ALREADY PATRIOTICALLY SHED TEARS OVER THE OUTCOME– I decided to forgo shaving cream and just give my legs a once over with my new $3 razor. Turned out badly. Like if Edward Scissorhands tried to caress my legs badly.

Another memory of note: the time I put the Edward Scissorhands VHS under the wheel of mom’s car because I was just so scared of the movie and WANTED IT TO GO AWAY.

To add insult to injury (quite literally), I ignored the blood-letting and continued on to my armpits. Sorry if you get squirmish at the mention of shaving armpits because “its gross” but get over it because EVERYONE DOES IT AND IF YOU DON’T GUUUURL, FIX YO SELF. Anyway, I MUST HAVE REALLY NOT BEEN PAYING ATTENTION because my hairs (head hairs) had squiggled on down to armpit territory and I just kept on shaving and not giving enough of a damn to pay attention to the fact that I was shaving 2 inches of hair out of my armpit. I did not in fact miracle grow my armpits, nor is two inches of Tracy Chapman style armpit hair normal for me– so why I kept going for a good ten seconds despite seeing the hair falling to the floor IS BEYOND ME. So gone it was. Two inches off the bottom of a good chuck of hair on the right side of my head.

Not even 1% as fierce as this.

NOW REWIND: Remember that one time Ms. Elaine was babysitting us in the old house on East Bayou Parkway and I CONSCIOUSLY decided to become my own hairdresser. I hid under my bed with my plastic crayola scissors made miniature for children’s hands and freed myself of mostly all of the hair on, yes, the right side of my head. At least I’m consistent.

Turns out these are not ideal for hair cutting.

I then hid my former hair underneath my bed and proceeded to go about my business playing beanie baby zoo. I know, right? How very out of character for me to not immediately seek out any and all people within the vicinity so that I could show off my new look?

But that’s alright, I didn’t have to wait long for the people to come to me and I have you to thank for that, dearest sister. So completely wrapped up in the soap-opera-esque drama of my beanie baby zoo and thinking you were otherwise preoccupied making Spice Girl friendship bracelets, I didn’t even notice you were in my room, hovering over me, jaw dropped. But you were. You finally managed to make your presence known doing what any older sister who has just happened upon her younger sister in a completely embarrassing situation would do– you laughed.

“What?” I squeaked in my six year old voice– so high pitched only dogs and people under the age of 18 can hear.

But you don’t answer. Instead you turn on your heels and set out on a mission. I was too wrapped up in the unfolding dialogue between Squealer The Pink Pig and Princess Diana of Whales Comemorative Beanie Baby Bear to care about you and what I thought was a pressing matter in your Spice Girl bracelet agenda.

Aren’t these suppose to be worth like $1,000 now? Wasn’t that the whole point?

But then you return. And with Ms. Elaine. Don’t you remember? Her jaw also dropped. And then she began yelling at me. I vehemently denied any knowledge of any hair cutting situation in the house much less my own. But then the pressure got to me. Ms. Elaine could be just like Stabler in the interrogation room on Law and Order: SVU. AND I was SO determined not to break.

I eventually admitted to cutting the hair of one of my American Girl dolls– probably Samantha because I had just received the Mexican-American Josephine doll for Christmas and Caucasian American Girl dolls were so last Christmas so it was totally okay for me to give Samantha a snip.

Bad lie.

Here’s the thing though. The shower armpit shaving incident cost me about 2 inches and a quarter of a handful of hair. Back in the day with my crayola children’s scissors I cut off about 6 inches and THREE HANDFULS of hair. American girl dolls are not blessed with hair of such divine thickness. So unless the lie I was trying to get out of was that I cut twenty two American Girls Dolls hairs, there was no way that hair belonged to any dollies. Foiled.


“What do you mean? My hair always looks like this.”

No, no it does not.

I don’t know what was worse me actually cutting off half of my hairs or me so adamantly denying and lying about cutting off half of my hairs? No, actually, you know what was the worst part? The way I looked. Sistergurl, you remember don’t you? It was so short yet so thick that it ended up just being a poofy immobile hair mushroom helmet thing. And you and I both know that Louisiana humidity DID NOT help the situation. I distinctly remember getting called Darth Vader Monday at school following me “cutting my American Girl doll’s hair.”

This was actually a few months after the incident when “things were getting back to normal.” Beautiful.

I don’t even want to rehash what happened when the truth came out at home. Missygurl and Don WERE. NOT. HAPPY.

Oh nostalgia. Childhood memories of you semi throwing me under the bus for your own entertainment. Don’t you worry though, now I just embarrass myself as a twenty three year old “grown” woman who can’t properly shave her armpit.

Okay, later gater. I just came up with a great Beanie Baby zoo plot line and now I’ve got miniature cages to build.

Girl on Girls: How HBO’s ‘Girls’ Cured My Saturday Morning Moral Hangover (Review)

I’ll preface the ridiculousness that is about to unfold just by saying that I know its ridiculous and you should know that for the most part I am ridiculous. In general if you are reading my blag you should just go into every post prepared for the ridic.

You know what else is ridiculous? Lena Dunham and all her success at the ripe age of 26. I wanted so badly to hate her and I really tried to hate her, too. Obviously it was hate (or attempted hate) born out of jealousy over the fact that she is ‘making it’ as the creator, executive producer and star of her own television show, Girls.

Bitter, much? Yes.

HBO Girls Lena Dunham Promotional Poster

But try and fail, I cannot hate Lena. How could I after seeing her show that, in my humble opinion as a 20 something broke yet inspired creative young thing, speaks so well to the generation of 20 something broke yet inspired creative young things?

Quick turn around, right? Let’s rewind.

The hate stopped this weekend and definitely turned into love when I finally sat down and watched Girls. After a Friday night where I spent a good chunk of my rent check on tablespoon sized helpings of cocktails “crafted by mixologists” at a overrated bar that severely underwhelmed but where poor decisions ensued, I spent all of Saturday in bed eating greasy food and nursing both an alcohol gifted hangover as well as a moral hangover.

I’m not saying but I’m saying…think this kind of crowd for my Friday night.

But don’t you guys worry about judging me because I totally got that covered and am already judging myself enough for all of us.

While hiding from greater society on Saturday I decided to watch some online TV until I could fall asleep and start anew on Sunday.

First I watched Dawson’s Creek season four for about five episodes but then cut that short because I couldn’t handle watching Katie Holmes’s mouth move any more (Anybody else? Katie Homes- weirdest talker ever or weirdest talker ever?).

No, I’m sorry, she never stops with the weird talking thing. Just try to get over it.

And then I finally succumbed. All my friends had been talking about how great Girls is for weeks and, out of bitter jealousy, I had been vehemently preaching against the show and Lena Dunham and all her stupid success for weeks. But now, alone and in the privacy of my hangover cave, I decided to watch the first episode and see what the fuss was about. Then I watched the second episode and every episode after that because I could not. stop. watching.

And just like that my moral hangover was abated by my new friends Hannah, Marnie, Jessa and Shoshanna. They comforted me. I’m totes not alone in this 23 year old not always making great decisions thing (True, I guess I sorta already knew that but this was just particularly affirming). It was like someone else was there in my hangover cave telling me, “yo kid, its okay. We are young and we make mistakes but more importantly we are out there doin’ it big.”

AND OF COURSE  of course of course watching Girls inspires one to pull the old SATC game and pick which character we are most like (i.e. I’m a Carrie, you’re a Charlotte and, you slut, are a Miranda).

Don’t worry, I won’t hate.

“I think I am definitely most like Marnie because we have the same put together fashion sense and are really hard workers BUT I do not have her weird commitment issues.”

Herrrrrrro Type-A!

“I’m super friendly and easy to talk to like Shoshanna BUT less naïve.”

Super excited for whats in store for Shoshanna.

“I am such a Jessa! Such a free spirit, creative and out there and can relate to all the other girls at the same time BUT I’m not as lost as she is.”

Have mixed feelings of envy and concern towards Jessa.

“I’m like Hannah in that we are both aspiring writers but OBVIOUSLY I am not flawed with her people pleasing insecurities.”

Yo gurl, don’t let anyone pee on you in the shower.

BUT GALS. I don’t think Girls is really all that much like the SATC game in that you can’t really only be ONE of the girls of Girls. In fact, Girls gets it so good that I am now of the opinion that Hannah, Marnie, Jessa and Soshanna COLLECTIVELY represent the spirit animal of twenty something inspired but broke creative young thangs  across the nation—all trying to find success in their passions AND ALSO trying to have some resemblance of a social life AND ALSO trying to pay rent.

Do you think Spirit Animals are kinda like Patronus (Patroni?)? I do!

I for one think I’m some weird combination of all dem girls. I like to tell myself I have all of their strengths but I know the truth is I probably more likely have all of their flaws. Like I said, its a collective spirit animal smorgasbord. Point is, they’re pretty real-life-ish and pretty relatable-ish and Lena Dunham & co nailed it. Just give it a shot if you haven’t already. Besides, spirit animals are totally in right now.

So by the time I passed out on Saturday it was already infinitely better than my Friday. But you wanna know what was even better? My Sunday morning. Why? Because I dreamed about Adam from Girls.


I’ve always dreamed of writing for and being involved with something great like Hello Giggles and NOW I AM so dreams really do come true. That being said, I now expect Adam from Girls to weld me a table in real life just like he did in this crazy dream. CHECK IT OUT, YA’LL.

Moral of the story- sometimes a gal needs a night eating greasy food and watching Girls by herself. And those kinds of Saturday nights are much better than Friday nights drinking overpriced Thumbelina sized cocktails.

Also clear? No reason to be jealous of Lena. Girlfriend is good at making television and at deceiving me into thinking four characters on television are my real life friends (okay that part is depressing).