How to Find What You’re Most Thankful For With Horse Drawing

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and as I move toward the holiday, I am somewhat ashamed about how much I complain.

Most of this blog is me complaining about one thing or another – though mostly about myself. It makes me wonder if as a twentysomething, have I lost my ability to see the promise in something?

As I was walking back to the office from Safeway this afternoon, I brought up my childhood dream to my co-workers. As a five-year-old, I had known in my heart of hearts that I would someday be a draw-er.

I didn’t use the term “artist” because I would not paint or take pictures (two things I love to do now). Instead I referred to my chosen career path as a “draw-er”.

Yes. I would say “I am going to be a draw-er when I grow up.”

Nobody ever knew what I was talking about so I would have to explain it to them.

“I am going to draw pictures.”

Most of the pictures I drew were of horses since that is what I was most passionate about at the age of five and what I thought would make the most beautiful pieces of art.

I believed all the way to the deepest embers of my soul that I would draw beautiful pictures of horses and that these drawings would sail me through life without a care. I am almost 100% sure that for the first ten years of my life all I asked for for Christmas was paper…pads of drawing paper. Year after year. Nothing else.

Needless to say- my parents were stoked.

There wasn’t a spot of doubt in my mind that when people saw my drawings of horses they would need them.

At five I would have bought every drawing of a horse I could and so, of course, I knew the rest of the world would too.

I vividly remember my mother breaking the news to me that artists didn’t often make much money and that I should maybe consider doing something else with my life.

I was furious. NO, mom. You don’t know what you’re talking about. My drawings are going to be good. They’re going to show every wrinkle, every hair, every light in a pony’s eye. Mom, you don’t know anything. No one will be able to walk away from one of my horse drawings!

I think back on those times now and smile crookedly at them. I realize she was right. It is INCREDIBLY difficult to make it as an artist – especially if said artist only chooses one medium and one subject to work with… and that subject is horses…horse heads to be exact since I could never truly master the bodies…

But at the same time there is a twinge at the corner of my heart that rejects the practical lectures of my brain.

Goddamn it! If I could believe in ANYTHING as much as I believed in my childhood dream of being a horse portraitest…

Instead, I am constantly consumed by thoughts of well…is this something that will pay me money? What can I do to make this more of a consumer product? Is this a stable career choice?

This Thanksgiving I want to really think about what it is that makes me feel like that five-year-old. What do I have in my life that I am so in love with that I would tell my mother that she was wrong, that I am a true and talented horse draw-er, and that if I was left with nothing else

it would be enough.

It’s scary to think about and I’m not sure what it is yet.

But I’m sure I’ll find out some day and I’m thankful for that.


My Crazy Christmas Obsession

Here’s the thing.

I love Hallmark Channel Original made-for-tv Christmas movies

Yep. Those horrible, corny, I will probably have to read Tolstoy and Joyce after this just to make sure my brain still works, Made for TV movies. I CAN’T GET ENOUGH. AND just today I’ve added Lifetime made for TV christmas movies to my repository.

I love them so much I record them on my DVR.

I love them so much that I have favorites.

Love at the Thanksgiving Day Parade. Golden. That one is definitely recorded and I live in constant fear that my sane roommates are going to find it and delete it from our DVR.

What is it about these movies that bring me such cheer?

  1. I can fall asleep during one movie and wake up during another without being confused AT ALL about what happened during either.
  2. The actors and actresses all seem to look the same in every movie (though I’m 99% sure they’re played by different people).
  3. Aaron Samuels of Mean Girls was starring in one of the movies I watched today.
  4. This was the photographer in the other. Rauge.
  5. I can ALWAYS count on mistletoe to make shit happen. hehe. hehe. hehe.
  6. The snow in these movies makes me want to burrow myself in it – although in reality I hate the cold and would probably be glaring out my window like a grumpy troll.

Maybe that’s what I love best about these movies. There is nothing real about them.

While I have panic attacks in bars because the person next to me is a friend of a friend and actually wants to hold a conversation rather just stand there and sip on a drink in silence, THESE people have pretend issues.

Issues like whether to marry the fiancé they don’t love and who treats them badly or to date the amazing, sweet man who just moved in next door and loves Christmas.

Though there are times when I do panic and have to fast-forward through the awkward moments (like when the girl finds out that the pretend Santa she’s been bonding with the past week is actually the gorgeous guy she hasn’t noticed is handsome who has been driving her crazy at the coffee shop and she yells at him for lying to her – yeah I can’t handle that…)

But for the most part the issues in these movies are ones I can deal with.

The best part?

The crisis is averted almost immediately after it is introduced into the plot. That means that my usual 120 minutes of nervousness while watching most movies is cut down to 10 minutes.

It’s wonderful. I mean I should write for them.


Blonde woman, Margarite, wearing a Kelley Green pea coat, black tights, and stiletto boots tosses her perfectly curled hair displaying her french manicure. Neurotic to a fault, she is looking for Mr. perfect and won’t settle for anyone who doesn’t make 6 figures with a perfect hairline. Deep down though – she really cares for other people.

A bus boy, Tommy, is trying to earn a little extra money to give his niece the christmas she deserves. He accidentally runs into Margarite while busing a table at the café.


UGH! Watch where you’re going!


Sorry miss. Just a hectic kind of day.


Typical. People are always making excuses. You’re never going to be anything other than a bus boy if you’re always making excuses.



I’m happy being a bus boy.

Blah blah blah. They become entangled in each other’s lives. A mysterious man who looks like Santa keeps making them run into each other. She has a change of heart. Christmas is perfect. Mistletoe. LOVE.

I. Eat. That. Shit. Up.

These movies may not be a part of everyone’s Christmas story.

I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that they are NOT a part of the majority of people’s holidays. BUT I’m just asking that you give them a chance.

Give Christmas a chance. Give love a chance. Give Hallmark a chance.

If you choose not to, that’s fine. It’s probably the smarter option. I commend you. You’re probably one of those people that actually spends time with your family rather than watching a fictional character learn the importance of spending time with family on television while you sit alone on your sofa in your santa shirt and underwear…

Not that I do that. Ahem. Let’s move on.

Okay. Merry Christmas!

Secret Psycho: Are You One? How to Tell

The other evening a couple friends and I were talking about Secret Psychos (S.P.’s)

You know, those people who seem totally normal and then all of a sudden you find out that they’ve been looking through your phone, sabotaging your latest friendship, and deleting people off of your Facebook.

We’ve all met these people and if you haven’t yet – it’s because you ARE that person. And actually, let’s be honest you’ve totally met another secret psycho and just don’t know it. One of those people you’re doing brunch with or meeting for drinks is DEFINITELY an S.P. Just wait. Some day you’ll find out that they’ve stealthily been stealing your socks and collecting your used pieces of gum.

Okay so maybe not everyone has a Helga Pataki status stalker, but still, people are fucking crazy.

And wanna know the best part? I’m one of them.

I mean I could care less who’s been on your phone. Go ahead and be friends with that grimey girl – as long as you don’t bring her around me…shootz it’s your choice. Your dumb but I’m not going to stop you.

I’m also not going to be stealing your socks any time soon. Please. Keep your feet away from me.

Where I get really, truly psycho is …Facebook.

I have found my inner demon and it is Fugly.

What you have to understand  is that I have been away from Facebook for a while. I weaned myself off and gave my heart to instagram instead. And? Everything was good. I was a lot less crazy and a lot more well…I mean I still had problems, but I was pretty happy.

So what happened?

If you don’t know, my job involves some interaction with social media. I am in charge of posting tweets, pinning pins, and starting discussions on LinkedIn. As you can see, Facebook was not a part of my social media world. I avoided it pretty well.

Then came the day that I was asked to start posting on Facebook.

Sure, I thought, I am a strong twentysomething girl. I have moved to a new city. I have real-life friends. This won’t be a problem.

Seriously people tell themselves the craziest things.

Of course I was/am not okay. I mean this was a bejeweled, cat-themed box and I was Pandora.

I. Can’t. Stop.

I had a miniature freak out about someone not liking my status and went on a long rant to the pal I came out to about my secret psycho alter ego. It went on way longer than even a rant about something important should have gone on.

Then I found bliss. He hadn’t signed on since yesterday so was in the clear! He still had time to click that little thumbs up sign.

But then…he signed on and WTF?! How could he not like my status???????

Who is this person?

I don’t really know him but I just thought that he should like the status. Shouldn’t he?! He’s  my Facebook friend. What’s the point of being a Facebook friend if you’re not going to stalk me? COME ON!

Whoa. This is scary. (at least I haven’t started poking…ew)

Not to mention the fact that I keep going through not only profile pictures of every one of my friends, but also their likes / dislikes, where checked in recently, what shows and books they’re interested in. Yes, you heard me correctly KEEP going. That means I’ve done this more than once. I have gone to everyone’s pages MULTIPLE times to read things that I don’t really care about. I am a true secret psycho.

I’m trying not to be. But how does one quell these social media urges? It’s not like there’s a 12 step program for Facebook…

Not to mention it’s my job to be on there.

I guess I’ll just have to live knowing that there is a side of me that is a crazy person.

Want to be my friend on Facebook? 😀


How to Tell if You’re a Secret Psycho:

1. You start obsessing over things you don’t even understand. Ex: You’re suddenly really into that obscure post-modern musician you saw he “liked” on Facebook

2. You think EVERYONE is staring at him/her and you feel yourself wanting to yell HEY ONLY I GET TO STARE LIKE THAT

3. Hours disappear as you stalk via social media

4. You ignore a phone call from your mom to keep stalkin

5. You’re wondering what they ate today

More to come

Stay tuned for the Secret Psycho song to be uploaded as soon as it’s been recorded.

Secret Psyyyyyycho!

What are you doing?

Where are you going?

Who are you seeing?

Can I have their numbers so I can get in touch with you if you don’t answer your phoonnee?

How My Stomach Gave Me Religion

So okay, I know Halloween has passed and everything, but this post is going to get a little freaky.

It all started today at work. It was a great morning. I woke up early and did the New York Time’s 7 min. workout. Okay so maybe I did like 4 of the 7 minutes but still, pretty good huh?

At work I was jamming away. We’re going to be hosting a contest in December and part of the prize is a donation to your choice of one of the charities we’ve researched. I was jazzed about finding charities that I’m really interested in and was pounding out copy like it was my job – which it is so that’s really good.

As you can see, today was one of those Thursdays that really makes you think hey! I can’t wait till I can look back at this Thursday and say #tbt to a good one.

Then as so famously said in 10 Things I Hate About You “The shiteth hiteth the fan…eth.”

For those of you who don’t speak Shakespeare THE SHIT HIT THE FAN.

It was lunch time and I was eating what I always eat – soup. Split Pea to be exact.

But out of the corner of my eye I saw to my delight chips and salsa. I am a big fan of chips and salsa.

My co-worker saw the gleam in my eye and offered me some. BUT he warned that the salsa was extremely spicy. I said “no worries” I totally LOVE spicy foods. The spicier the better. Boy did I ever over-estimate myself.

The first bite was fine. I enjoyed it. Sure, my upper lip started to sweat, but that happens if I have to make a phone call to a stranger (I am a really nervous person) so I wasn’t that worried.

SO when my co-worker said that he was too full to finish all the chips and salsa, I was the FIRST to volunteer to eat the rest. “ME!” I cried joyously and sprung over to his side of the table. Using the chip as a ladle, I scooped first one heaping mouth-full of the salsa and then another.

mmmmmm I thought this sure is tasty.


I felt the harsh fire piercing its way over my tongue. My nose started to run and my tear glands opened streaming down salty water as my body tried to expel the demon from its innards. It was no use. I couldn’t stop the tears.

But it doesn’t end there.

If I haven’t talked about this before I’ll be very surprised. I have stomach issues. Like major ones. Like I couldn’t eat anything besides soup for an entire summer. Maybe it was the best diet I’ve ever had, but a girl realllllyyyyy starts to miss chewing after a while.

ANYWAY this attack from the spiciest salsa I have eaten did not give me heart burn like it would a normal person. NOPE. It went straight for my very own achilles’ heel.   MY STOMACH.


Now, I’m convinced that there is actually a demon in my belly because I must have eaten like 14 Tums and drank about a gallon of alka seltzer (like I could have put a 80-year-old woman to shame) and there is still heartburn radiating through my stomach.

Yes, it put EL DIABLO into my belly and he has refused to leave. He’s sitting in there laughing like the freaky little gremlin he is as he scorches my abdomen. You know who I’m talking about. This Guy.

Yeah. Imagine him in your belly. That’s what I got…

I’ve decided that I have to find someone who can put the fear of god into my stomach. I am in DIRE need of a stomach exorcism. Forget Emily Rose or whatever. This is the exorcism of Kellen Rose (coincidence? I think not!) – I told you it was gonna get freaky.


Preferably before my roommates get home since I don’t want to subject them to that?

Okay great. Perfect.