Real Talk


Loud House

Me, in the bedroom that's just mine. (Image by @smiechbuziak)

When I think about the first time I lived in LA - right after college, when I moved out here to look for acting work - there's rarely anyone else there, in those memories. It wasn't like I spent all my time alone - I had friends, and I had my boyfriend - but most of the time, whether by choice or not...I was. Me, at the do-it-yourself car wash, feeding quarters into the soap machine. Me, driving north towards Santa Barbara, then turning around when I got there and driving right back. Me, wandering through the Fairfax Farmer's Market. Buying a donut, just to have a thing to do.

I was so lonely.

Just A Little Encouragement

Money Talk

Whee, responsibility!

I hired a financial planner, and it is already changing my life, and so I am going to take a minute to explain why I think you should maybe do the same.

OK, so I have a very emotional relationship with money. A lot of people do, I imagine, but the extent to which my financial situation in any given moment has an immediate and profound effect on my mental state in that moment is kind of overwhelming. Literally, it goes like this: Book job --> happy. Do not book job --> utterly panicked, fully devastated, and completely incapable of taking a step back to realize that I've gone ahead and made the hustling lifestyle work for a solid fifteen years now, and will almost certainly continue to make it work going forward, because that's just common sense.

Real Talk

Halloween Fails: A Retrospective

This year, we will be doing the trick-or-treating thing with my friend Shannon and her family. I will be wearing my skull shawl, because skulls. My son will be in a Spiderman costume from Target, and my daughter will be in a Tinkerbell costume she ordered off of Amazon, and I have a feeling it will be slightly lower-key than it has been in past years, but also, it will be...

... know. Halloween. Which means I am about to witness what pure joy in 7-year-old and 4-year-old form looks like. I may be exhausted already in anticipation, but I'm also (ssh) pretty excited.



A shot of me that Gawker ran in a (VERY understandably) snarky article back in the day.

("Meet the Harvard Grad Seduced By Microcelebrity!" The shame.)

So here's what I've been thinking. Remember how when I started Ramshackle Glam back in 2009 - when I was living in a fourth-floor walkup on the non-fancy side of the Upper East Side and technically unemployed and doing things like shucking corn on my floor (a floor that definitely had a hole in it that the landlord was definitely disinterested in fixing)? The whole concept behind the site, as I conceived of it, was "Hey, here are a bunch of things I love and want to do. I don't really know how to do them. I'm going to give them a shot anyway."


Where Is The Love

A reader made this. I feel silly about how much it means to me.

But there you go. 

I realized yesterday that I have become a parody; an actual walking, talking movie character. "The New Divorcee In The Cul-de-Sac."

I am Cher in Mermaids, dancing with my kids in the kitchen while the rice burns on the stove. I scrape off the black parts, and we sit down on the floor in the living room and eat with plastic forks. I am grateful they can't hear my heart pounding.

Last night, a new neighbor of mine came over with a basket of pumpkin muffins; I was on the phone with a client when the doorbell rang, and while I ushered her in with one hand, the other clapped over the mouthpiece - sorry, sorry, no no it's fine, come in! - I could see myself as she saw me: disheveled in my boxer shorts and t-shirt, with no bra and a messy bun, cats twining around my legs and kids wanting another Fruit Roll-Up yelling from the kitchen. She mentioned that the pumpkin muffins were made with applesauce instead of oil, in case I was a calorie-counter or healthy eater or some such. No no, I said, I'm currently on the Divorce Diet of Diet Coke and sadness. I could use some muffins.

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