I Attempted the KonMari Tidying Up Method

Have you guys heard of the KonMari method?


My boss introduced me to it this past week, but the book on the subject has been a best seller. “The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up: The Japanese Art of Decluttering and Organizing” The woman who wrote it takes tidying up very, very seriously.  I read the entire book in one day, so let me just tell you how this shit is done. Plus, buying the book would just mean one more thing to tidy up!! Who wants that?? Look at me, putting my new skills to work!! You’re welcome, friend!!

The book is all about downgrading and organizing your things.  My girl Marie (the author) says that the things you own are a big indicator of who you are in life and that you should only be surrounded by things that bring you true happiness. Coincidentally, my apartment closet is much too small and my clothes are nearly always falling out, which brings me sadness.

In an effort to be less sad and more happy, I went to Barnes & Noble at Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica to pick up the book… and a few new clothing items from Anthropologie next door to shove into my already full closet. Off to a great start!

The first step of Marie’s guide to eternal happiness is to go through and discard of about half of your things.  Then, you learn how to organize the survivors.

At first, I thought this encouragement of “discarding” unwanted things meant there must now be huge piles of gogo boots and sorority t-shirts in our dumps thanks to the trendy KonMari method, but she specified that to “discard” can also mean to donate. So, if you’ve been looking for a hideous green and rhinestoned homecoming dress worn once during my freshman year of high school, you’re in luck! Head on down to Goodwill at Washington & Sepulveda Blvd! Apologies for the sweat stains! It was a weird time! I was crushing hard on a soccer player! He wasn’t reciprocating!

In KonMari method, you must go through and purge your things by category, not location. She stresses that this mind-blowing technique is unlike anything anyone has ever done when tidying up. Most people organize their things based on location. For KonMari, you don’t do your bedroom, then your bathroom, then your kitchen. Instead, you need to use this order:

  1. clothes
  2. books
  3. papers
  4. komono (meaning, the rest of your crap)

Although, when you share a small apartment in LA with two other people like me, the order will most likely look like this:

  1. bedroom
  2. bedroom
  3. bedroom
  4. bathroom and kitchen (meaning, the rest of my crap)

Also, Marie thinks that you should treat this “tidying up” extravaganza as a marathon to do in one sitting rather than one little piece at a time. By the time I finished the book and had a jolt of inspiration, it was 10pm at night, I had 30 minutes until I would pass out, and I thought… LET’S GET STARTED!

First item of the KonMari list: my clothes. The correct way to follow the method is to put all of your clothes on the floor in the middle of the room.  Yet, if I put all my clothes on the floor, I would have no access to the door for all the necessary things I needed outside of my room like wine refills every half hour and consistent bathroom breaks.

So, sorry, Marie. I put all my clothes on my bed instead. Which was hard work. I have a lot of clothes. Hence, why I was doing this method in the first place. I then berated myself for having so many clothes that I don’t wear. I realized that I didn’t need them all and I should really find time to clean them out.  I then remembered that that was exactly what I was doing in that moment.  I then concluded I deserved a break.

My break turned into a full nights sleep and I awoke the next morning surrounded by every clothing item I own. Though it was crowded, it was nice to spend that final night with all of them before I evaluated each one and decided which ones I liked most. It felt similar to what I had to do with my friends in 2006 when Myspace told me there could only be 8. That was a fun slumber party.

The KonMari method of tossing works like this:  Without any other distractors (music, television, roommates asking you why all of your things are literally everywhere), you are supposed to pick up and feel every single item, then decide if it sparks joy within you. Close your eyes, coddle your clothes, and say, “J Crew sweater from three years ago with a sriracha stain on the front, do you make me happy?”

If the answer is YES, then that sweater made the cut and gets to stay with you in your home.  If the answer is NO, then that sweater gets discarded. If you discard it, you need to thank it for serving it’s purpose in your life and then send it happily on it’s way.  Oh yes, clothes have feelings. They also know whether or not they would like to be hung up or folded. You have to ask them. I know. This lady is a bit of a kook, but she kept promising that I was going to be Mister Roger-status happy by the end, so I pressed on.

I went through my clothes one by one.  Surprisingly, there were many things I could easily decide had served their purpose in my life and that I could discard. I realized I’ve kept items around because I want so badly for them to be cute, but whenever I try them on I learn that they don’t quite fit me like they fit the plastic model in Forever 21. Seriously, that bitch has a banging bod. I heard she’s super fake though.

KonMari method teaches us that you hold onto things because you are either holding onto the past or are scared of the future. For instance, if you have a bunch of clothes that are too big for you but you are scared that you’ll need them one day after eating one too many Samoas girl scout cookies, you must decide that you’ll never let yourself get there again and discard.  If you have things from the past that you don’t need anymore but you’re scared of letting go because they represent people or history, you need to let go of your past and discard.

Through this process, I realized I have a lot of things from ex-boyfriends. I officially don’t own jerseys of their favorite teams anymore. It’s really exciting for both me and the people who would ask me questions as if I had any clue about the team I was wearing.

Other things were harder for me to decide if I should let go of. Does this spark joy? I mean, it would spark joy if I was invited to a very specific party! What if I was invited to golf pros and tennis hoes themed party? Or a crocodile hunter themed party? Or a white trash bash? Basically, I have been prepared for ANY THEMED PARTY! In receiving those invites, I would have been sparked by lots of joy, followed by a “I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT TO WEAR!”

Alas, I discarded them all. I got rid of everything. Well, not everything. Still invite me to your Disney-princess-themed parties, plz.

Through this process (which took 6 days and 7 bottles of wine), I made many, many trips to Goodwill.


So long, dresses that are getting inappropriately short as I reach my mid-twenties and hats bought on impulse.

To tell you the truth, purging these items actually made me feel like how Marie told me I would feel, if only 5% of the intensity that she promised. I felt lighter, clearer, and better.  I didn’t need so many things that were essentially useless all around me. Turns out, 90% of my nail polishes were actually dried up. I had 7 full toothpaste tubes hiding out. Holding onto old dance shoes does not also guarantee that you hold on to the actual talent of dancing. Who knew!!!!!?

The most challenging items to toss ended up being old electronics that were once the hottest new gadget or gifts that I never really liked to begin with.  Don’t worry, I didn’t give away all the gifts. I still have the one you gave me. You know it’s my favorite.

I got into a state of such pure euporhia whenever I “purged” an item that I became a little bit of a maniac about it.  Coats? It’s warm out today! I won’t need these, ever! Discard! Perfectly good food? Not planning on eating that in the next 10 minutes, it’s cluttering me! Stop disrupting my life! Discard! Swimsuits? Not planning on swimming today! See you never! Tennis shoes? I already exercised this month! You’ve served your purpose! Bye bye!

Unfortunately, when I got around to books, the first one that I held and axed was none of than the KonMari’s bible of throwing shit away.  Tossing that thing out gave me the greatest release of them all. The process pretty much ended there.

I would give this method a 7/10, would try again.  Though, Marie guarantees that once you adopt her method by successfully throw out half your shit and keeping the other half organized, you will never “relapse” into your messy ways again.

And I agree with her! I’ve learned what items actually spark joy inside me. So now that I’m an expert at it, combined with the newfound excitement of free hangers in my closet, I’m off to go shopping and refill my life with lots and lots and lots of things!

Of course, only things that bring spark joy.  Like new dresses. And shoes. And purses. And, apparently, toothpaste.

Miss K Turns 4

PEOPLE people PEOPLE people PEOPLE pickles.

Imma start this Tuesday off with a photo that my sister sent me that pretty much sent me into catatonic shock from cuteness.



Which brings me to my next point…




If you know me, really even if you don’t know me at all, you know that I’m obsessed with my niece and nephew. Miss Kendall Joyce took the spot in my heart of favorite female on earth away from Lauren Conrad on February 1st, 2012. Luke Joyce took the favorite male spot away from Stephen Collettii on July 24, 2013.  I’m still holding out hope that one day we can all live in harmony and throw BBQs every day by Lauren’s infinity pool in Laguna Beach.

I also love that, because I’m 24, I have the perfectly round number of 20 more years on this earth over her. I would say 20 more years of knowledge –  but, let’s be honest – she’s already smarter than me. She can make any iPad her bitch and blocks out all the haters who stare at her whenever she dips tortilla chips in water at restaurants.  She doesn’t apologize for being her true self.  This girl has got life figured out.


I’ve always imagined that someday, many many years from now, Kendall will be rolling my 110-year-old body in a wheelchair around my mansion because I insist on feeding my pet kangaroos myself, and she’ll ask me, “Auntie?”

I’ll stare straight ahead, as all of the face lifts I’m planning on having will probably leave me minority immobile, and respond, “Yeah, Miss K?”  She’ll wheel me around and ask, “What’s the secret to life?”

And I’ll say….


I have no idea.

What will I say?  Order extra meat at Chipotle? Never live alone? Remember to buy Apple Care protection?


I’ve been thinking lately about the nuggets of wisdom I’ve learned in the past year or so that I could pass on to my favorite little girl when she’s older.  My sister is going to teach her how to drive a car and ignore bullies, but what can I teach her? What kinds of things have I learned that can help her life run even the smallest bit smoother? How could I ever repay her for teaching me that applesauce serves as a great hand moisturizer? 

So, Miss K, here are some life hacks I’ve learned that just might save you from a few of the mishaps that come with the agreement of being a human.  BUT you are not allowed to read this until… well, until you can read. We’ll start there for now.

    1. When you’re at a restaurant and you want to order soup, always order the cup size instead of the bowl.  There is almost always the exact same amount in both and the cup is cheaper.
    2. When making scrambled eggs, put milk in the eggs before you scramble them. It makes them so much more fluffy and delicious. I know you don’t eat eggs right now but you also don’t know when you can truly trust a fart so I think, with time, you’ll start.
    3. Apply the quote, “There will be a day that I can’t do this.  Today is not that day.” in reference to any activity. There will actually be a day that you can’t do those things.  Go out twice in one weekend.  Stay out until 4am.  Push yourself to go on a really long and hard run.  Save 10 dollars and use a tennis racket as a pasta strainer.
    4. When debating between tip amounts, just add on the extra dollar. You will forget about it in two seconds and your waiter just brought you 5 breadstick baskets.
    5. One of the hardest dilemmas you’ll ever face as an adult is when you’re really tired with some free time during the day and need to decide whether you should nap or exercise to get some added energy. I don’t have an answer to this. I’m really sorry. Maybe I’ll save us both from this struggle and figure it out by the time you’re 6. So far, I’ve found it’s just best to commit to one or you’ll spend all the time you had debating between the two. Okay, that’s a lie, I usually choose Netflix.
    6. When someone says, “Oh, you don’t have to do that,” you literally do not have to do that.
    7. 1 ply toilet paper is not worth the money saved.
    8. When alone in your apartment, eat your food directly out of the pot to avoid more dirty dishes to clean later on.
    9. Brunches are expensive and usually not worth it.
    10. It is inappropriate to discuss with your boyfriend how you two will act towards each other after you break up.  The conversation assumes that you will, in fact, break up.  You probably will, but apparently you’re not supposed to be prepared or have a game plan. Trust me. It makes for an awkward conversation and they’ll bring it up, like, all the time.
    11. When going out to eat, put your friends out of those seconds of misery when the waiter first asks, “Drinks?” when everyone is waiting on someone else to decide if you’re drinking alcohol or not. Make the decision. Order a cocktail.
    12. Wear your favorite sweater again even though you just wore it two days ago.  Nobody remembers and you’ll still get compliments because you look just as awesome as you did the first time.
    13. Remind your friends that they’re amazing.  Like you, they forget sometimes.
    14. If you are dreading going somewhere and want to cancel, you probably should.  The other person is likely dreading it, too, and wants to cancel.  Cancelled plans serve as instant relief for everyone.
    15. On that note, don’t cancel just because it’s new and weird and you don’t know how it will go.  Chances are, it’ll be a good time.
    16. Unless it’s karaoke.  Cancel that shit now.  It’s literally never a good time.
    17. Everyone just stares at you while you’re attempting to sing and judges you on your song choices.  A friend will likely suggest “Barbie Girl.”
    18. If you forget my advice and are faced with the song “Barbie Girl,” always offer to be the guy part.  Everyone forgets that he only has like 3 lines and you’ll be saved from some of the embarrassment that inevitably comes from said karaoke activity.
    19. Your poor friend will have to sing so much on her own because she forgot, as everyone does, that Barbie Girl is really not a great duet song.  Somewhere during the song, usually around 2 minutes in, she’ll turn to you and desperately beg with her eyes that you jump ship and start to sing the girl part with her to save her from the sinking ship that she embarked on because she never had an Auntie Caroline to advise her on such things.  Because you are a nice person and a good friend, you will agree and sing with her, all the while wondering how you ended up there, singing a weird song in front of people you don’t really know.  Then you’ll call me and tell me, “You were right.” and I’ll come pick you guys up and we’ll go get cups of soup.
    20. When in doubt, you are probably parked in the red.

I Hate New Year’s Eve

How was everyone’s NYE?  Wonderful? Awful? Painful? Weird?

I have pretty much hated New Year’s Eve my entire life.  It’s just too much pressure.  I think High School Musical ruined it for me.  How can anyone compete with Troy and Gabriella meeting each other at that ski resort and singing karaoke together with such gumption, expecting to never see each other again, only to later learn that Gabriella just transferred to Troy’s school and might rat him out for being a good singer!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

We’re all in this together, right? NYE sorta blows. It’s the one night of year I would rather stay in, but it’s also the one night of the year where I can’t for fear of my spotless reputation getting tarnished. I never have anything to do until maybe the week before when others start asking me what my plans are.  Then, I remember that NYE is a thing and I hate it and I now need to find something to do and someone to kiss and roll some glitter on my face and shave my legs and locate things that I don’t like about myself to resolute to be better about. I know that this is a thing among people, hating New Year’s Eve, but I am definitely the leader of this wolf pack.  If you say that you hate NYE, I will say it louder to prove that I hate it more.

I decided that this year would be different.  My New Year’s Resolution? to Stop Hating New Year’s So Much.  Also, I would start this resolution on December 31st to get a jump on everyone else.  My other resolutions, like to stop tipping 100% when I’m drunk and then staring at the bartender expecting an applause for my graciousness, would have to wait until January 1st.

To bring in 2016, we made plans for New Year’s Eve back in October in an attempt to avoid the yearly stressors that come as this particular night approached.  Also, it was to be the most classic LA day of all days in LA that I’ve ever experienced.  We made Soul Cycle appointments for the morning, Drybar appointments in the afternoon, and tickets to a fancy rooftop party at the W Hotel in Hollwood where there would be an open bar and classy people and lots of opportunities to show how utterly out of place we would be.

We all met at Nicole’s place first to toast champagne and enjoy each other’s company (read: take pictures to prove that we did, in fact, go out on NYE). You remember Nicole, right? She’s the professional Pinterester who lets me model for her photoshoots and texts me things like this completely unironically:


I got to her place and was greeted with exactly what I was expecting: a hand-made back drop to take pictures in front of, complete with props and champagne glasses. If you don’t already, find a Nicole for your life.  They really are quite magical to have around.

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Around 10pm, we ubered to Hollywood to get our dance and drink on.  When we got there, I was so impressed. Let me tell you: the W is pretty unreal.  When we got up to the roof, there were 5 completely stocked open bars, a dance floor inside, and an outside part with cabanas and daybeds around the pool. If it sounds like I’m describing a normal rooftop party, it’s because I am, but I never actually go to these. I have wiggled my way out of any and all Vegas trips.  The last time I went was three years ago and am still a little hungover from it.

For the next hour or so, we toasted drinks and enjoyed each other’s company (read: took pictures to prove that we did, in fact, go out on NYE). 


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It was pretty cold outside, so we ended up going and staying inside to keep warm.

Around 11:45, I was showing off my high school dance team moves on the dance floor when the MC announced that 2016 was approaching in less than 15 minutes.  I looked around only to realize the horrifying fact that… I had laid absolutely no ground work for a New Year’s kiss.

This is an amateur move. Usually, you have to start thinking about the NYE kiss at approximately 11pm.  11:20pm if you’re feeling confident and have extra long eyelashes or something, but… 11:45pm?  Too late. The night is over. You failed. You’re not going to get a kiss.  Go home, wax your lip, and use the next 365 days to figure out your shitty life.

I’m usually a much better planner that this.  I schedule out my night much cleaner and with much more thought.  At 11pm, I introduce myself to every eligible candidate. 11:15pm, I lock eyes with the one that I feel has the most potential and least amount of body hair. 11:30pm, I mention that I don’t have a boyfriend.  11:45pm, I lay my head on their shoulder and make them think I have passed out so that they won’t try to escape at the last minute, because who would just leave a sleeping girl at a club by herself? 11:59pm, I wake up. 12:00am, I force my face onto theirs.  12:03am, I tell them that I will escort myself out and there’s no need to call security.  12:10am, I request to be in a relationship with them on Facebook.

The whole process is always special for the two of us and starts the year off right. Tonight, I slipped up.  What kind of note was I starting 2016 on? What was I to tell my friends? What would my mom think? Whose name would I put in my instagram bio next to a heart in the morning?

The MC then tells us that it’s now 11:55pm and we have 5 minutes left.  If I’m going to make my mom proud of her depressingly alone daughter, then now is the time.  I have to make it happen.  It was time to take matters into my own hands. If Steven Avery from Making a Murderer can convince a woman to fall in love with him while serving life in prison and only communicating through a bulletproof glass, I can coerce some putz into kissing me at midnight.


Thanks for the motivation, Sandy.

I turned to Nicole and asked her if she wanted to find the cutest guys that we could and just flat out ask them to be our New Year’s Kiss.  Without missing a beat, she fluffed her hair and agreed. I’m telling you, you have to find your own Nicole. You can’t have mine. Make sure she uses a Netty Pot regularly and offers it to you every time you audibly sniff or she’s not the real deal.

We went on the hunt. We were like the witches from Hocus Pocus, barreling down the dance floor, grabbing asses and crafting spells.  And by spells, I mean spills.  Because, did I mention, it was an open bar.

At 11:59pm, out comes this super cute guy from around the corner, holding a bottle of champagne.  Before I can begin my quick analysis of what our children would look like, he turned to me and, no joke, asks, “New Year’s Kiss?”

Um.  Yes.

He told us to join him back at the daybed that he had, surely so that we could experience our first kiss under the romantic stars and smog of Los Angeles. But… it was outside.  Which, did I mention, was freezing.  We’re talking 60 degrees.  I was wearing a dress from Nordstrom Rack that my mom told me I looked “jazzy” in but did not provide much in the warmth department.  I was very unprepared to handle those kinds of conditions, even for that coveted NYE kiss.  I told him that it wasn’t going to work out between us and that he had to go find someone else to adopt a dog with in about two years when it felt right then fight over when we break up.  Then he said the sexiest thing that I’ve ever heard: “There’s a heater.”

I turned to my flock of friends and yelled, “GUYS. HE HAS A HEATER.”  And we raced.  While everyone was counting down.  I heard everyone yelling “5…4….3…2…1…” while we ran to the daybed.  I wish I was joking.  Why did we need to be at the daybed?  Why did all of my friends listen to me and follow?  Why was the heater such a selling point? Who is this dude with the champagne bottle and was he thinking about Sandy, too?

We got the the daybed and I got my New Year’s kiss. In our recaps of the night, we’re pretty positive that we actually missed the ball drop during our run.  Also, he had friends there.  What were they thinking when 7 girls just came barreling towards them at the stroke of midnight? I have so many questions and not enough answers.  Me and my girl Sandy have more in common that I thought.

So that was it.  I completed my New Year’s Resolution before 2016 even started, because I guess I don’t abhor NYE so much anymore.  The dude with the champagne isn’t half bad.  Like, I now know his name and have his phone number and he’ll read this and suddenly stop answering my texts because I’m a lot to take in.

See you bitches next Tuesday. I hope you enjoyed this story that I so badly wanted to share with you all (read: really just to prove that I did, in fact, go out on NYE).


What up my cutie Red Velvets! (Bachelor, anyone?)

How are you?  I’ve missed you.

Does anyone just lose all motivation and inspiration sometimes?  I have experienced such lack of both these things in the past few weeks when it comes to writing.  To me, writing is like working out.  If you take a few weeks off without doing it, it is so much harder to get back into it. I took time off during the holidays and am now experiencing the difficult after-effects. THANKS, SANTA!!!

I remembered a quote I’ve heard about how if you just sit around waiting for inspiration, you’re a huge doofus. Inspiration is like a bird flying around outside, too high above you to catch, and you have to literally get out your shotgun and shoot it down if you really want it.  Even though I’m very pro-gun control, I am also very pro-this quote.  I can’t just sit around and twiddle my thumbs anymore… waiting for inspiration to hit and then get upset when all that has hit me that day is water when I tried to wash a spoon under running sink water.

(Also, that quote is from the documentary “Stripped.”  It is about comic strips and how they adjusted to the fall of newspapers and uprising of websites.  Go see it.  It’s amazing.  I have it.  You can borrow it.  Actually, just come over and we’ll watch it together. I just got a Nespresso machine for Christmas from my amazing boss and I can make you a 10/10 latte that we’ll sip on while we watch it and cuddle. Unless you’re not into coffee.  Or documentaries. Or me. It’s fine. You don’t have to come. Forget it.)

I also heard ANOTHER quote about writing that I loved (This time from the Pete Holmes podcast “You Made it Weird.”  I listen to this alone in my car so I’m not even going to TRY to invite you this time.)  It said how sometimes he’ll say that he “spent all day writing” when he really only spent like 2 hours actually typing words on a computer (also known as: writing).  The rest of the time he was showering, sitting down, staring at walls, drinking 9/10 lattes because I didn’t make them for him from my new Nespresso machine.  Basically, he described it as “sitting” in his writing.  He was cultivating ideas, gaining creativity, working up his courage to actually put things down on the word document.  I loved this so much because I’m the kind of person who does this exact thing and then feels guilty that I didn’t actually spend “all day writing.”

So, I got inspired and started to write. Then, like every other time I start writing, I remembered how it’s so much a part of who I am.

And I wrote. Like a crazy person.  I worked on a pilot and started a true Tragic Tale about my New Years Eve (next week, people, next week). And I wrote and I wrote and I wrote.

Then… I saw that something I’ve waited for about 2 1/2 months to happen, happened.  A show was announced in the trades called One Day at a Time… the Netflix show that I had been hired on as a writing team with my partner Michelle.  The show lead by Gloria Caledron Kellett and Mike Royce.  It was out there.

I’m going to be a television writer.  A sitcom writer.  A comedy writer.  My biggest dream in the world, literally, is coming true.

And it was announced. After MONTHS of waiting, I could tell the world.  Really, it’s been my whole life.  I have been dying to tell people.  In fact, I am encouraged to tell the world, as we need to make sure all you bitches watch the show.  You will watch the show, right? I’m watching it 500 times over.  Actually, just come over and we’ll watch it together. I got a Nespresso machine for Christmas from my amazing… You know what? Forget it.

Here’s the announcement:

Netflix Orders ‘One Day At A Time’ Latino Remake Series Co-Starring Rita Moreno

The moment after I saw that the show was announced, I started screaming and crying and talking to myself because no one was home from work yet. 

And I screamed and I screamed and I wiped my tears and I wanted to celebrate with a beverage but it was 4:00pm and I couldn’t decide if a 10/10 latte or a glass of wine was more appropriate. 

And I debated and debated until it was 5pm when a glass of wine was definitely more appropriate. 

And I poured a glass of wine. 

And I watched The Bachelor with my friends but I didn’t really because my phone was buzzing like crazy.

And about 10 of my friends posted their own statuses of how excited they were.

And over 100 people liked my announcement on Facebook. 

And I remembered how an executive producer on The Goldbergs told me that this was the most exciting part of my career and it was going to be downhill from here. And I smiled. 

And I cried.

And I passed out. 

And my heart was so full.

This could all blow up underneath me.  And now that it’s announced, it’ll be much harder to ever deal with negative repercussions. How embarrassing that would be! What if I get fired? What if I suck? What if something truly awful happens and stops everything in motion? What if I wear a cardigan and learn that writers are supposed to wear cargo jackets?

But I’ve wanted this for as long as I can remember, so I’m pushing out the negative thoughts.  Instead, this morning, I decided to look back through photos of when we celebrated a while ago with champagne.

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This shit has been filtered for months now, ready to post.  To give you some time reference, here is what I had screenshot the same day that we popped bottles.


What a TEASE this was… Right? #teamKhloeandLamar

Also, while looking for those, I just found this picture that I took after I got a ticket for being in the red to prove that I wasn’t. It re-sparked my anger and I just need you to confirm that I’m right.


I believe that everything happens for a reason.  Not in a crazy, mumbo-jumbo way that could justify why my childhood friend lost his life to cancer this year, but more the idea that things don’t just happen with no ripple effect.  We start ripples all the time and only later do we feel that same energy hit us back.  Usually, it comes back stronger and more forceful than the original that we put out into the world. Giving $20 to someone who needs it more than you takes barely any effort, but their gratitude and happiness often gives you so much more than you originally thought possible.  It is so worth it to put your all into things and watch how it affects the world. You just have to work up the courage to saddle up and do it.

I don’t think it was a coincidence that the moment I finally started to get into my groove and write like a crazy person and feel like myself again, everything got announced.  I needed to stop waiting for something outside myself to do what I could do on my own. I didn’t need the announcement.  I didn’t need all the excitement that I was waiting for.  I just needed to take out my shot gun and shoot it down.  Myself.

Again, I’m very pro-gun control, but you get what I’m saying, right? Actually, just come over and I’ll explain it to you.  I just got a Nespresso machine for Christmas…

Video: Operation Spy on Penney’s Date

Hello my pretty poppy seed muffins!

SO I hope everyone had the past two weeks to lounge around with time off.  I don’t know how you spent this holiday season, but I spent it eating.  I don’t think an hour passed that I didn’t shove something into my mouth. In addition, I didn’t move much. Also, there was a three day span when we went to my cabin up on Mt Hood where I didn’t brush and had dreadlocks so bad by the end of the trip that I had to brush it out for upwards of 2 hours and seriously considered chopping it all off and used an app to see how I’d look with a pixie then decided against it and took breaks in between brushing to eat more.  Basically, it was the best break ever.

This past Sunday, my friend Penney had a date to go on. By the way, this bitch lives in San Francisco.  She had a date in Los Angeles during the 4 days that she was visiting.  Meanwhile, I thought some guy was holding open a door for me yesterday on my way into a building when I was behind him. It was so sweet and nice and he actually wasn’t and I kept walking and now have a black eye.

I went over to my friend Nicole’s place to help Penney get ready for the date. Because… again, she doesn’t live here. Nicole and I decided that we would “pop by” the location of the date to make sure that it’s going well, her hair isn’t going crazy, he isn’t an axe murderer, her lipstick stayed off her teeth, etc.  I showed up to Nicoles in my best spy attire complete with a hat and glasses so that we could stay incognito during said mission.  I then videotaped the entire thing for my snapchat.  I’m sharing it on this here bloggy this week as I get back into the swing of things.  Cause it’s like a vlog, sorta?  That’s a thing, right?

If we’re not already friends, add me on Snapchat: Carolineline3.

What do you do?

This weekend, someone asked me what I wanted to do for work… eventually.

I met him through friends at a pregame before hitting the town.  We were actually trying to figure out how we knew each other and it took about 3 hours of putting things together.   His college roommate used to work with a girl that I became friends with because her roommate used to work with one of my best friends.  Facebook would probably say he’s ‘People You May Know’ or a ‘Suggested Friend’ but this time it’s not a person I’ve actually just avoided being friends with all my life.

He asked me what I did for work and I told him that I am assistant to a comedian.  Because, I am. Usually I just say that I work on a television show because my boss is an actor on the show so I spend most of my weekday hours eating craft service and bugging people on set, but I got specific this night.  I used to work as a production assistant and, this past May, was offered this job. It was an exciting and awesome promotion.  Even though both jobs have “assistant” in the name, it was a step up. I actually really love my job. I get coffee for one person now, not sixteen.  I don’t work 70 hour weeks anymore.  Last year, I moved about 15 mini fridges.  This year, I’ve moved about none. I’ve made it.

This guy, who I now know from 18 degrees of connections, listened when I told him what I did for work.  He smiled, nodded, and asked, “But what do you want to do… eventually?”

I do have an answer to this question.  I want to be a writer.  I want someone to pay me, preferably not with monopoly money, to do what I like to do in my spare time – which is write things.  Plays, scripts, blogs, journals, angry letters to my loud neighbors, texts to Sammie with the smiling poop emoji.  You get it.  I feel really fortunate that I have a very clear idea of what I like to do and, thanks to this here bloggy, can exercise it all the time. I’m also lucky that hopefully one day, I’ll get paid to do it, because people actually make a living off of writing.  They write “writer” on their tax forms.  It’s on their LinkedIn headline.  If they were on the Bachelor, it would be on their occupation line.  Their twitter bio says “writor” as a funny ironic joke that actually makes sense.  It’s a whole thing. And I want in.

But, in response to his question, I immediately felt like I had to justify myself and my work to my new friend.  I started spewing off the plethora of steps that I’m taking to reach my goals.  I am not sitting on my assistant job! I’m making moves! I’m leaping on outta here! Here’s my resume! Look at that formatting! Times New Roman! Proper use of italics!

So, it got me thinking.  The question was not meant out of malice at all.  It’s simply a conversation starter that has become a norm, especially in Los Angeles.  A major difference in culture that I’ve noticed between Portland and Los Angeles is Portlanders will ask what you do for work, Los Angelenos will ask you what you hope to do for work… eventually.

It’s the eventually question.  It’s the insinuation that whatever you’re doing right now must not be your end goal.  You’ve got plans in the works.

I’m not offended by it at all.  I rather enjoy talking about myself for extended periods of time so I’ll always take the bait.  But, what if I was offended?  What if I had no clue what I wanted to do “eventually”? What if I was completely fine making ends meet for now, figuring it out as I go, and enjoying my life day by day?  What if being an assistant was exactly where I wanted to be at this moment?  What if I am actually choosing to have 5 inches of grow out in my hair and not because I can’t afford to get it done as much as I want?

It’s the same sort of nervousness I have when I ask people, “So, where did you go to school?”  It always just comes out when I’m getting to know someone. I usually immediately follow it by, “Or, did you go to college? It’s totally fine if you didn’t. If you did, that’s fine too.  Pretty much any answer to this question is fine. I’m really just making conversation. YA KNOW WHAT? I CHANGED MY MIND. Don’t answer that. Let’s go with something easier.  How much do you question your life decisions while listening to Adele’s new album?”

I totally get the question.  I think it’s just assumed that, when you’re at this age, you have places you want to get to and you’re just on your way there.  People are asking about your goals and dreams.  They’re interested in who you are and what you want to become.  They’re being nice.

I asked Natasha and Sammie if they thought this question was rude.  Natasha said yes; Sammie said no. So, what do you think?  I’m on a mission now to decide if this is an acceptable question to ask someone and at what age you should stop.  You wouldn’t ask a 60-year-old what they hope to do one day, right? I don’t know.  I’ll figure it out. 


My Bug and Me: A Love Story

I sold my car.


Yes, that car.  The VW bug.  Maybe you never knew I drove a bug. If that’s the case, maybe you aren’t surprised to hear that I drove a bug. Every time I pulled up to whatever event I was trying to be taken seriously at, someone would say, “You WOULD drive a bug.”  A bug is what happens when you let your 16-year-old daughter decide which car she wants.  One day, she will be a 24-year-old… who drives a bug.

I loved my bug.  So, so much.  There are so many wonderful memories in that thing.  It took a lot to get to the point where I agreed to get rid of it.  Specifically, lots of repair money that I don’t have, the need for more room, and a nagging sister and mother who came into town and claimed they couldn’t even “fit their suitcases in my car” because they couldn’t.

My mom thought I was crazy when I told her how upset I was to get rid of it.  Even though, I’ll admit, the car really did feel unsafe.  A few weeks ago, I was driving on the highway and, when I pushed down on the gas, it didn’t accelerate. I was in the fast lane and just started drifting slower and slower.  It was the scariest moment of my life and sent me into such a panic that I chucked whatever liquid I could find around me in hopes of quickly baptizing myself before I had to find out if that truly matters or not.

Why did this tiny, beat down bug mean so much to me?  I think it’s because the car is representative of who I was, at least for the time that I had it.  It represents me from 2008-2015.  And, as someone who hates change, I wasn’t fully prepared to admit that this car, along with that 16-year-old girl that chose it, is now in my past.

So, I’ve decided to do what I usually do with any break-ups: Cry about old memories, talk about it to everyone who will listen, and browse online sites that provide newer and cuter replacements with the click of a button. Shout out to Tinder and AutoTrader!  Thanks for reminding me that I deserve better!!!

I’ll never forget the date that I bought the car because, luckily, it was on my sister’s birthday and, luckily, she’ll never let me forget that I got a car on her birthday. I had been wavering between wanting a VW Cabrio and a VW Bug, but I realized that I liked the novelty of a bug and appreciated that people would punch each other whenever I drove past.

Throughout the years, our time together can be categorized by whatever stickers I had slapped onto it.

From 2008-2010, we were in the Hawkette sticker phase.  Hawkettes was the name of the dance team that I had joined the same summer that I got the car.  I remember feeling like everything in my life was coming together: I was a part of a team I worked hard to make, I was an upperclassman in high school, I had a new cute car to court all my suitors, and had finally nailed the whole shaving-my-legs thing so that I barely ever missed a spot.  I. Was. The. Coolest. 

Me and my car? We were totally in the honeymoon stage.  So in love.  So very, very annoying.

2010-2011 was the LMU sticker phase.  When I first found out that I got into LMU, the first thing I did was buy a decal to put on my car.  Pretty sure I bought it online without even going to the school first.  I wanted everyone to see that I had gotten into and was going to college, even if they had never heard of it back home.  I took that 17 hour road trip with my sister down to school.  Once my sister flew back, it was just me and the bug.  Two displaced Oregonians in a big, unknown city. Not a lot of freshmen had cars so I used it to make friends. I offered every time.  Want to get food off campus? I’ll drive!  You have a prescription to pick up? I’ll take you! It’s at a gas station in the middle of Compton at 4am? That’s a strange place for your birth control!  But hop in!


Stuffed in the back on my way to move-in day.  My neck still hurts.

Me and my car? We were like newly weds.  We were figuring out the lay of the land together, one drive-thru at a time.

2011-2013 was the Delta Gamma sticker phase.  DG was the sorority I was a part of in college which became my entire life from the moment I joined.  On big/little reveal, my “big” in the sorority gave me a car decal to show off my DG pride.  For the next few years, I would drive my buggy to every single event. I ran for positions and started to plan those events that I had originally joined for.  There’s puff paint stuck on the back seat from moving home-made DG Valentine’s Day cards that weren’t quite dry yet. I have fit 100 balloons through the sun roof.


Told ya.

Me and my car?  We were like an old married couple. We knew each other very well. I knew exactly how to jiggle the steering wheel when it would lock, that the parking brake was necessary on small hills, and that I needed to slow down to 2mph when going over speed bumps if I wanted to keep my insides in tact.

2014 was the Mammoth sticker phase.  When I first joined the ski team at LMU, I couldn’t believe it had taken me all four years to realize that a mountain to ski on was so easily accessible. Why hadn’t I joined earlier? Like many others, I instantly fell in love with the adorable town.  I bought a decal of the Mammoth logo to show everyone that I drove past in LA that I actually wanted to be up in the snow.  But, I couldn’t drive my car there.  It was too small to fit enough people for the 6 hour drives and couldn’t handle the weather once we got there.

Me and my car? We were in the seven-year itch. I was really over it. It was too small and too weak.  Ladies, you know this point in a relationship, AM I RIGHT?

2015 was the Sony sticker phase.  My first job out of college as a production assistant on The Goldbergs came with a decal so that I could get on the lot. This job required me to move a lot of things: Lunches for 40 people, mini fridges, chairs, and very wealthy executives who had to endure the roughest ride of their lives without air conditioning during heat waves.  There’s a huge scratch on the inside of the passenger door from moving a dolly across town.  It literally just wouldn’t fit in the car. On multiple occasions, I had to take days off of work to bring the car in to get repairs.  I ended up getting rental cars so that I wouldn’t miss work.  The bug just wasn’t cutting it.

Me and my car? We were done.  Our time had come and gone.  Our story, though lovely and full, had come to an end.


That’s my sister in the back seat, giving zero shits that I was in the middle of the hardest goodbye I’ve ever had to make.

Do you see know why it’s so hard to say goodbye!? That VW Bug and I shared the Hawkette, LMU, Delta Gamma, Mammoth, and Sony phases together.  They weren’t just stickers on a car; They were chapters of my life.  Whatever it was that I chose to show off was who I wanted others to see me as.  The original sticker I chose was the car itself. I was a VW Bug for 7 years.

But, I said goodbye two weeks ago while my sister and mom loomed over me, bitching and questioning at why I was haggling so hard with the salesman. I traded it in for a 2016 Mazda CX-5. 

Which, by the way, I look so great in. It is so cute. I step into the car and the bluetooth just KNOWS my phone is there continues to play whatever music I was already listening to.  It has a back up camera so that I can now see cars before I run into them.  I don’t even have to pull out the key to start the car or lock and unlock the doors. I fit 4 people very comfortably to go hiking this past weekend.  It’s the best. We’re in love.  We’re soulmates.  

We are so in the honeymoon phase right now.  I can’t wait to see what’s next.

What in the heck is wrong with me?!

Hello my darling dashes,

I’m coming at cha from the basement of my mom and Pete’s house in Portland for the turkey holiday.  You know how people say that they want to move out of their parents basement because they want their independence? That’s not the real reason.  IT’S BECAUSE IT’S FREEZING DOWN HERE.  Was Portland always this cold?  Was my skin thicker previously? I am wearing 3 coats, a blanket, and am constantly keeping my dog in a chokehold so that I can absorb her body heat. 

Today I thought, “I have nothing to write about because all I can think about is my food situation.”  Then, duh, I thought – I’LL WRITE ABOUT MY FOOD SITUATION.

This is the most tragic tale I have ever had to tell, by the way.  But, it’s not really that fun.  If you bow out now, I won’t judge you.

I sort of… (and sorry to everyone who is like this) can’t stand people who CONSTANTLY talk about food, weight, health, etc.  I can’t deal with it.  I prefer to only think about the food for the duration of the time it’s going into my mouth.  I’ve never been a cook, never looked at the ingredients on what I eat, and only like to look at calories during the 3 weeks of the year that I get on a real crazy weight kick where I’m sure I will lose 30lbs in a night and then decide I like cheese more than I dislike the way I look because I look awesome.

So, this has been weird.

My whole life, I have had weird allergy problems that I’ve chosen to ignore like a true moron.  My feet swell up, like, all of the time.  I have never understood why.  Ever since I can remember, one or both feet randomly swell up as a reaction to something that I never could pinpoint.  Also, my chest gets really red and itchy with hives once in a while.  Once, at a dance competition in high school, my entire body broke out in hives. I went back to Natasha’s where I stood balling crying in her shower completely naked while she put some ointment on me to help make it go away.  What a good friend, right?  More importantly, the answer to your inevitable question is yes.  We did go on to win that competition. And yes, I am currently wearing the medal.

I remember going to an allergist when I was younger and they told me to write down everything I ate to figure it out.  I was METICULOUS about writing down everything I ate… For about 7 minutes, then I decided triple layer grilled white cheddar macaroni and cheese sandwich was too long to write down and I chose to just live my life instead.

But the reactions have gotten to a point that I can’t ignore them.  In September, I went to my friend Katie’s house in Marin for Kira’s birthday and my foot got so swollen while tubing that I couldn’t even walk.  I spent the afternoon with my foot stuffed in the lake while everyone just shouted things they thought I was allergic to.


Here we are, cheersing Kira turning the big 24 ! That’s not a deck we’re sitting on, it’s actually just that my foot got so swollen we could all sit upon it and drink wine.

A few weeks ago, I had such a bad reaction complete with abdomen pain, hives, and swelling, that I had to go to urgent care at work.  To make matters scarier, I learned that that every time you’re exposed to whatever you’re allergic to, you react worse than the last time.  That’s why my reactions are getting worse.  So, I have to figure it out, or I might be hitting the hay for good and Sammie would have to find a new roommate. Which would be a shame because, after five years, we have finally just discovered that 69 degrees is our perfect temperature.  She isn’t ready to go through that exhausting process with someone else.

So, I went to an allergist, kicked down the door, and said, “Figure this shit out!!”  The doctor decided that my symptoms were most likely due to a food allergy and we should do a prick test.  They would prick my back with a bunch of foods that I might be intolerant to and see if my skin reacts.  They laid me down on my stomach, poked my back around 75 times, and then left me in a FREEZING COLD room, naked, for 20 minutes (what is with this post and being naked and/or cold??).

I was expecting him to come in, say, “Girl, quit with the Brussel sprouts and you’ll be good!” and I would be like “YAY! I don’t like nor eat them so that makes absolutely no sense but who am I to fight with Dr. Pepper!” (I like to call Dr. Pepper since he’s a food allergist)

When the doctor came back, he said, “CAROLINE, HOLY SHIT. YOU GOT SOME CRAZY FOOD ALLERGIES.”

My body reacted to 36/79 of the things that they tested me for.  My back looked really disgusting (to put it lightly) (sorry if you were eating) (which I really miss doing).

What I now have to do is an “elimination diet” where I eliminate all of the things that I reacted to from my diet for 30 days.  Then, I reintroduce them one at a time and we monitor how I react to them individually and combined with each other to pinpoint the bitchy bullying culprit for my problems. I understood that those that I don’t react to when I eat are basically “false positives,” but Dr Pepp didn’t like that phrase.  He says that they are still intolerances but that they’re so low that they won’t affect my daily thug life and we may decide that I can continue to eat them.

So, want to hear what I can’t eat right now?








Cashew Nut




Cows Milk

Citric Acid


Flax seed







Excuse me, taking a break here.  My hand cramped from TYPING TOO MUCH!!!! (Oh no, we’re not done)



Green Peppers







Sunflower Seed

Sweet Potato




Brewer’s Yeast

IS YOUR JAW ON THE FLOOR!? BANANAS! TOMATO! LETTUCE!!!!  Look at the ingredients of whatever you’re eating right now and I can pretty much guarantee that it has dairy, cottonseed oil, sunflower oil, or citric acid in it.

It seems like I can eat NOTHING, but in actuality there is some stuff left.  Eggs, apples, chicken, avocado, bread, what pasta, olive oil, corn, white potatoes, turkey, distilled alcohol, and more. I can eat soy, eggs, and wheat, which are common allergy problems. So I can now never claim to be gluten free.  My body was basically like YUM, gluten, I want more! Which is annoying because a gluten allergy would go great with these trendy new boots I just bought.

This also means… No wine or beer (because of the brewer’s yeast).  No ice cream, butter, mayonnaise, ranch, or cheese (Dairy).  No lemons, limes, or basically any drinks (Citric Acid). No sushi! (Rice, salmon, tuna)

I have now become one of those people who I usually get annoyed by who turn everything around in grocery stores to look at ingredients and ask the waiter to cook things in a separate pan. I’m basically a walking, talking nightmare.  How bad do you feel for me right now? On a scale of 1 to 10? Cause if it’s not 13, read that list again. You’re heartless.

Anyways, I’m lucky to have a great mom who called our time at the grocery store for this Thanksgiving week a “treasure hunt” and pronounced a type of food we bought as “vay-gen” (vegan).  Come to find out, there are actually a lot of substitutes to things.  I got some coconut milk ice cream!! We also replaced our beloved wine with a vodka soda tonight!! (Which is why this post has so many exclamation marks!!!!!)

So, I hope you all have lovely Thanksgivings full of lots of food that I can’t eat and (more importantly) surrounded by friends and family!! Be sure to watch The Goldbergs Thanksgiving episode.  It was a monster to make but may be one of my favorite episodes.

Also, if you’re in Portland, call me.  Let’s meet up and share a plate of corn.

My Bumble Experience

Have you guys ever used Bumble?

It’s like Tinder… but the girl has to say something first. It’s a dating site. You see a profile of someone else who is also signed up for the app around you.  You then swipe their photo right for “No” and left for “Yes”.   If you both say yes to each other, you get to communicate via the app.  On Tinder, once you match, anyone can start the conversation.  On Bumble, if you match, only the girl can start the conversation.  And she must do it within 24 hours, or the match disappears and you will NEVER buy a vacation home in Tahoe together.

Are you up to date now, annoying people in relationships who have never had to succumb to this way of meeting interesting people around you with whom you might marry but will more likely just have a shitty date at Dave & Busters?  I’m pretty indifferent about these dating apps.  Truth be told, if you’ve ever used one, you’ll know they are actually like a game.  Swiping left, right, left, right (or, right right right right right LEFT! WE’RE GOING TO BUILD A LIFE TOGETHER! right right right right LEFT! OUR KIDS WILL BE SO CUTE! right right right) can be feel more addicting/mesmerizing and less like you’re just hunting for a husband to pull the car around while you wait in the warm restaurant (the ultimate in American dreams).

I’ve gone on two dates from Tinder, both of them during last summer.  Each of these two guys ended up having mutual friends with me and, with the assurance of, “He’s not a serial killer!” or “He doesn’t eat cats… anymore!” from said mutual friends, I agreed to go on dates with them. The dates worked out wonderfully, as you probably could have guessed from all my pictures of me and my boyfriend ~*cutely snuggling*~ at the pumpkin patch this year.

Both guys were duds.  One was a 6 hour (SIX HOUR) date, in which he kept pushing it on (“Let’s go to drinks! How about dinner! Let’s go dancing! Let’s sit on a bench!”) He was a vegan and a weird eater, though, so I knew it wouldn’t work out when he ordered nuts (LITERALLY, MIXED NUTS AT A RESTAURANT) for dinner.

The rest of the guys on Tinder, I have found, are just pretty awful.  Here’s a real screenshot I took of a riveting conversation I had with a guy who really knows how to sweet talk a lady.


So, Tinder failed me. I know there are some good people on there, mostly because everyone I know has dabbled in it and I’ve seen guys I know in real life on there. But, I ended up deleting the app.  Though, nights get boring and my thumb gets anxious, so I downloaded Bumble a little while ago to see what all the hype was about. 

My roommate, Sammie, and I like to swipe while we watch Netflix documentaries on the couch at night.  Though… we found, as we would swipe and compare matches, that there was something significantly different about Sammie’s experience vs mine.

Because… No one would answer me.

Sammie was in full-blown conversations with these Bumblers while I was… SNUFFED. It has, since, become a huge joke among me and everyone who will listen and assure me that it’s “sooooo weird!” cuz I’m a CATCH! (Thanks, mom!)

First, I tried the traditional route. Remember, I had to say the first thing, and I pretty much messaged everyone because WHAT IF he really WAS the CEO of four companies.  I’m blocking out their pictures and names, just in case…

hey there

See?  Easy opener. I even switched it up every other guy to make everyone feel special.  I’m no copy and paster.  And… No one answered.  NO ONE!

Next, I decided to make a statement about the day.  On this particular Bumbling session it was, apparently, Saturday.

happy saturday

BULLSHIT, RIGHT!? How did all theses bitches not respond with, “You, too! Just finished building a dream home for the two of us! Black shutters, just like your recent Pinterest pin!”

I decided that I should just get down to it and stop beating around the bush. I would ask the hard hitting questions that I needed to know to see if it was going to work between us.




That last one, I didn’t block out his name.  I mean, he was asking for it.  APPARENTLY he doesn’t like jokes.  Do you know who else doesn’t like jokes? These guys.

chicken or egg

bumble jokes

That was supposed to say “Bumble Bee jokes,” so I’ll take the fall for that one.  After STILL NO ANSWER, I just got lazy.



THEN…. My whole life changed, in an instant. I got a response.  Just one, but it was all I needed.  I saw that he went to Oregon, one of the only places in which I am aware of the sports team mascot due to my 18 year residence in the state, so I opened with something easy, breezy, beautiful.


Within moments….


I know what you’re thinking: WHAT a brewing romance.  And… I know. 

It’s true what they say, it happens when you least expect it.  It was almost like he was already finishing my sentence, but even better, because we were sharing thoughts.  We haven’t talked much (at all) since this riveting shared exchange, but I know that this is what all the silence I endured up until this point was for.  And, I’ll tell you what, it was so ducking worth it.


Good morning cutie patooties!

Yesterday I turned the big 2-4 and today I learned that, even at 24, lots and lots of champagne results in extreme hangovers.  HUGE thank you to everyone who celebrated with me, called, texted, posted things, and overall made me feel really really loved and wonderful.  Every single person who reached out I so appreciated and it felt like lots of warm hugs. I am seriously surrounded by the MOST amazing people, as evidence by the countless cupcakes in my fridge (and even more in my belly).

We spent Sunday up celebrating with a party on our rooftop.   I share a birthday with my friend Katie (November 9th, 1991 was a great day) so it ends up being some serious double trouble.

LOOK at the cake that our Chef Boyar-Kira made.


Here are some of the cool photos that we took as the sun set.




Get it? We’re holding up 2 and 4?  I know.  We’re basic(ally amazing).


ALSO… this weekend is Crosswords!! Thank you to everyone who is already planning on coming! If you haven’t already, buy and ticket and come support the amazingness that is this show.  We’re rehearsing our butts off this week to make sure the show makes you laugh and giggle and cry and experience all emotions possible.  See you there?