Na-nu. Na-nu. No more.

 An ode to Robin Williams. 

When I was a kid my father and I used to watch stand up specials and funny movies together.  We loved all the greats: Richard Pryor.  Joan Rivers. George Carlin.  Bill Hicks. Phyllis Diller. Robin Williams. It was how we bonded.  It was our thing.  We specifically loved Robin Williams. I grew up in awe of his boundless energy and seemingly limitless comedic brain and it was because of that I knew I wanted to be funny.  His comedy was some of the first I had ever seen and it made an everlasting impact on me.

For me, when I found out he passed away, It felt like an era had ended.  An era of true legends and boundary-pushers.  Comedians who challenged the injustices of the time and laid their hearts out on stage, and introduced us their darkest personal demons that they themselves mocked for our amusement. I literally sat on my toilet yesterday and sobbed for him.  Then I did the only thing that I knew would make me feel better, I called my father.

My father reading the paper at a convenience store in Gouverneur NY circa 2009.

My father reading the paper at a convenience store  near our summer camp in Gouverneur NY circa 2009.

Me: “Poppo?”

Pops: “Yea, babe?”

Me: “Robin Williams is dead.”

Pops: “I know, babe. It’s horrible.”

Me: “I’m just sad I never met him, now I never will. And I want you to know when I think of him I think of you and it makes me happy because those are our memories. And I love you.”

Pops: “You don’t have to worry about me, babe. I’m not going anywhere (laughing). I’m gonna stick around until I’m 90 and drive all you kids nuts.”

Me: “I love you.”

Pops: “I know you do, I love you, too.”


For me, though, death, like pain, is a motivator.  It’s life’s harshest reality check.  Reminding us of our fragile and mortal existence.  I never got to meet Robin Williams. He was on my list, though.   Williams was/is one of the reasons I got into comedy in the first place.  His physicality and unwavering ability to be both goofy and poignant, simultaneously, always left me feeling envious.  I wanted to do what he did.

Death is like a little reminder of our mortality and our ultimate fate. Wow! It’s rare to feel true sadness about about the death of someone you’ve never met.  I’m mourning a man I never knew. But, then again, he gave so much up on stage that you couldn’t help but to feel like you knew his darkest secrets.  I’m not going to focus on how he died.  There’s been some judgmental comments about suicide and it being a “selfish act”.  I won’t judge a person for succumbing to their own demons because I’ve seen it happen first hand in my family.  It so easy for someone to chop depression down to “an inconsiderate and selfish act” when you don’t understand just how deep it can permeate one’s soul.

I’m sad.  This was a big loss for the comedy community and for anyone who enjoyed his talents.  I went roller blading this morning, as I do every morning,  with my pit bull Carlin.  Instead of listening to my usual 90’s hip hop workout mix, I chose Robin Williams, “Live On Broadway”.  There’s a parking lot I always bring Carlin to because it’s big and open.  I arrived there just as his special started to play in my headphones.  I was laughing out loud along to one of my childhood hero’s stand up specials as I rollerbladed like an asshole in circles with dog named after my other childhood hero, George Carlin.  Carlin, my dog, responding to my jovial energy began to bark and jump up at me and it was then I felt tears running down my face.  I was laughing and crying at the same damn time.  I couldn’t stop myself.  I skated, crying and laughing like that until special had ended.  And I had a memory of my father and I laughing together and that’s an invaluable gift.  Thank you Mr. Williams.


Selfie taken by my longtime friend Juli Oliver of me,  rollerblading like an asshole, and my pit bull Carlin on Venice Beach, CA.

Selfie taken by my longtime friend Juli Oliver of me, rollerblading like an asshole, and my pit bull Carlin on Venice Beach, CA.  Yes, I’m wearing a hot pink fanny pack.


Robin Williams: Live On Broadway.

Robin Williams: Live On Broadway.




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Paging Doctor McDelicious.

I ran into a few hot doctors in the hospital.

Who wouldn't want this guy checking your puss, I mean pulse?

Who wouldn’t want this guy checking your puss, I mean pulse?

Every time I walk into a hospital I always anticipate seeing ‘THE HOT DOCTOR’.  He comes walking thru the triage waiting area with his stethoscope, thick head of hair and form-fitted scrubs that show off his hard man-ass and masculine wrists (I have a thing for manly wrists, they’re truly underrated!) and then he whisks me away to examine my injuries.  I know I’m not the only chick who thinks about this fantasy!  I blame shows like Grey’s Anatomy for the anticipation of Dr McSteamy, McDreamy or McUnmarried to be present at any and every hospital that I enter.  Everybody remembers Clooney from E.R. and his infamous “Cesar-cut”.  From that point on, every woman throbbed at the thought of having ‘the hot doc’ examine her with his “stethoscope”!

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mistletoe 1It’s the Christmas time and we all know what that means…egg nog, office parties and unwanted kissing underneath a bush with teeny white balls that smell like sour milk.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m a big mush for the holidays.  I love the lights, the music, even the slipper socks I seem to get every single year,( thanks Grandma!).  I love it ALL!  Except for one thing, the mistletoe.  This is the one tradition that I think should be reconsidered, or at the very least, banned from office and house parties unless you’ve invited John Stamos and/or Dylan McDermott.  Then I’ll swing upside down and naked from that little ball like I was the newest member of Cirque Du Soliel.  It’s just a dumb tradition that people use to make you feel obligated to participate in.  You become forced to smooch a douchebag in front of the whole room.  Well I’ve concocted 5 reasons NOT to hang the mistletoe this year, that maybe you can use as an excuse to get out of unwanted kisses. Continue reading

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To Kegel, Or Not To Kegel?

Read this if you want a stronger pussy.

To Kegel, Or Not To Kegel?

As a woman, we put a lot of pressure on ourselves to stay youthful.  We stress out about wrinkles, grey hair, and now we need to worry about sloppy puss?! Say no more- kegels to the rescue!!! A kegel involves contracting a muscle, the “pelvic floor”,  that you use to hold when you have to pee.  So basically its like a coochie-crunch! (Although men also contain this muscle, which opens up a whole other door of opportunities!)   And excuse me, um, pelvic FLOOR?? The last time I worked this hard on a floor, it was college and I was on my back doing “extra credit” for my gym teacher.  We’ve all heard about kegels from our friends but do any of us REALLY do them? And if we don’t will our vaginal space become wide open like a two-car garage?!  Even my spell check doesn’t acknowledge the existence of a kegel!  Supposedly, if you do these exercises regularly, you will have a Macy’s Day Parade of an orgasm! Well that alone gave me enough reason to ask the question, To Kegel, or Not To Kegel? Continue reading

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