Wednesday, April 29, 2015

Categorizing Your Real Life Friend's List.

I've been thinking quite a bit about friendship as of late. I think it's natural after a breakup to reevaluate your life, and more importantly, reevaluate who you keep in it--or add to it thereafter.

Simply put, relationships are tough. This goes for male or female, both romantic and platonic, family or non-family, young and old. Probably the most important thing to keep in mind is that not everyone values relationships in the same way. That's always been the toughest part for me, I think.

I used to take everything to heart, and had the highest of high of expectations for anyone I considered a good friend, but only because I'd go to the moon and back for them. Decades of heartache later, I realized this is not the way to go, as not everyone will share the same reciprocal friendship philosophy as I do. I also learned that one's family dynamic can make a huge difference in how friendship is valued. Someone close to their family may be more apt to lean on their family first, versus someone not as close to their family relying first on their friends.

Over time, I figured out how to drop friends in "friendship buckets," recognizing the fair-weather friends from the foul-weather friends from the downright good friends, programming myself to cherish the latter without having monumentally high expectations from them. I also realized that it's okay to have friends within each bucket. There's no need to give someone the boot for not living up to being a "best friend;" let them remain in your life in their designated friendship bucket, and be okay with the fact that the majority won't be "best friends." People are who they are and that's probably not going to change--but your mentality about it can! Lastly, I think there's a possibility for a friend to move between buckets, or to even double dip in buckets, which after some thought, I have named below:

E-mail friends: These are the ones who you send an annual, biannual, or quarterly update, providing a Cliffs Notes version of what's been going on in your life. You touch briefly on any milestones without going too much into detail, and still write things like keep in touch more often! knowing the likelihood of doing so is slim to none.

You don't go out of your way to make plans with these folks and probably don't even live in the same city or state, but if you happen to be at the same place at the same time, you might link up for a cup of coffee. Should that not work out? NBD. (At all.)

Example: childhood friends

Text friends: People you speak with regularly but limit communication to certain topics--maybe more superficial ones--likely lacking much depth. (Emoji usage is prevalent.) These people serve a purpose in your life, whether it be a laugh, a shopping partner or a drinking buddy, but aren't going to be the first ones you call with a 911 situation--if you call them at all.

You make plans now and again when convenient for you both, barring any unexpected events that pop up and will surely take precedent.

Example: high school or college friends, previous co-workers

Phone call friends: These guys used to be programmed on speed dial when that was a "thing." Now, they might be stored in your phone "favorites," but you call them nonetheless. They know about your annoying boss and listen to you vent about your significant other, providing some valuable feedback in return. You can talk about nothing with these friends, should there be nothing to really talk about. Hell, you can even drunk dial these friends, simply because you just can. No judgment zone--er, bucket--here! These friends are entrusted with your secrets as you are their's.

You schedule plans as often as you can and most likely see them through. You don't wait for openings in your schedule, but rather make openings for these people.

Example: a spouse, a relative, a "best" friend

These are the friends who you even let pick your nose in public.

Monday, April 27, 2015


APRIL, 2015

Filing Taxes...

CPA: "Married or single?"

Me: "Single."

CPA: "Kids?"

Me: "Nope."

Opening an IRA...

CFP: "Married or single?"

Me: "Single."

CFP: "Beneficiary? Children?"

Me: "Nope. Will my sister work?"

At the doctor...

Receptionist: "Married or single?"

Me: "Single."

Receptionist: "Emergency contact?"

Me: "I don't have one. And I'm loving the reminder. "


M.D.: "Tell me about yourself, married or single?"

Me: "Single."

M.D.: "Kids?'

Me: "Dogs."

M.D.: "Do you drink?"

Me: "I'm planning to--heavily--after I leave here."

*Cheers to May.*


I tried the weekly portrait thing for a handful of weeks in 2014, but a bunch of unexpected life circumstances threw a wrench in my commitment to it. Let me tell you, when you're in a pretty good funk, the last thing you want to do is take photos of yourself--and then recall how you were feeling whenever you see the photos. BUT, I figured I'd try it again with my "children," and maybe it'll motivate me to snap a few self-portraits along the way. (Here's to hoping I stick with it.)

Tuesday, April 21, 2015


Have you seen the episode of Sex and the City where Samantha gets the flu, and she can't find a man to take care of her? That's kind of how I felt last night...

During my conversation with She Who Shall Not (yet) Be Named (nor will her boyfriend, hence my text override, above), I was complaining about being sick, and freaking out about these enormous moths that somehow keep getting into my apartment. I'm no girly girl; these are HUGE--as She described them, "bat-sized"--and they are infiltrating my apartment by the dozen, I swear.

Everything is worse when you don't feel well. I certainly wouldn't want to chase moths around my apartment when not sick, but I especially didn't feel like chasing them around last night, being sick. After flinging dishtowels at my ceiling for a solid twenty minutes, I managed to get three out of the four intruders out the window, losing the fourth somewhere along the way. Feeling defeated, I crawled into bed and pulled the covers up to my eyeballs, in case I needed to duck from the moth escapee.

What should then land on the floor, nearby? THE MOTH(erfucker). I tiptoed into the kitchen to grab the nearest cup I could find, crept up behind it, and clink! (That's the noise of the cup landing strategically over the moth.) GOT 'EM.

I had to take a picture of my victory and send it to Her. When I did, I somehow thought of that SATC episode, with the independent Ms. Samantha Jones sick and longing for a man to lend a helping hand. That's exactly how I felt. As soon as she regained her health, her self-sufficient attitude came with it--so that's what I'm waiting for: the return of my health and self-reliance. Because honestly? I'm cool with being alone, and doing things both for and by myself. And until then, my neighbor kindly offered her boyfriend to be my mothslayer.

Monday, April 20, 2015

Debate to Procreate.

(Best accompanying hashtags ever)

The procreation debate is a constant for me, and I flip-flop between the following two (and very extreme) positions: 

I really, really, really want kids--like yesterday--but my childbearing years are over! I'm already so old, and I'll be ancient by the time I even have a chance to start a family. I mean, I'm already twenty-nine, which may as well mean my eggs are forty-nine. I'll be sixty-nine by the time I even find a man, pregnant at seventy, and eighty-nine when my kid starts college! More than one child? Nahhht gonna happen. Being around for grandchildren? Forget about it. But at least my life insurance will cover the cost of college tuition for my one poor and then parent-less child.  (Which will be oh, about 100K by then, in 2084.) 


What the fuck am I worried about? I'm only twenty-nine, and I have plenty of years to live before I even think of bringing a child into the world. Plenty. Of. Years. While all of my friends are popping out kids, I'm all what country am I going to next?! Another margarita on a Tuesday? MAKE IT A DOUBLE.  I can't even imagine bringing a child into the world now; I have so, so much more living and learning to do, so many more countries I want to see--all without having to yet lug car seats and strollers and diaper bags with me. Oh, and the child. Can't forget the child.

As previously mentioned, two extremes. My first point, being the irrational and emotionally-charged thought of simply missing my window for motherhood, and my second point, which is not an attack on anyone with children, does not mean my carefree life is somehow superior to those with children. Most of my friends have one or even FOUR kids (hey, Lyn!), and that's how their cards were dealt. Sometimes I'm a bit envious, I'm not going to lie, and I do wish I had a partner and family already started. Whenever I'm in one of those whiny moods about wanting greener grass, my mother always reminds me that every single one of my friends with children live in Massachusetts. (Not a knock to anyone living in Massachusetts either.) It's just the difference of lifestyles, really, and I choose this one.

I moved out to LA when I was eighteen and haven't once regretted it. Especially not this past winter, because thank the good lawd, I was chillen in sunny SoCal, responding to everyone telling me how "lucky" I was with: "But I choose to move to LA ten years ago, weather being a reason why. It's not luck, it's a choice, people!" (Had to quickly vent about that one.)

I do feel I have inherent motherly skills, or that innately, I'm the mothering kind. I was ten when my mom had my sister, and twelve when my brother came along. I was a nanny in college and a newborn photographer after I graduated, and absolutely could not wait for the day I had my very own baby. I had a conversation at dinner on Friday surrounding the general idea of  "everything happens for a reason;" I don't really think that way, apparently nor does my neighbor-friend, as She interjected: "No, life happens." I could not agree more. And each life is so vastly different than the next.

Maybe it will take several years for me to find a partner I want to start a family with, or hell, maybe I'll do it on my own. But there are perks of waiting, too: more money to be made, more knowledge to impart, more communication skills and patience to be learned. I'll just have to sit back and see what lies ahead, and hopefully ease my anxiety about it all in the meantime.

Friday, April 17, 2015

Train Ride Life.

Since I'm on a roll talking about my life B.B., W.B., and A.B., I figured I'll just continue riding that train 'til I fall off. And because things keep surfacing to make me mention any of these three said phases. I'm proud of myself for being more open, even though I do still have moments of panic where I want to delete the whole blog because of it.

I should start off with the good news: Ziggy is on the up and up! I finally got some good results this week, and man am I thrilled about it. No Addison's Disease for this boy! The bills I've accumulated from his multiple vet visits have made a little dent in my wallet; however, his insurance company has done the unexpected and has begun to reimburse me. Who'd a thunk dog insurance would be a thing? And an easier thing than human insurance? I feel like I'm constantly disputing charges from my own health insurance company, so shout out to Healthy Paws for being hassle free!

Because of the aforementioned bills, I decided to participate in a focus group about apartment rentals a couple of days ago, to pull in some quick cash money. I always look at properties downtown, and a developer must have gotten my name from one of the places I toured in the past. The focus group was held at 8PM, and I really didn't think I'd be able to stay up "that late" to attend--I'm old and usually in bed by then--but I managed and actually had a pretty decent time. I mean, getting paid to blab on and on? Yes, please.

I needed to blab about the following:

  1. Reasons for moving
  2. Initial apartment searching
  3. Coming to a decision
  4. Living with that decision

From the get-go, I needed to address my reason for my (almost) move to the whole group. So that was fun. I began with my breakup and how I felt impressionable during that strange time, hence me listening to other people advising me to move. You need a fresh start! You need your own space! You don't need to be reminded of old memories! You know, the usual spiel from those who care about your well-being, and given the position I was in, I listened. 

I wound up putting a security deposit down at a new place, and thankfully I decided to do a quick Yelp search of the building that same day. Worst. Reviews. Ever. I immediately called to withdraw my application, and shortly thereafter I got my security deposit back. I have since put the designated moving funds into new decor for my current apartment, which was mine B.B., W.B., and now A.B. Couldn't be happier about my decision either.

So is Z, who is happily still on neighborhood patrol:

Hopefully soon to follow: my apartment tour (for you, Christian!).

And here's a link to Healthy Paws, for any of you pet owners.

Wednesday, April 15, 2015

Traditionally Nontraditional.

Sifting through photo archives, I came across a set of photos from an especially memorable time this past summer, in Massachusetts. I had flown back East for my friend Rachel's wedding, W.B.,but before he got there, my grandmother, mother, sister and I all got together for what my grandmother deemed a "ring ceremony."

I can remember being a little girl, playing on my grandmother's bed, dripping in all of her jewelry. I would clip on her clip on earrings, layer her necklaces around my neck, and one by one put each of her fabulous rings on my fingers--easily my favorite part of jewelry dress-up.

Over the years, I continued to bug her about wanting all of her beautiful jewels. She had a ring holder on her bedroom armoire and I would make a beeline for it each time I visited, putting different rings on and flashing them in front of her face, in hopes of annoying her to the point of giving them to me. At least just one.

When I graduated high school, those dreams came true! My grandmother surprised me and had her mother's engagement ring polished and re-sized for my graduation present. That's probably one of my favorite gifts to date. I still wear it all the time, especially if I'm going somewhere and don't want to be bothered by men. (Of quick note: an engagement ring won't always deter a man--even though it should--but it's a nice buffer just in case you need one.)

Several years after I moved to LA, I went back East for a visit. I stopped by my grandparent's house and promptly went upstairs to her bedroom, opened her jewelry dresser, and put on her big gold necklace. (This would later upstage the Big Gold Chain featured here and here.) I danced around the living room with her necklace on, and she immediately knew where I had been. She actually let me keep it, but only after instructing me to let her know prior to fishing around her jewelry drawers.

Flash-forward to this past summer: my grandmother decided that she would gift a ring to each my mother, my sister, and me. She thought it would be special to share that moment together, three generations of us, with her jewelry being passed down. And it really was special. Each ring was selected for a reason, mine being more along the lines of bothering her about it for decades. Maggie got a beautiful sapphire ring to match her blue eyes, and my mother got the ring she and her father had picked out for my grandmother, years ago.

It's funny, I can argue with my mother and grandmother more than anyone else, but moments like that, with them, are truly some of the most important to me. (And not just because I got diamonds out of it.) Traditionally nontraditional, this "ring ceremony" was both a nod to my grandmother's humor, and us as a family. She preferred to ceremoniously hand out each piece, versus any alternative of her no longer being here and doing it that way, and certainly didn't fail to crack jokes about that along the way. I can't hit on that topic, but I do know that our little ceremony will forever be a cherished memory.

My ohmygodI'vebeenwaitingforthisforever face

Monday, April 13, 2015

"After Boyfriend."

When I was in a relationship, let's call it "W.B." for "With Boyfriend," I would often think about how happy I was to not need to go out anymore, in hopes of finding a guy. I mean, going out wasn't contingent on scoping out fresh dating prospects, nor was the sole point of going out to reel a man in; but it was nice to no longer feel like the man search was underway. I had one, and was quite content about it.

I frequently thought about how satisfied I was with my little home life. I would talk to one of my friends (who actually just got engaged) about how nice it was to be able to do the boring stay-at-home thing, rather than fill my evenings with boozing and bar-hopping and staying out 'til the wee hours of the morning--not that there's anything wrong with that. I'm more of a homebody, so when I had a partner to share my home with, and more reason to stay home, that was more up my alley. I'd say that part is something I really do miss: being Suzy Homemaker. I loved planning for two and cooking for two, even if that meant buying more food to accommodate his less picky palate. I didn't even mind any extra apartment tidying. It's been a bit of an adjustment, going back to just me again, but at least the amount of dishes in my sink has halved.

Another perk of being single in my new "After Boyfriend," or "A.B." phase, is that it frees up some of my time so I can meet new people. I've always found that kind of hard, meeting people as I get older. Particularly, meeting good girl friends. I go out all the time by myself (always have), and in my experience, not too many other women do that, thus the majority of people I meet are men. And if you're thinking, Krista, that should make it easy for you to meet another man! Wrong. Most of these guys are much, much older, some are straight dinks, and others, well, they'll be staying in the "Friend Zone." But back to the point...

I've been really friendly with a neighbor of mine for the past few months. I've started to write about it a handful of times but always stop, as I don't feel like I'm doing it/her any justice. I'm really thankful for the friendship, especially during a time of personal chaos. It's meant so much to me to have someone willingly listen at a time I need it most--which I've embarrassingly made into many a time--and I wish I could properly express my gratitude. (That extends to her boyfriend, too, who's maybe lent an ear by default, but has done so nonetheless.)

All that shmoopy stuff has lead to the following point: I went out Saturday night, with Her. And not just out, out to a CLUB, with old school hip-hop music (score!), half-naked women dancing on banquets, and a dance floor complete with neon lights and fog machines. I sent a text message to a local DTLA friend saying he should meet me there, and when I told him where "there" was, he replied "Ew." A pretty accurate response, but it was also a pretty amazing night.

I hadn't felt that carefree in a while. I danced the night away in 4" stilettos, and I laughed so hard that my abs hurt the next day. It was a boozy, hotel and bar-hopping late-ish night, but I didn't care. I needed exactly that, to be honest. That same thing I was excitedly steering away from, W.B.

^^This colorful blur sums it right up.^^

Thursday, April 9, 2015

Getting Real(ish).

I tend to stay away from writing about things that are upsetting to me. In many ways, I'm not writing about the vast majority of my life--not to say the vast majority of my life is upsetting. It's weird, because what I want to read from other people are real life things. I like relating to others, and I too want to feel relatable; but for me, typing things out just makes them more...real. And I've mentioned this beforethe scary thing about putting it all out there is just that--putting it all out there.  People can see what's going on, and ask about further details or updates. Maybe that's the hardest part for me, knowing it's potentially inviting a conversation that I don't want to have. It's hard to be reminded of a tough time (especially when you're living it), and should anything go further South, I'd need to admit that out loud, too.

Most of the time, I really don't want the reminder.

I've mentioned my little guy, Ziggy, has epilepsy. I haven't mentioned that over the last couple of weeks, he's had some big health scares. He's dropped a good amount of weight, now he has a thyroid condition, and we are in the midst of further testing to see if he has Addison's Disease. He's a trooper, but it's a lot to learn at once.

My ex was really helpful with the dogs. That's one of the harder parts for me right now, in relation to Ziggy's health, as I'm dealing with everything alone again. A part of me feels like I went through a divorce, and now I have the kids full time while the other "parent" is absent. They are, in fact, my dogs, and I did it all alone B.B. There's a big difference though, going from having no help, to having help, back to having none again. Particularly when it comes to health issues, like dealing with Ziggy having a seizure on my own. That scares the absolute shit out of me. I can't run and hide in the bathroom until it's over now; I'm going to need to be front and center, dealing with whatever comes our way--by myself. I know I can do it, and let me tell you, he's surely worth it.

Wednesday, April 8, 2015


Haircuts and mending hearts seem to go hand-in-hand, particularly for women. That new, edgy crop on someone you're used to seeing with long locks? It's safe to say she's probably had some big life changes to inspire the new 'do. And while I feel my heart has been on the mend for some time now, my hair has remained in the same "blah" place, and I'm eager to switch it up.

The post-breakup motive is obvious: a fresh start and new identity. Revamping your hair revamps your whole image, and gives you an accompanying attitude to boot. Before exboyfriend, or "B.B.," I used to feel pretty edgy. I put great outfits together, always did my makeup--complete with a bold lip--and even managed to style my unruly hair. Part of my current problem is easy to pinpoint: lack of effort. The thing about having a more "hip" hairstyle is that it immediately does most of the work for you, giving you an effortless look. That's what I absolutely loved about having the side-shave. (That and the fact that I only had half of my head to style.)

I've been pretty much every color, not including teal or pink, or any other mermaid hues that are trendy right now. I wouldn't mind putting those shades in my hair, but I've been trying to repair the bleach damage from last year, and it's finally starting to look healthy again. Hoping to point myself in some sort of direction, I grouped together a few photos with different looks I've had in the past. Opinions are welcome!

(Not edgy or cool: the four duckfaces that you will see, below.)

I will say though, every time I see the curly hair, I want to bring it back. Added bonus: it won't cost any money.

Monday, April 6, 2015

Downtown dwellin'.

How is it, having dogs in a city?
How do they like being in a city?
Is it hard having not just one but two dogs in a city?
How many times a day do you have to walk them?
Don't you feel bad for them, being stuck in an apartment?
Don't you wish you had a backyard?

These are a few example questions I get on the regular, and I'm pretty good about not being offended by them anymore. Most of the time, people aren't trying to take direct jabs at me and criticize my life decisions, and I try to keep that in mind before defensively spitting out any answers.

I've touched on this before, and my view on it hasn't really strayed. Quite simply, we dig the city. It still works for us. I do have moments of wanting a more peaceful atmosphere (especially for my nervous little Z), but this is our life as we (mostly) know it. Ziggy has lived here his whole life, so he doesn't know any different. Nellie, on the other hand, would probably prefer to live beachside in Malibu--but hell, I would too, if I had the dough. (Of note: she doesn't have a prerequisite for a bourgie beach and would be happy on any beach. Malibu is just where we go.)

Anyway, here are my answers, defensive and moderately defensive:

Q: How is it, having dogs in a city?
(D) A: Just fine.
(MD) A: Just fine!

Q: How do they like being in a city?
(D) A: They are just fine.
(MD) A:  They are just fine!

Q: Is it hard having not just one but two dogs in a city?
(D) A: Nope.
(MD) A: Nah.

Q: How many times a day do you have to walk them?
(D) A: Never; I never take them out. That's part of city living.
(MD) A: Typically 4 times per day.

Q: Don't you feel bad for them, being stuck in an apartment?
(D) A: Totally. Being "stuck" in their "luxury loft" sucks.
(MD) A: Not at all. My dogs go on several long walks each day. (Which likely more than your dog.)

Q: Don't you wish you had a backyard?
(D) A: No. We're just fine.
(MD) A: Not gonna lie, kind of. Nah, the entire city is our backyard.

& I shouldn't blow their cover, but they're also the city's Superheros.

Friday, April 3, 2015


Sometimes I think I feel too deeply. Too strongly. It's like I was born with an extra dose of sensitivity, or something.

My highs are high and my lows are low. They've been that way as long as I can remember. And for the longest time, I hated it. I desperately wanted to be able to reach some emotional plateau and stay put, in some sort of mentally regulated zone that would sound an internal alarm, should I plunge below "standard emotional level X," or skyrocket above "standard emotional level Y."

But I can't.

It's like I have some insatiable urge to feel. To bury myself in my own thoughts, or those of someone else, going as deep down as I can possibly go. Pain is part of the process. I'm not actively seeking it--that's a downside, some inherent, involuntary, emotional masochism--but it's bound to happen when your heart naturally conjoins with another's. You just feel whatever they do, whoever "they" are. But there's an upside: love. Extraordinary, deep, deep love. And that's a damn good upside, if you ask me.

I'm also not seeking out to be a world-class nurturer or problem-solver, and maybe this way of life inevitably leads to more suffering than average. But I'm okay with that, it's who I am. There's no need to cover it up or try to fight it. If anything, I've learned to be grateful.

(PS- a word from our sponsor, Pinterest.)