You'd be surprised, but growing up without a father can actually be a lot of fun. When I was younger, I got to play games that wouldn't be appropriate if I lived in a two parent household. You know the game 'If I had a million dollars, what would I buy?' Well, I put a lil twist on that and played 'If I could pick my daddy, who would it be?'
Since my family has spent a hefty amount of time purchasing things in warehouses, it should come as no surprise that for the past decade, James Caan has been my favorite daddy of choice. Sharing a lot of the same characteristics as the real men in my family (i.e. erratic temper, love for garlic) he seemed like a perfect match. That is, until recently.
Not too long ago, Theresa and I went to see Chaz Palminteri in his one man show of the Bronx Tale. INCREDIBLE. How he so seamlessly portrayed over 20 characters in the 187th street and Belmont Ave hood in 97 minutes with no bathroom brakes was truly remarkable and one of the best theatrical adventures I have ever attended.
After the show I got to meet Chaz, who I quickly came to find, is just about the coolest man to walk the planet. Sorry Jimmy, you've just been dethroned. I can say, with absolute certainty, that Chaz Palminteri is my ultimate dream dad of choice. We even look like we could be related, don't you think? Well, maybe in another life.....
For the record, I would like to apologize in advance to one person in particular if this game is in any way hurtful. Sorry mamma - you know you're the man...
Today is my Babas birthday. She would have been 86.
For those of you who didn't have the pleasure of knowing her before she passed, you missed out. Some of my most prized possessions happen to be her broken english post-it notes that I saved. Try and see if you can crack the code on your own first.
Non-refugee spelling: 'Tanja, if Theresa no work today, you girls stop by to take tangerines and cake home. Love, Baba'
Nadam se da si dobro. Nedostajes mi!
Voli te tvoja Tanja
Now, I'm not trying to complain here, but I was under the impression that lent lasted forty days. ONLY forty days. Nope! Unbenounced to me, forty six days to be exact is the duration of Lent this year. Frustration sets in. Apparently, the 'forty days' represent the time that, according to the Bible, Jesus spent in the dessert before.....bla bla bla let's get back to me now.
You see, I gave up something really important and if I may, a little ambitious this year...... All desserts. Yes, I repeat: ALL DESSERTS! That means no sprinkles cupcakes, no frozen yogurt with captain crunch and blueberry toppings - even my favorite trail mix with white chocolate chips are off limits. Ahahah my taste buds are starting to do the electric slide as we speak.
Why did I give up ALL desserts and not just one? Because my relationship with sweets plays like a bad after school special. First its just an innocent little cookie crumb, then before you know it I'm seven red velvet cupcakes deep and feeling gluttonous as f*#k. I've learned from the past - if I need to give up one, I must stay away from them all.
I was pondering if God would get upset if I took a lil 'time out' since I technically only signed up for forty days? Yeah.....maybe not the best idea. Especially since I'm not exactly the poster child for a model catholic. Not so long ago, while filling out a check for a traffic ticket, I wrote 'tell the officer who gave me this he can eat a d*#k!' in the memo portion. Probably not what Jesus would have done. Also, when there was samples at costco last week, I lied and took two saying one was for my mom. And then I went back a second time. To every stand.
What's a girl to do then? Nothing. I'll just sit here, bide my time and pretend my fruit cup is really a nutella crepe.
So if you happen to see me out and I pass on something sweet, please don't judge. I swear, I'm not that kind of girl - I'm only doing this for Jesus.
My life is filled with lots of highs and lows. This trend seems to be most evident in my never a dull moment dating life. A wee bit back I had the worst date of my life. Hard to imagine as previous suitors have set the bar so high, but true.
Believe it or not, it was worse than the time my date's car went up in smoke on the freeway in the middle of timbuktu and I had to be escorted home via AAA Truck. It was worse than the time I was invited for dinner at, and I quote "the terrace of my beverly hills home" which turned out to be eating peasant food on the back patio of his parents house. And even more worse than the time a date came over and saw my doodle 'he's marriage material up the ying yang' next to his name.
Let me set the mood: Its Thursday night and my bff/sister Theresa and I are having girl talk as I meticulously prep for my date. Although T had reservations about my shoes (4" wedges) we mutually decided I was good to go for my evening. Lost in excitement, I scurried out of my building to meet him when I accidentally lose my footwork and plummet down an entire flight of treacherous concrete stairs. Major ouch. Dazed from my concussion, I foolishly limped back up the stairs only to black out as I reached the top (where as I was told) I proceeded to tumble down to the bottom....again. Epic embarrassment.
My memory returns when the paramedics arrived. While laying there, trying to recall what had just happened, I see my date amongst the crowd of people surrounding me. Sh!tballs. This isn't happening. I couldn't be more humiliated. Or so I thought until seconds later the paramedics inform me they need to lift up my dress to access my spine damage before putting me on the stretcher. One would imagine by the look of my borderline too short mini dress that I'd be wearing equally sexy undies to match, right? I happened to be rockin a pair of cotton granny bloomers that I bought in bulk from costco. The crowd had a field day. In my defense, I wasn't planning on taking off my dress so I didn't think it mattered what I was wearing underneath!!!
After a trip to the hospital my diagnosis was as follows: a concussion, fractured tail bone, twisted ankle, dislocated shoulder, countless bumps and bruises and one major blow to my ego.
After months of sitting on an inflatable donut, life is now finally back to normal. Following a serious chat with Theresa, I made some drastic renovations to my undies drawer. Bye bye cotton, hellooooo lacy, ride up your crack, cover up as much as a dorrito would, underwear.
So what happened to the date? I deemed him as bad luck and exiled him to the not for me pile. I'm starting to feel like the Goldie Locks of the Los Angeles dating scene, it seems I've had everything but just right....