In a dark, moderately dirtball Irish pub with adorable bartenders straight from Ireland, I am approached by a liquor promoter. He’s pretty good-looking, obviously a flirt because who else takes a job as a promoter, and so begins his attempt as he hands me a keychain:”Who do you get? Who do people always say you look like?”

I reply the truth, no one, because no one even thinks I look like myself after changing the hair. But the promoter has an opinion,

“Okay, so, you definitely don’t have some features she has, which is a good thing, but—”

Is he serious? I am intrigued by the obvious trap he is setting for himself. Why is it that dumb must always accompany pretty?

“—did you watch Blossom? I swear, you’re a post nose-job Blossom…. No, it’s a good thing!”

Was it really? I spent the rest of the evening staring at my nose in the mirror behind the bar and glaring at the promoter, who at the end of the evening thought he had a shot at seeing me at his ‘gig’ next weekend. Read More »

This summer I’m proud to say I actually did a couple things with my life, including a relaxing week-long vacation in London with only the very best of sidekicks, my awkwardly hilarious sister.

Lucky for us, two chickadees who tend to violently swat the air when someone’s smoking a ciggy nearby, we arrived on the exact day that smoking was banned in any public restaurant, pub, or place. This ban was lucky for two secondhand smoke sneering tourists, not so lucky for stinky smelly pubs across Britain. Read More »