Bermuda Triangle

The Bermuda Triangle.

This is not located in a tropical location.

That is a myth.

The Bermuda triangle is in Pasadena, CA and is in fact a very real place.


Where cell phones are of no use, liquids are limited, and despair is constant due to the overwhelming feeling of being stranded.

Help is not on the way.

What is this place called?

The Rose Bowl.


Each time I go, I think that I’ve learned from my past visits.

But, no.

I pay the price for my optimism, with blisters and FAT Uber fees.

We got tickets to UCLA VS. BYU game.

We must go!


We carpooled out there and enjoyed Stellas while tailgating.


We had wristbands that were supposed to give us access to the Blue Moon Club.

BMC= Burgers and Booze.

How glorious that they have this area, for adults to enjoy a college football game.

I was starting to take back my past comments of the Rose Bowl.

Did the Coliseum have this club?

I think not!

As we entered the BMC, I was followed by a Rose Bowl employee who ripped the wristband off my arm right after I heard, “mam, MAM!”

“These are fake.”


Luckily, there was a plethora of hot dog stands at which I inhaled my sorrows of not being able to hydrate at the Blue Moon Club.


After BYU was killing UCLA, we decided to leave and head to the Uber pickup area.

How organized of the Rose Bowl!


This was a mirage.

Uber created an address that the drivers could not get to.

After an hour of hassling the Uber reps, three cancelled rides, and too much heat, we decided to brave the elements (humidity) and attempt to find civilization on our own.


We hiked up a hill to my friend Cammie’s house, and prayed that the Uber would be able to find us.

Because we gave them an actual address, we were able to get picked up within 10 minutes.

I’ve never been so excited to see a Chevy Volt in my life.

After being seriously dehydrated, we spent the rest of the night at Q’s.

Sunday, I resembled Tom Hanks from Castaway, when he arrives back from the island.

I had such a greater appreciation for life. I was even happy to watch football all day long.

The state I was in….


We ended the weekend with hydrating on the beach in the sand.

Where’s Wilson?

I don’t care as long as I have my marg.





Before I left for Lake Havasu, my co-worker had some parting words on a survival tactic for my Labor Day weekend adventure:

“Channel your inner Britney Spears. Embrace the trucker hat and ripped shorts. Walk into a bathroom with no shoes on.”


I would say that the beginning of the trip started off similar to the film “Lake Placid.”

The water and the vibe was calm, relaxing, almost tranquil. But by the end of the film, the alligator (our group) had completely lost control and was wreaking havoc on the lake.

The calm before the storm

The calm before the storm

Day 1

Started with wakeboarding (not me), cliff jumping (me), and black eye tubing.

Not me

Not me

I looked like a euphoric wet squirrel, clutching on the tube before flying off face first into the water.


I’ll preface this next part by saying that I went to the U of A.

I’ve “hydrated” in extreme temperatures and elements and none have affected me like the #lakelife.


I received a concerned text from my friend Natasha by the end of the day 1, asking if I was seasick, which I instantly disregarded because I am no amateur water person.

I’ve sailed, banana boated, water-skied, and bobbed in Cabo and Catalina for years.


No problem.

I found out later that she was referring to the after-effect of the #lakelife when back on land of which came in hot and out of nowhere.

I felt fine, then all of a sudden, a whirl pool hit my head at 8pm.

So scary!

Despite my borderline heat stroke, we enjoyed an amazing dinner that revitalized me, and brought us back to life.

Britney was back.


Day 2

The group walked to our station, which was titled a “pontoon” and set up camp for the day.

The K-Fed to my Britney had to snap me back to reality since I was literally standing there mouth agape.


This was when the WT emerged, or really I should say floated, down the river.



Pasties, thongs, and diamond accessories- this is what LDW Havasu dreams are made of.
Our group was not into the above trends, but it was funny the number of times thsat someone asked if I had a trucker hat since I didn’t know after Von Dutch and Ashton rocked them back in ‘03 they were still current.


I found one in the house, and transformed into Britney.

Full Force.

Legit Britney and K-Fed

Legit Britney and K-Fed

We somehow managed to make it out to a bar called Kokomos, which is the American version of Squid Roe.

Shooters, cages, and platforms.

Oh and accessories were available to purchase in case you were feeling flirty.


Despite the detoxing and serious hydrating required for the next two weeks, the trip was worth the whirlpool and six hour drive, and I would definitely like to return, but maybe pre-alligator havoc.




Take Me To Church

I attended church this weekend.

No, it was not on Sunday. It was on Friday night.

In downtown Los Angeles.

At the Staples Center.

Mass was led by the patron saint of pop music, Taylor Swift.


(Britney actually is, but T-Swift serves as the interim Saint until Britney decides she wants to come back).


As the voice of our millennial generation, I envisioned the stadium to be packed with 20-somethings, united in song- Reflecting on past experiences where Taylor helped them through a difficult time.

This was not the case.

I was the oldest person there.

Well, my roommate and I were at least.


Surrounded by legit children, (not even pre-teens) and families, we danced and screamed to all things Swift.


One of the kids knocked over my vodka soda and didn’t realize what he had done.

No, this is not water!!!!!!!!!!!!!!



I laughed, I cried (not over the vodka soda), and loved hearing the soundtrack to my life for the past 10 years, live in concert.


What I did not love, was the Lakers propaganda, with Kobe making an appearance during “Style.”

I came here to see Swift and her posse of model friends walk the runway in sync, not halt the song for Kobe to award Taylor a banner.

I would have much preferred to see this.



Sigh round two.

I might have been a bit on edge with the toddlers, since I was exhausted from moving.

We only moved one floor above where we currently live, but honestly one Saturday of hell, was enough to push me to my limit- Mentally and Physically.


Ever since the one-floor move, I’ve been in this haze, where I walk into a World Market, or a Target for one item, and walk out with an assortment of random objects.

I legitimately blacked out at Bed, Bath, and Beyond.

I bought a scarf hanger…




And wine?



Post T-Swift and one week after the one-floor move, I woke up with the leg cramp.

The one where, you want to call 9-1-1 and are literally paralyzed.

This was me Friday night.


My Saturday footwork at the Bungalow did not help, but it’s still sore and i’m concerned.


Correspondance with my Soul Cycle instructor, Franz.

Besides the age reminder and the leg cramp, the T-Swift 1989 concert was everything I could have wanted and more (minus Kobe), and I would recommend everyone to go.

Just make sure your seat is close to the refreshments.



Giggles Goes to Harvard

If you watch “Intervention” (my occasional autobiography on Sundays), you know the scene: The subject is on the plane, heading to rehab and then there’s a sort of relief that comes over you?

That’s how I felt (minus the rehab portion) Thursday morning. I was heading to Boston for a wedding, and inconveniently got sick on Wednesday.
This is a real pain when you’re an adult (sub spongebob for excel). I was still not feeling 100% Thursday morning.
Since I needed an extra 10 minutes of sleep, I got a nice workout as I jogged through the Virgin terminal, but luckily made it on my flight just as we were boarding.

I ended up eating two cheese plates, and nearly had an emotional breakdown watching the memorial package for Paul Walker at the end of Furious 7.
Sniffly, I finally made it to Boston.

It’s always so comical to see giggles out of her natural Californian habitat.

Dallas was culture shock with the y’all’s, but in Boston, there are SO many customs that do not exist in Los Angeles.
1. Dunkin Donuts- this is not just a chain, it’s a way of life.

Straight out of "Trainwreck."

Post Wedding

2. The Accents- I was told to resist the temptation of imitating them, but I couldn’t. The number of times I asked someone to “pawk the cawr in hawvahd yawd.” Too much…
3. An insult is a pick up line. I had a b-loc tell me I had small boobs then ask for my
number. I’ll pass, dude.

The wedding was beautiful and filled with cheers, champagne, and Chardonnay.



Then, the Mary-Kate to my Ashley (jengum) came to Boston from NYC to recreate an Olsen twin movie with me, as we normally do for all the trips we go on together.



We subbed Neptune Oyster with Island Creek, and had a very under the sea lunch.
Next on our tour de Boston, was a trip to Cambridge to visit my Alma Mater, Harvard.
Alma Mater, since I told all of our Uber drivers I attended school there and studied bio engineering.

Lobsta roll

Lobsta roll

I don’t think this major exists…

They didn’t ask, but I managed to include this piece of information in every car conversation.
We spent the whole day in Cambridge catching up on lyfe, and decided to ask our bartender what the quintessential Harvard bar was.

What? Like it's hard?

What? Like it’s hard?

“The kids who go here don’t do a ton of drinking, so there isn’t a bar that everyone goes to.”

Jengum had a sudden emergency to attend to, and left Boston much earlier than expected.

I thought I would take the opportunity to upgrade my knowledge of the city and jump on a tour.

Unfortunately, (or fortunately at this point), the only tour that was available at 8pm was a Ghost Tour.


Our tour whip

Our tour whip

It was such a sight … me following a Colonial woman with a lantern around Boston, learning about headstones and graveyards.

We went to two, by the way, and all of the guides were in character…
IMG_2859Truly comical.
The next day, I rewarded myself with a trip to Mike’s Bakery, and once again posed as a Boston local while I strolled Newbury St. 


Top 3 highlights of my trip

Top 3 highlights of my trip

Boston was WICKED fun and next time I visit, I will make sure to stay at our same hotel again (it used to be a prison, so all of the restaurants and bars are jail themed) and to, hopefully, visit Fenway Park.

Jail hotel. Totally.

Jail hotel. Totally.

They knew I was coming..

They knew I was coming..


If Britney Made It Through 2007…


Monday is the new Sunday.

My night ended with tears over an extremely rich piece of cake, and with stares of concern from my grandpa and cousin at a neighborhood restaurant.


Public meltdowns are not my fave, but they happen to the best of us (TBT Britney and the umbrella). Usually, they occur as a result of the Sunday/Monday scaries setting in.


Aloha sanity.


The combo of my grandpa moving to Maine, and lack of sleep caused the above, but the activities from the weekend were definitely worth Monday’s public embarrassment on Larchmont.



Saturday got super beachy and for a few in the group, blurry.

Lausen in full force….

No names, no location.

Just keywords from the details from the weekend-








This was me on Sunday minus the frap plus a mimosa.



My beachy antics will be put on pause next week since I am traveling to Boston.

Giggles goes to Harvard.

Beachy and Binging

I have some exciting news.

I am a new mom.

A godmother that is…

No, not because I eat the Bay Cities sandwich on a weekly basis (shout out to UberEATS)!

I am the godmom to a baby corgi named Glenda.



Turns out, her name is really Glinda, but it’s so godmother of me to have a nickname and call her the wrong name.


I’ll be just like Kourtney and Scott (obviously in denial of the recent events)–how they refer to their daughter as “P”, Glenda/Glinda can be “G.”

G arrived at the perfect time, as the Sunday Scaries were starting to set in.

I do this to myself.


It had been a long week of indulgence #overeating starting with the Pier Concert on Thursday.

I am convinced that every Trader Joe’s, West of the 405, has an increase in sales between the hours of 5-7pm with every 20-something stopping to buy a random assortment of snacks.


Pita chips anyone?

One can never have too many rosemary crackers, as seen below.


What is sad about this spending, is that the snacks end up half eaten due to the exodus to 41 Ocean to beat the line.

The weekend consisted of me being beachy, binging, and continuing my food consumption tour on Sunday.

I bopped to WeHo for my favorite food-truck-turned restaurant, Cousins Maine Lobster, and then made a few impulse purchases later in the day.

The Connecticut Roll

The Maine Lobster Roll

Shark week is over, and I need to chill out with my Megaladon tendencies.



Missing G,


Sunday Scaries

Yesterday, I drove back at 8:30am from the quintessential CA destination for the 4th- Orange County.

As we drove through Long Beach, I presented the idea of stopping by the Aquarium of the Pacific, so I could throw myself into the shark tank.

Sunday Scaries.


I’ve referred to these as Sui Sundays for the past six years, but realize there’s a universal term used by all millenials.

The SS was definitely heightened because of the 4th of July.


Before Sunday, there was Friday, where we made the drive down to La Jolla for what was planned as a “relaxing holiday weekend.”



After realizing we were only able to stay at our perfect Bed and Breakfast, Scripps Inn, for one night, we decided to throw it back to sophomore year and head to Newport.


As we walked into one of the suites at The Inn, I immediately looked at the bellman and said this had to be a mistake.

“So which one of you is getting married?”


Thanks to my negotiation skills which could resemble begging for a second night at The Inn, the reservationist decided to take pity on our banishment to Newport and gave us a free upgrade.

I'll take it.

I’ll take it.

Fast forward from relaxation, Pinot Grigio, and calamari, and you have Newport.

Why? WHY?!


Exactly how I felt on the 4th after La Jolla banishment.

Exactly how I felt on the 4th after La Jolla banishment.

I am not underage and do not feel the need to run like a wild armadillo on the Newport Beach sand?

Oh, but I did.

No regrets.


Currently listening to Lionel Richie, wondering why life can’t be different?

My sunday pain was alleviated by a FaceTime request from Carms and my Aunt’s new Corgi puppy- Glenda.


My feelings exactly after this weekend.

My feelings exactly after this weekend.

It’s also Shark Week.

If you need to reach me after work, i’m busy searching for discounted flights to South Africa.

Dehydrated and going to Pressed,



No, that is not a typo.

This was almost the theme of my Hawaiian party thanks to some DGAF teenagers and the San Andreas weather we’ve been having.


The party was not good timing, but I could not adjust the date after I told my friends I was recreating an Islander/Jungle Party from our college days back in early April, flights were booked within an hour.



Back to ALOA.

Because I am a fiscally responsible adult, I ordered lettered balloons from Amazon.


Instead of making it rain at Party City or being impulsive at the alluring/Pinterest worthy store Montana Balloon, I decided to be crafty, and thought I would get the balloons blown up at Vine American Party store down the street from Casa de Jones.

As we walk to car with the ‘ALOHA’ balloons, 20 minutes before the party, we realize the ‘H’ is gone.



We go back into store searching.

Still ALOA.


Teenager: The ‘H’ blew away.

Then I lost it.

I became Godzilla tearing apart the miniature balloons trying to come up with a solution.



So many vowels, so little time.

Should we spell out ‘AA’ for those reconsidering a change in their lifestyle after this event?


With the party starting at 2pm, I had no choice.

1:47pm- Me: Hello, Montana Balloon?

Insufficient funds.

But it was worth it.

The luau was a hit.





Thank you to all my friends who flew out, everyone who attended, my parents who consider me the most neurotic human on the planet and still have not disowned me, and my friends Lauren and Irina for attempting to keep me sane.


Love you all.




Viva La Quinta

The swan said it all.

La Quinta Day Club

The swan and Pitbull music blasting at 3pm set the tone of our Memorial Day trip to Palm Desert.

She thought I was serious..

I envisioned my stay in Palm Springs to be calmer, quieter, than my past desert adventures-

Coachella, Vegas, and Tucson.


I can now add La Quinta to the list.

I walked into the adult pool to find VeyGau$ music blasting, the swan, and a marg waiting for me.


Thank god I left my Kindle in the room, as it would have been a major buzz kill to the day club vibe happening.

Were we in Vegas, Mexico, Tucson?


This La Quinta life confused us, but we enjoyed all the margs they could offer.

The pool literally ran out of tequila.

Guess which one is mine?

Guess which one is mine?



Birthday Queen

Birthday Queen

After my desert fiesta, I bopped to my new favorite place of Manhattan Beach and thanks to my good friend Emily, #TheStylistLA ordered the best chicken sandwich i’ve ever had.

Future roomie

Future roomie

Thanks for the recco, but now it’s time for Hunger Games.

Luau t-minus three weeks.






It was only poetic that my safest place turned on me this morning.

As I ran out for work, I closed my closet door to find two giant pieces of wood falling towards me.


If anyone could have seen the sight of me on the ground with the closet doors… It would have been award worthy.

My safe havens have turned on me.

It started at Drybar before my friend Marissa’s 25th birthday party.


I wish I had taken a snap of my expression as the satanic stylist blew out my hair.

I would write what went down, but they gave me a fat discount #hushmoney since it was such a terrible experience.

We then began our quest to Malibu Wines.

With the dark and stormy weather, the hills of Calabasas started to resemble an episode of Game of Thrones as we twisted up and down the canyon.

Alas, we made it to the Malibu vineyard and I came to the realization I had left my ID in Brentwood.

Aw hell.

I am going to have to Uber home….

As I envisioned the “insufficent funds” email from Bank of America appearing in my inbox the next morning, Marissa’s mom swooped in and verified my age with always necessary numbered birthday balloons as key evidence that I was not underage.

Thanks to Mrs. Stahl, I was allowed entry, and enjoyed chardonnay and charcuterie for quite a while.



It was a little burr out in the ‘Bu, so half the time I looked like I was going to a Bar Mitzvah or a character from Aladdin.


This was one of four birthdays for 5/11.

Part one of my father’s birthday began earlier in the week at Musso & Frank.


Part two was celebrated on Sunday, with a margarita tutorial and an over consumption of Sweet Lady Jane.


And in between I celebrated my friend Wes’s 25th over a pitcher at Q’s.

The celebration continues….


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