Do I have to be homeless to make it?

I have a confession. I like Rae Sremmurd (pronounced “Ray Shrim-er”) . I’m not sure if I just like them satirically or if I actually like them. Either way after I Wikipedia’d my new teenage ratchet rap obsession; I started thinking about what it takes to be successful. One thing that most successful people have in common is that right before they made it, they were homeless. That’s right Rae Sremmurd, Chris Pratt, Tyler Perry, and J.K. Rowling were all bums before they hit big. But is that the only way?  I joke about being homeless but it’s a real possibility. Not like I’d be the crazy lady screaming at trashcans on the streets. I would however be that friend who has to couch surf or worse, move back in with my dad.

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Being homeless should humble you, build character and make you fight even harder for your dreams. But do you have to hit complete rock bottom? And if so what is rock bottom? Is it living from pay check to pay check or living from no check to no check? My goal when I quit my full time salaried, lap of luxury job in 2013 was to force myself to go after my dreams. I wanted to be hungry (as the rappers say) but not physically hungry.  I guess all I can do is keep doing what I’m doing and pray I make it before life (bills) catch up with me. They are closing in fast at the moment. But If I do end up on the streets I have a plan; chill at my favorite coffee shop bumping “No Flex Zone”.


Roses are red..

No, I’m not on Gmail at 10:23p on a Saturday night (Valentine’s Day) writing a blog post in an email to send to my lovely editors

The problem with Valentines Day is that although it’s cooler and ironically funnier to be single on Valentine’s Day, most singles secretly want to be in a relationship.


So what’s wrong with being in a relationship? And what’s wrong with being single? Nothing! They are both equally as much work. Being single is a full time relationship with yourself and being in a relationship is a full time relationship with someone else. Or at least it should be, unless you are one of those weirdos who believe it’s okay to marry yourself. And right after I googled that I realized Valentine’s Day might not be the best time to add “people who marry themselves” to my browser history.
But whateves, I’m the only one who see’s my browser history. Where was I going with this? Oh yeah being single on Valentine’s Day. Us single people have to avoid certain social settings and basically go off the grid from any semi relationships we have with the opposite sex altogether. I didn’t even call my dad today because I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea.
So how are we to navigate this auspicious day? Well if I were president I would get rid of the holiday on the basis that it’s discriminatory. We might as well start making single people wear a paper cut out of a black heart to indicate their single status. Seriously though, life was so much easier when we were all each other’s Valentines in grade school. Back then Valentine’s day was basically Halloween without the costumes.
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February 16th, 1984

Since my 31st birthday is approaching faster than Kanye making a B line for an award show podium, I thought I’d ask my mom how I came to be. Not like the gross details of my conception, but the story of my birth. Unfortunately for me I was the 4th child and my mother doesn’t remember much. I bet all her birth stories just run together now. In fact as she was recalling the details of mine she included two family members who actually weren’t even there, “Oh wait that was when your younger sister was born.” Thanks Mom. Anywho since she didn’t remember much I figured I could make my birth story up and obviously make it way better. So here goes the story of my birth, embellished by me and fact checked by my birth certificate.

It was a beautiful warm Thursday morning in February. I’d say around 70 degrees which was pretty hot for Los Angeles pre-global warming days. Mother was sitting down reading some magazine with the cast of Ghostbusters on the cover and a car was driving by bumping “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” when her water broke. My dad was called from work and rushed her to Centinela Hospital in Inglewood, CA. INGLEWOOD! – Mack 10 voice.

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Once she was settled in, my dad told her he would be back and to call if she needed him. This is something that actually happened. I like to believe she told him to go because this was her 4th child and she didn’t need his help. Also, because her obstetrician was a hippie feminist who wore a long braid and cool dangling earrings. Let’s call her Dr. Turner. Dr. Turner made my mom comfortable in a number of ways including braiding my mom’s hair. (I have a strange theory about women and french braids in the 80s.) Dr. Tuner administered a tiny bit of Demerol to mother and I was out by the evening. Mother thought about naming me Kaliska which means coyote chasing deer in some Native American dialect. She said I looked like an Indian baby (politically incorrect term for Native American) so naturally she would give me a Native American name. But alas she settled on Kiana which means “living with grace.” I’ll take that. Later, my older teenage sisters showed up and took pics of me with their 35mm cameras, and posted them nowhere because social media didn’t exist yet. Damn I’m old.

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And that’s how I got here. This post may have or may not have been inspired by a chapter in Amy Poehler’s book, Yes Please. I’m sorry I keep referring to it. I told you it was great though.

Editor’s Note: Please pretend like I posted this before my birthday. Also Mother would also like you to know that I was “almost born on Valentine’s Day”. And she was upset with my dad that day and chose to tweak my middle name as a way to get back at him. Thanks Mom.


Just to update you guys on my love life, since you’re all dying to know.  I’ve joined After 3 weeks of being on the site, I’m ready to give up on the male species altogether. Mostly because every guy on there is like a bargain store item: cheap with subtle defects. But who am I to judge? Anyway I feel like I would have better luck if Match had more specific filters that eliminated profiles with the following criteria:

1) Guys wearing sunglasses in their pics .

2) Grainy pics that looked scanned. It screams serial killer.
3) Corny headlines like “I can be your Prince Charming” -Umm no you can’t sir.

4) Pics with multiple people; I have no idea which one you are.

5) Pics with kids- yours or not they don’t belong on a dating site.
6) Bathroom selfies – Do I need to elaborate?

7) Shirtless photos (unless it is tasteful).
8) Any profiles exclaiming they love Kanye or Drake; Delete, delete, delete!
9) The head shot profile pic….I might make an exception if you have other cool pics and you make up for it with a witty description.

10) Tattoos on your face- Why are these people even allowed to make a profile? I feel like they should create another site for people like this:

11) Profiles that boast about how much money they make.
12) Creepy looking guys -They make up 97% of male online dating profile pics.
13) Trannies- that should be a given but I still get the occasional profile of a man dressed up like a women in my daily matches.

15) Duck lips pose- this is only acceptable if you are doing it ironically and you’re cute.

16) Profile pics of an inanimate object.

17)  The “don’t look at me” pose.

Here are 3 more filters I wish match had from a fellow female match member;
18) The you are really too ugly to message me guys. They too should have their own site.
19) Guys who don’t put their height, I know the trick and I know you are a midget. 
20. Profiles with absolutely no information. “Message me if you want to know more.” Lazy ass.

Our Grandpa Boyfriends


When you work at a restaurant that has been in business for over 30 years, some of the patrons tend to be a little older. By “a little older” I mean really, really, really old. Which gives me hope that when I’m 123 years old I will still be able to go out to eat; well, barely. Anyway some of the customers are old men who dine alone. Most of these old guys have a favorite girl who works in the restaurant. So they are our grandpa boyfriends. I’ve taken the liberty of giving them names.

Grandpa Martini- Grandpa Martini is the first customer to arrive at the start of all my Saturday morning shifts. He was also the lawyer to the deceased owner of the restaurant. Grandpa Martini is the oldest person I’ve ever seen in real life. And every Saturday he starts his day with a martini.
Grandpa Chair– Grandpa Chair is a sweet old man who comes in most lunches and every dinner. He picks his table in first row of the patio seating and exchanges the patio chair for wooden a chair from inside the restaurant. My guess is the lumbar support. He then tells me that he will be back and to hold his table. Upon further observation we learned that Grandpa Chair likes to take a walk around Sunset Plaza before he has his meal. For that I adore him. Some days the most walking I do is to my fridge.


Grandpa Mute – Grandpa Mute also likes to sit outside. I always say to hello to him and he smiles and nods. For the first 6 months I worked here I was convinced he was a mute or just didn’t speak English. His server girlfriend is the only one who understands him, that and he orders the same thing every visit. Grandpa Mute has also been known to cop a feel if you give him a hug.

Grandpa Mumbles (Formerly Grandpa Grumpy) – Obviously Grandpa Mumbles got his name based on his inability to speak clearly. He used to come in and not speak me or anyone else and seat himself. His visits would always end with him complaining about our service. Then one day he stopped complaining and struck up a conversation with me. He sounded like a DVD when you are fast forwarding it. He must have really been feeling himself because he even asked one of the servers out on a date, nice try Grandpa Mumbles.

Grandpa Sugar Daddy – This is the guy who supposedly makes the most money out of the husbands (the group of old guys who come in every Saturday morning) yet is the cheapest. Therefore, one server sarcastically refers to him as her “sugar daddy”.


The Art of Letting Go

I’m currently reading Amy Poehler’s new book Yes, Please.  I couldn’t wait until I finished reading it before writing a post about all the things I’ve learned. Her book is awesome! Go buy it or download it to your reading gadget. I love the word gadget it’s so 1950’s. Anywho, her book is mostly about her life and career. But even if you aren’t an aspiring comedic actor/writer you can still take so much from this book.

One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned from Auntie Amy is that you can’t want your career too badly. This sounds kind of crazy at first. But what she is saying is you have to be willing to let the powers that be intervene. This is hard for humans; especially women. We are so hell bent on trying to control everything in our lives that we have no idea how to just chill out and let nature take its course. Obviously, there’s a healthy balance to this, don’t just quit your job and do nothing. That’s how you become homeless. I mean you have to trust that all your efforts will amount to something.


I have struggled with balance of “I’m not doing enough and I’m doing too much” every day. But I’ve come to the realization that I am doing everything I’m supposed to do and I cannot control whether or not I get hired over the next person or if my pilot script (that I still haven’t written) gets turned into a show. All I can do is keep up the good work and not stress myself out. So that’s what I’m doing today, chillin’ the fuck out. And also trying not to be homeless.