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When my mom died, I was 21 years old. By Christmas time of that year, I had met a boy. Not just any boy, but a boy whose mom had also died. So, like, we had stuff in common. Except he had a tattoo with her name. Talk about making me feel like an asshole. I mean–I certainly didn’t have a tattoo. Fuck, I barely knew where her ashes were in the midst of my year-long shock and haze. I

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Allow me to introduce you to Jose. Jose is my friend and Costa Rican empanada man who wakes up at 5am each morning, and then proceeds to make homemade empanadas with his wife, before loading them into coolers, and then spending the day from dusk ’til dawn hiking the beach and neighboring towns, selling his beef, chicken and cheese heaven (complete with homemade spicy sauce that will trump Frank’s, and you KNOW I don’t ever, ever diss Frank’s). I met

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Editor’s Note: Please do not throw eggs at my house for referencing so many vulgarities. I am allergic. So, I’m in JFK airport, having a massage before my 11 hour flight back to Chile. If you’re sitting there judging me for getting a massage in an airport, first of all, you can go fuck yourself. (Love you!) Second of all, you should know that airport massages are just as good as fancy schmancy spa massages–especially when performed by an Asian

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I’m pretty sure that when Def Leppard wrote the lyrics to, “Love Bites,” he really meant to say “stress.” At least when you’re in , you get all sorts of feel good chemical effects. When you’re stressed, all you get is a hearty dose of cortisol and an unsightly beer gut. Not cute. Unfortunately,as entrepreneurs and small business owners, stress sort of comes with the job description. Position available. Must be willing to work weekends and countless hours of overtime

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Cut the fat. Give yourself the white space you need in order to grow. And… …pursue what you’re really here to pursue. Hint: It’s probably the one thing on your to-do list that doesn’t have any guiines, instructions, paths to follow or tried and true ways of doing it. And that’s exactly why you’re procrastinating it.

So the other day there was a guy. Isn’t there always a guy? Anyway, the other day there was a guy, and I may or may not have been kissing said guy. Said guy is so attractive, that I’m almost nervous to be kissing him, because, as we all know, when you’re kissing really attractive people, you’re thinking to yourself: Enough tongue? Too much tongue? How can I spice this up? If I spice it up, he’ll think I’m a

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So, I’ve got a proposition for you. Unfortunately, it does not involve fishnets, vodka, or smeared black eye makeup, and while we’re at it, I should mention it definitely doesn’t involve any of this bleepity bleep bleep bullshit either. Nor will it ever, unless, well…there’s pretty much no exceptions. Though I am rather fond of the idea of being called, “master,” or better yet, “mastress.” Which actually sounds a lot like mattress, so, nevermind. The proposition is as follows. Would you rather:

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So, remember the last post, when I went on a lengthy spiel about fallen fathers and rainbow sprinkles and the reason why it’s madly, wildly essential to have a specific target audience in mind, so you can understand how to best market yourself (read: connect) to that target audience? (And experience all sorts of juicy outcomes, including mo’ money and mo’ glow?) Well in this post, we’re going to talk about figuring out who this so-called “target audience” of yours

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When I was in 8th grade, my dad died of cancer. Growing up, he and I did everything together. My mom was always the nervous, worried one, but my dad? He was the strong, bold, carefree one. We were pals than anything. Almost every night during the summertime, he’d take me up the road to Randall’s Ice Cream Ranch, where we’d order two medium twists, one plain, one with rainbow sprinkles. We’d then sit in our Jeep, methodically licking the cones

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Remember Monday’s riveting post where I swore less than usual, pretended to be a drunken Spanish sailor and emphasized the importance of getting clients and customers in the door? If you don’t, Ginkgo Biloba comes highly recommended. By herbalists, not me. I tried that shit once and it did absolutely nothing to help me remember my one night stands. Go figure. So, jew wanna get di clients and di customares, eh? (Fake Italian accent inspired by the one and only

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If you haven’t noticed, or you were exiled to Mars, or held hostage by an army of Swedish monks, or hiding out in a nest in Italy for the past couple of years (go team!), I talk about on business a lot.  It’s what I do. It’s what lights me up inside. It’s how I’m making my big, splashy crimson mark on the world. But, I don’t do it all for the of the game. I do it

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I’m in an airport. Paris’ Orly airport, to be exact, and while I keep trying to write this post, I keep getting distracted by the giant baguette to my right – I can’t even finish a sentence without stopping to take a bite of this shit. It’s that good. A hoard of red-lipped French women lo at me with disdain, probably calling me countless synonyms for the word “pig” in their heads, while I’m over here continually tempted to yank

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So, I’m on a plane. I may or may not be drinking French wine from a miniature bottle that could really be bigger for seven dollars, but I mean, who’s really measuring? Don’t judge. I figure that between having never tried cigarettes, and having stuck up for the nerdy girl that one time in the 5th grade, I’ve earned it. I deserve this bottle of wine in all its little man syndrome glory. (I also propose that I deserve indulgent

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So, it’s been brought to my attention that, apparently I’m a loud mouth. You see, my girlfriends and I are taking private salsa + bachata lessons 3 times per week, and in order to see where we’re royally screwing up, we got the bright idea to videotape ourselves. Three things have come out of this: The acute awareness that, jesus christ, my arms are way fatter than I thought they were. Thank you, artesian beer + severe lack of willpower.

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I came across this poster over at The Donut Project, and instantly knew this was something I had to share. You d it, right? That’s what I thought. My personal favorite is, “Make me fucking care,” which is probably the best piece of marketing advice I could ever offer. Think about it. Then do something about it. Ballers gotta ball, baby. Which is basically a euphemism for IF YOU WANT RESULTS YOU HAVE TO ACTUALLY TRY TO GET THEM. Profound,

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If I could identify one statement that you’re bound to roll your eyes at, it’s “Trust yourself.”– Because here’s the thing: Most of us, including myself at times, don’t know how to trust ourselves. We see that advice, and automatically file it away into the “cheesy, fluffy, woo-woo” category, the same as we might, “Just be yourself.” It’s all so intangible, impractical, vague, unspecific, and hard to take action on. But there’s a reason why you hear it so much, especially

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Brace yourself. I’m about to do the on equivalent of Jackie Chan leaping over a dumpster before round house kicking a 50 year old masked man right in the schnoz. In high heels. And pearls. And maybe a mini-skirt, if spectators are lucky. You can take that as a warning, and kindly X out now, or you can take it as encouragement to keep on reading. (Clearly I’m bluffing. If you X out now, I will totally judge you. And

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So. Today we’re going to talk marketing. Some of the most common things I get are:– I have no idea what my unique value proposition is I can’t figure out why anyone would listen to me I am clueless as to what it even means to “market myself effectively.”- Before we get into this, we need to talk about what marketing is really used for, and why you gotta dig in and get ‘er done.– In order to do that, I’d

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Sometimes I make bad decisions. The time I decided to consume alcohol while on a date while ON CRUTCHES  was one of those times. (Thanks for not even trying to catch me as my metal crutches went flying, Bob, you scumbag.)– But then there are other times, when my decision-making skills operate at peak performance. Like the time I went on a man-vacation, and vowed not to date for a year, so I could focus entirely on me and my

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Dear You, Hi. It’s Monday. Typically on Mondays, you get to hang with a sassy new segment of Fear, Exposed. But because I’m semi-evil. And because I take pleasure in mystery. (Be glad you’re not dating me.) I’m suspending the series. Stay tuned to find out WHY. (Or don’t, but I must warn you that you’ll miss out on my bad jes, frequent F-bombs, and overuse of the word “baby.”  Not like child baby, but like, “Oh hell yeah, baby!”

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When I say the words, “Grey Goose,” what automatically comes to mind? a) Purple fairies b) Your high school prom date c) Roseanne Barr d) Vodka As much as I’d it if the answer were C, you probably picked D, vodka. Congratulations, you are correct. Whether prompted or not, most everyone who sees the words “Grey Goose,” will automatically think, “vodka.” Unless they’re twelve. Or Amish. The reason for that is pretty obvious.  You ready? It’s because GREY GOOSE

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Because quotes are sexy. And so is money that feels good to make. BE SOMEBODY. “You want to be rich in order that you may eat, drink, and be merry when it is time to do these things; in order that you may surround yourself with beautiful things, see distant lands, feed your mind, and develop your intellect; in order that you may men and do kind things, and be able to play a good part in helping the

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He los me right in the eyes. Then, he blindsides me with the question. “So, how much do you charge?” My mind races.  So does my heart. Ohshitohshitohshit.  How much is too much?  How much is too little?  I don’t want him to think I’m an amateur! Quick, say something!  Something smooth! I meet his eyes. “Well, what’s your budget lo like?” I say, in a way that comes out sounding way seductive than I mean it to sound.

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Are you ready for this?  Because I’m totally going to tell a mom story. I’m going to tell a mom story in a post with the word “sex” in the title.  But it’s ay, because you’re going to the story.  And then you’re going to go off into the world and do amazing things, all thanks to MY MOM.   If she were still alive, I’d absolutely make that her Christmas gift, because who doesn’t want their words of

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How you shine + How you can help others shine= BUSINESS BRILLIANCE Take a hard lo at that, and really think about what that means. It’s the only equation you need to know. The rest are details that can be sorted along the way. So, what are you waiting for? Do the math, and get something going.

So, the other day I ask The Chilean to stop at the store on his way over and pick up some chicken. He gets here, plops down this bag, and proceeds to pull out a whole chicken, gripping it by the legs and asking me where I want him to put it.  The conversation that followed went as such: Me: What do you think this is, Thanksgiving? Him: What are you talking about? Me: That’s a whole chicken!  Do you

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So last week you met Po. You’re welcome. If you didn’t meet Po last week, you need to read that before you read this. If you don’t, you run the risk of having me track you down and fling spicy Peruvian chicken sauce in your eye. Yes, it exists—I’m dipping my bread in it as I write this. Anyway, if you met Po, you already know that he & I exchanged messages, that he’s a “goddamn solo performer,” and that

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