Detox Diaries, Part 2

Thursday, January 7th I hate everyone. Not sure why. Well, I know why. Lack of carbs. I met a friend for dinner who was running late and I just about lost my shit on them. I was hangry. You can't blame me. We went to Pacific Catch and I ordered a Japanese Wasabi Bowl with Hawaiian Poke. Poke has soy sauce in it right? Soy is a legume. I can't eat that. Can I? #soytheredontcare

Friday, January 8th is the day I like to refer to as "the day of doom." I had coordinated a small surprise happy hour to celebrate Bianna's birthday several weeks ago. It was my job to get Bianna to the bar so I was mildly stressing about it all day. How was I supposed to get her to bar when we're not supposed to drink? I was put at ease when, at lunch, our chicken was doused in peanut sauce. Bianna looks at Ali and I and says, "Meh, I'm eating it. It's free," as she shook the cutlet free of the peanut poison. Later that day, I asked Bianna if she secretly wanted to sneak away from work and get ONE glass of wine. You know, for old time's sake. "Sure," she tells me. Well, shit. That was easy. No wonder we are work BFFs. After eagerly pacing behind her for several minutes, I get her to Mar's Bar where she is greeted by several other colleagues, including Ali and Robin. Seeing as how it was Bianna's birthday, and I promised one drink, I took a look at the menu. Before I could say "chardonnay," Robin tells the server, "I'll have a dirty Ketel martini, two olives." She looks at Bianna and I and whispers, "Less calories right?" Bianna and I nod in agreement. Make that three. I won't bore you with all of the details of the night, but I will say that several martinis and shots of Fireball later, we decided enough was enough. We all got ourselves home safely albeit, Bianna had to call an Uber for her 5 block commute.We were in rare form.

Saturday, January 9th was DEATH. Pure and utter death. The kind of hangover where you swear off alcohol for life. I needed some sustenance so naturally I ordered a Nutella crepe and fresh squeezed OJ from Sprig. Godsend. It was helpful. Around 4pm when I was feeling somewhat human again, I decided I probably needed more food so I went to my fridge for some leftover zesty chicken bites. Upon further investigation, Drunk Carrie must have had a delicious midnight snack because there were 3 tiny bites left. That bitch.

Sunday, January 10th I went on a walk with Robin. She was feeling better as well. Turns out Drunk Robin likes mac and cheese. We all have our thing. We walked to the mall and then I headed home. Round trip my walk was 10.5 miles. Go me.

Monday, January 11th I woke up per usual and headed to work. When lunch rolls around I'm not hungry. Shit. I must be getting sick. I'm never not hungry. After work the detox crew heads to Ali's house where she fills our bellies with detox friendly food and we watch The Bachelor and drank mocktails. Real crazy night. Turns out we are just as judgey about the girls on the Bachelor sober as we are buzzed drinking wine. A new development not shocking to any of us.

Tuesday, January 12th I'm officially sick. Eff. Lunch with Kendall and Annie. Laughed a lot. Didn't eat pita and hummus. Sad face. Home. Theraflu. Sleep.

Wednesday, January 13th is a work from home day. AWESOME. I have a Google Hangout phone interview so I peel myself out of bed and put on a minimal amount of make up on my face so as to not scare away our candidate. But alas, she is a no show. I hate people. More work. Warriors lose. Boo. They better win tomorrow because I'll be there. Probably eating the only salad sold in the arena. Said salad probably also comes with Ranch dressing. And legumes...

And so the saga continues.

Detox Diaries, Part 1

When one of your best friends, Ali, kicks breast cancer's ass and wants to do a detox after she's done with chemo and radiation, you automatically say, "Hell yeah! Let's rock this bitch!"

She gives you the detox outline in mid-December and you're like, "Hey yo... what the fuck is a legume?" And she tells you and you're like, "Oh yeah, ok." But in your mind you're still like, "Eff this might be hard because I'm so dumb and I still don't even know what a legume is." But it's not that hard... mostly. I'm on day 5 and I haven't killed anyone. Go me. 

We started said detox on January 2nd. No one starts on January 1st because #newyears #hangover #breakfastburritos. First stop that day was Fleet Feet. Ali, myself, and two-time breast cancer survivor/bad-ass Robin wanted to get some new kicks so we can start walking the city to train for the Avon 39 walk this upcoming July. The dude that helped me was a total babe (holler at me Ben!) so I walked away with a pair of shoes, insoles and socks. Success. Later that day I went to Ali's house and she taught me how to make vegetable broth. And when I say she taught me, I mean I sat around and watched her make it while keeping her company with riveting conversation; i.e. if she knew Teen Mom OG was starting this week and discussing the first few episodes of Making a Murderer. She made us detox-friendly Tom Kha soup for lunch because she's Ali and a total whiz in the kitchen. I'm not sure why she hasn't caught on that I clearly bring nothing culinary to the table in this friendship. But that's neither here nor there. She sent me on my way with three quartz of veg broth and I didn't ask questions. 

Sunday, January 3rd I went to brunch. If you've ever been to brunch in SF you know "brunch" entails a stack of blueberry pancakes and bottomless mimosas. Alas, I am tasked with my first detox obstacle (hereafter referred to as detoxtacle). Dafuq am I gonna eat?! After going into two different restaurants, I settled in at Perry's. They have a veggie omelet. Cool. I order, sans toast, along with a water and the waitress looks at me weird. "I started a January detox," I casually tell her. "Ohhhh. Ok, that makes sense. I was gonna tell you to order a side of bacon or something." I wanted to punch her in the throat. But I didn't. And I left a nice tip because I'm a decent human being. After brunch I head to my local market to pick up some staples for the coming week's food prep. It only took me six hours, but I made some mini turkey meatloaves, homemade pesto, lemon chicken with asparagus and a side salad. Before you get all, "Carrie! You said you can't cook! That sounds amazing!" I must tell you that I basically just copied everything Ali was food prepping that same day. I still suck. 

Monday, January 4th was the first day back to work and my work buddy Bianna's birthday. Bianna is also doing the detox with us and I friggin' knew people were going to bring her cake but EFF why do people have to actually like her and bring her 17 cakes and wave them in my face and they smelled so good and sugar and carbs and GIVE ME! But I stayed strong. I may have been a creep and smelled Bianna's cake and asked her to describe the taste to me but I stayed strong damn it! 

Tuesday, January 5th. Bianna and I shared a compelling snack of a single chopped-up apple accompanied by a handful of almonds. We are so lame. I got home that evening and my cat attacked me upward of seven times. She's never done that before. I blame the detox. It's going to be a long month. 

Today, Wednesday, January 5th Ali brought me a cold brew coffee almond milk from her local juice shop because she's a friggin' angel sent from detox heaven. We are fortunate to have our lunches catered so we scooted down to the kitchen at 12:01pm to avoid the hangry's and to scope out what was on the menu. Only acceptable items were bok choy, lettuce, and raw veg. Fuck. Debbie Downer over here (me) was like, "Wah wah I'm gonna starve to death! This is the worst! I hate my life! Ali let's just order a pizza!" And she was like, "Calm the fuck down! We can make a salad and add some avocado and use olive oil and balsamic for dressing and everything is right in the world again." And I was like, "Ok yeah fine." And so we ate. And it was good. She wins. Another detox buddy from work, my homegirl Kathleen, pings me on IM mid-day. We talk about how green beans are legumes. Mind blown. And how she wants sweet potato fries. I tell her sweet potatoes are ok on the detox and she tells me she wants Gott's sweet potato fries drenched in oil and a side of fro yo and a croissant and all the refined sugars in this world. She's handling the detox well. She also shared a recipe earlier in the week about some zesty chicken bites. They looked good and I had all of the ingredients at home and YOLO so I made them tonight. Holy shitballs, they were good! Thanks girl. I danced around my kitchen listening to Lauryn Hill popping the delicious brown nuggets in my mouth in sweet ecstasy.

Did I mention there is no alcohol during this detox? My birthday this year is January 24th so I will not be partaking in the entire month's detox festivities. I'm going to do brunch to celebrate on the 23rd (blueberry pancakes, bottomless mimosas, legumes and all) and I think that might be a solid run. 19 days and counting of the detoxtacle. I'm sure there I'll have plenty more of debauchery to share with the blogosphere. Stay tuned. 

Yay sports! Do the thing!

So, the Giants won the World Series. That's a pretty fucking big deal for a number of reasons. Three rings in five years coming back in game seven from a 0-10 loss in game six. Pretty amazing stuff. Not to mention that I currently reside in San Francisco, so call me biased for hoping to partake in another World Series parade and celebrate with the great people of this awesome city. I also throughly enjoy sticking it to all of the Giants haters, a population of which seems to be irritatingly growing by the minute. But none of these things are reasons I'm super pumped on this win. 

Let me begin by saying I am not a competitive person by nature (except when it comes to a wedding bouquet toss in which case I'm a fucking BEAST). I'm not athletic nor have I ever really loved sports. I grew up watching my sisters play softball and basketball so I know the games pretty well but you would never catch me quoting stats or making any form of insightful opinions when it comes to professional sports. When I moved to San Francisco I decided to faux adopt The Giants as my main team, much to the dismay of my entire die-hard A's fan family. Games are fun to watch, the atmosphere is always exciting and hey... every major league stadium has nachos right? What's not to love? 

Most fortunately, my best bitch Kendall (thereafter referred to as "Mija") has shared season tickets amongst her family. She most kindly invited me to this season's Opening Day and because I'm not an idiot and I know enough about baseball to understand Opening Day is a pretty big deal, I much obliged. After several glasses of champagne and a big first season win, I was hooked. You see, Mija and I work together and you can often find us cruising around the city attached at the hip while not in the office. When you spend that much time with another person, and Mija is a huge Giant's fan, you learn a lot. Having gone to several games throughout the season together, we started talking baseball. Well, let me rephrase that... Mija talked baseball and I just kind of listened. Fast forward to the Wildcard series and much to everyone's surprise, including myself, I started talking baseball back. 

I learned long ago that you never tell Mija no. If you tell her you don't want to do something, she will somehow catfish you into doing it anyways. When Mija wanted to watch the NLCS series at the bars in SF, my inner introvert was thinking, "OH AWESOME! A bar packed full of people screaming and touching me. Nope. Not happening." But Mija did her Mija thing and I found myself at Green's Bar on Polk Street. Several Budlights later, I started loathing some loud-mouth Cardinals fan in a jean skirt (are jean skirts still a thing?) and I was100% invested. From that point on I soon began biting my nails, wearing certain clothing out of superstition and *GASP* watching an entire game, alone, by myself, clapping, screaming, drinking beer. Who does that?? Apparently me.  

I was lucky enough to be at AT&T Park when the Giant's clinched the NLCS and it was legitimately one of the most awesome experiences I've ever had. This game was on a Thursday. That Saturday I was in Sacramento for a wedding so I decided to drive an extra hour and see my grandpa whom, I most embarrassingly admit, I do not see nearly enough. What you must understand is that my grandpa is one of the biggest Giants fans I know. When I picture my grandpa, I automatically see a black and orange cap on his cute little head. When I walked into the room of his nursing home and said hello (I surprised him, he didn't know I was coming) the first thing out of his mouth was, "Did you go to the game on Thursday?" When I told him yes he responded with a smile and a,"that's my girl." Heart = melted. We sat for over an hour talking about the game and the tough road ahead with the Royals. I was having an educated conversation about the Giants with my grandpa and while we sat there holding hands and talking about how Posey is due for a homerun and how Mad Bum is a force to be reckoned with, it occurred to me that this was a moment I would remember forever. 

What I hadn't previously mentioned was that two of the season ticket seats that we frequented this season had previously belonged to Mija's grandma. She used to come to every game, in those very seats and cheer on her boys year after year. Mija's grandma passed away of ALS in July of 2012 shortly before the Giants clinched the series. The passion Mija has for the Giants goes way beyond a love of baseball. It's a way of carrying on her grandma's legacy. 

I guess this is a long-winded way of saying that to me, this is more than just a game. The nachos are great. And the beer is good. But win or lose, the game is about remembering grandma, building memories with grandpa, spending time with friends, and not killing Cardinals fans. This third championship has painted a huge target on the backs of the Giants this next season and inevitably, haters gonna hate hate hate hate hate. But the next time you want to criticize my team, remember that I don't care. And screw you. 

That said, Go Giants! 

A Healthy Lifestyle According to a Lazy Person

Let's be honest... working out is the worst. No one actually "likes" it and if you say you do, you're either that annoying girl I hate at the gym who works out in hoop earrings or you're not actually working out. It's hard. And if it were easy we'd all be walking around looking like Gisele. Or Chyna.

I recently went to the doctor's office for a basic check-up and they drew blood to check my cholesterol levels, which came back normal thankyouverymuch. But it got me thinking... I'm 29 years old, rounding second and headed for home plate: my 30th birthday. There comes a time in one's life where they find themselves thinking about adult things like 401K's, increasing vision benefits and finding reasonable car insurance. That time for me, is now. But included in that conversation with myself (yes, I live alone and I talk to myself. Deal with it) I started thing about my blood test and why it wasn't high, especially after that burrito I ate 24 hours earlier.



I made a conscious decision to get my life in check and hop back on the fitness bandwagon. I'm starting a new series called PiYo which I like to describe as a cardio mix of pilates and yoga (how very San Francisco of me). It's only day 2 and I already convinced my lazy ass to get up early and do my workout before I shipped off to the ol' job. I would say that's a pretty solid start in comparison to sleeping in with just enough time to throw my hair in a messy bun and run out the door.

Now I'm not going to lecture anyone about getting out and running a half marathon. That's not what's happening here. I too enjoy a day of DVR bingeing just like everyone else.



But the reality is, we're all getting older and we need to take better care of ourselves. Don't get me wrong... eat some ribs or go nuts on brie and crackers every now and again. But maybe pick up a carrot stick instead of a potato chip. Or drink more water. Or get off the bus 5 stops before your usual stop and walk the rest of the way. Or not.. it's up to you.



I am a sister, a daughter, a friend, and an [awesome] auntie to many. I'd like to be around to annoy you all until I'm 98 years old. This is how I think I'll get there so I've decided to share my journey with you. Albeit a very slow tortoise-like journey, it's still a journey none the less. And I hope that maybe some of you might jump in and join me.

I still don't like working out. And I probably never will. To boot, I'm quite possibly the most non-athletic, uncoordinated person you'll ever meet. But I do like the feeling I get when I eat a hearty salad for lunch or complete a few miles on the treadmill. So get the salmon instead of the burger at dinner and go outside for walk and enjoy the beautiful weather... give it a shot with me, would ya? And have fun out there!

I Believe...

Carrie circa 2003 loved collages. I loved them so much that when I decided to chronicle my senior year of high school with a very amateur scrapbook that I would indeed make a collage out of the cover. And so I did. And when I recently fished said scrapbook out of my parents' garage, I picked through my collage cover with a fine toothed comb and caught a glimpse into eighteen year old Carrie's brain.

My collage consisted mostly of quotes haphazardly cut out of magazines such as Cosmo, Teen Vogue, YM and the like. One particular cut-out was a list of things titled "I Believe..." I remember loving that list so much and it got me thinking... what do I believe in today? What makes me tick? What advice should I have given the Carrie of yesterday given what I know today? I immediately started rattling off items in my head and decided they may be of better use written down. So here goes:

I BELIEVE...

...that you can never have too much good wine, good food, or good company.

...that binge watching a television series is a swell way to spend an entire Sunday.

 ...in being friends with your ex. It didn't work out for a reason. Be happy when he moves on.

...that champagne makes everything better.

...in investing in friendships that matter, and letting go of those that don't. 

...in eating a burger one day and a kale salad the next.

...in being pen pals with long distance friends. Since being removed from your everyday, they usually give the best advice.

...in wearing what makes you feel good. Don't judge a Louis Vuitton bag with a Target dress.

...that siblings make some pretty good friends.

...in loving your body the way it is. Ten years from now you'll hate that you thought you were fat.

...that any song that speaks to you is a great song. Even if that song is "Wrecking Ball."

...in working at a job that makes you happy. Life is too short to have a boss you hate.

...that true love can come from something with fur and four legs. 

...in continuously working on yourself to become a better person. 


Some of today's beliefs align with those listed on my scrapbook cover. Some don't. But that's what happens when you grow up. I don't know that eighteen year old Carrie would have had these same beliefs eleven years ago. And I don't think thirty nine year old Carrie will have these beliefs either. But who knows. All I know is that eighteen year old Carrie would probably think twenty nine year old Carrie is pretty fabulous.

A Single Girl's Rant

My DVR is 22% full. This is a problem considering I just cleared it with the exception of Glee's "The Quarterback"episode, eight Dateline stories for a rainy day, and The Today Show where in the 10am hour with Kathy Lee and Hoda, I am featured out in the plaza waving to the camera in my 3 seconds of fame. Based on these calculations I should only be MAYBE 10% full. Anxiety sets in. I browse my recorded shows and realize the oh-so-meh summer line up has started recording. Oh yeah, and those three movies that I decided to record after single-handedly consuming a bottle of wine last weekend because "why not?? I pay for HBO so fuck it... I'm gonna watch movies." And so my 22% is justified and thank God I'm single because I can't spare the DVR space.

This is my life. The life of a single gal six plus months away from leaving her 20's for good. The life of someone spending her periodic Friday nights catching up on Scandal or watching reruns of Sex and the City. The life of someone who orders enough take-out to last her 5 days. The life of a girl who purchases her organic produce online to be delivered to her door. This is my life. And I am okay with it.

I recently officiated a wedding for one of my best gals and her very patient now-husband. At said wedding her grandmother asked if I was engaged. Sorry Granny. Single as they come. "Oh but why? You're so sweet! We need to find you a boyfriend." It's instances such as these that I love and cherish. Sweet Granny subconsciously, and adorably I might add, boosted my single girl confidence right when I was about to enter man-hating mode for the umpteenth time. Now let me be clear that it is both cute and endearing when Sweet Granny tells me I need a boyfriend. Not so much when my 8-year-old niece points it out at family gatherings and all major holidays. Then it just becomes obnoxious. No ill will toward my 2nd grade frenemie (if you're reading this, hey girl!) but this is indeed my life and I know that I'm single. Reminders are completely unnecessary. Thanks though.

Don't get me wrong. I think it's great when people insist I meet their nephew or their cousin or their brother because we would "be just perfect together." It shows that they think highly enough of me to want to introduce me to someone else they reciprocally think highly of. But I also don't need to be anyone's charity case. Being single isn't an illness (although it may be in epidemic in this great city I call home). If I don't get married, oh well. If I don't have kids, I'll get a dog. Or two. Or three. I am a self sufficient, caring person with moderate baking skills, awesome friends, an amazing job and an apartment a block away from the most spectacular view you have ever seen of the Golden Gate Bridge. There are worse things in life than not being in a relationship and I prefer that not be what defines me.

My DVR is still 22% full. I know this because I set the next recording (Catfish). And the one after that (The Bachelorette). And the one after that (Game of Thrones). Yes, this is my life. And I am okay with it.

Why Clare from The Bachelor Sucks

Toot, toot! All aboard the crazy train! Your conductor this evening will be Clare Crawley from Juan Pablo's season of The Bachelor. This broad has rubbed me the wrong way since day one. She is everything I despise about being a young, single gal and here's an open letter to tell her why... 

1. Your name: Where's the "i" in your name, Clare? Did it disappear, along with your dignity, when you stayed on the show after JP pretty much told you (in broken English) that you were only a booty call? That's what I'm going to assume. And from now on I'm putting an "i" in your name because you're annoying enough without it.  And anyways, Cla(i)re is a fat girl’s name. Just ask Judd Nelson.  #breakfastclubreference

2. You showed up fake pregnant: You sure did come out of that limo with a bang didn’t you? Pun intended. The first night of the Bachelor is just like a first date in real life, Cla(ire). You can’t just show up the first time you meet a guy with a fake belly being fake pregnant because Cla(i)re, that is not normal.  Even on national television compared to someone else who shows up playing a piano bike. Still not normal. Author’s note: Although, Juan Pabs kept you around until the finale so maybe I’ll try this on my next OkCupid date.  #firstdatefakepregz

3. Your smug attitude: After your little escapade in the ocean, you skipped back to the Bachelor house and coyly made a cheers at the cocktail hour before the rose ceremony to “making love.” You thought you were so smart, escaping to a boy’s house in the middle of the night and getting back into bed before anyone noticed. Guess who does that, Cla(i)re? Thirteen year old girls.  Thirteen year old slutty girls.  #soaknpokefail

4. Your over accessorized finale ensemble: Chunky earrings with a rhinestone embellishment on the single strap of your evening gown is not the business.  Sort of like how many times you talked about your dead father’s DVD, which none of us got to see and was like when you read a book and they keep talking about a character who ends up having no relevance to the ending at all and I wonder why the author even bothered to waste my time. It’s just too much. That’s you, Cla(i)re. That’s you.  #simileinception

5. Your “honesty”: Yeah,  Juan Pablo’s a dick. We all get it. But you can’t go from zero to sixty in 2.8 seconds.  You tell Juan Pabs “Hey dude. I like love you and wanna be with you and I’m really nervous and my earrings are really heavy but it’s worth it to me because you’re like my person and you know where Sacramento is and I can’t wait for you to give me that free Neil Lane ring because like I love you and like I’m part Mexican but I don’t know Spanish so I’d get along with your family and like, Camilla gave me a high five so where’s the ring bitch?” then he tells you, “Yo homegirl, I’m just not that into you” and you’re like, “Fuck you, Juan Pabs. Don’t you try to hug me and ask me to assept your forgiveness after I told you I would have your babies in one year and two months and met your family and banged you in the ocean when you were dating 25 other girls who were asleep 100 yards away you lying, cheating bastard!” So there’s that.  #secondisthefirstplaceloser

And that, Cla(i)re, is why you are the fucking worst.

P.S. I’m back, bitches.