Food Diary

So I guess you’ve heard. Hot young lady founders of trendy up-and-coming companies have started posting their food diaries for the likes of Elle, and Elle. Being a hot young lady founder myself, I thought I’d give you guys a little peek at my daily food journey.


I make every effort to wake up as close as physically possible to when I have to leave the house at 8am because I find that the heart-pounding excitement of showering in three minutes or less while largely unconscious is as good a morning work-out as any.


Occasionally, I’ll drink ardent gulps of water straight out of the detachable shower-head while I rinse the sleep gunk out of my eyelashes. Because I’m a multi-tasker.



Most days, breakfast is chewing gum and regurgitated stomach acid. A tradition lovingly passed down to me by my father, who learned it from his mother, and probably her mother before her, but we don’t know who that is. However, a rare excursion to far away Beaverton and a quaint little market Bazar the locals called “Kost-Co” had me coming home with two industrial-sized boxes of Nature Valley Protein Bars and Stretch Island Fruit Leathers, which I tend to slap back to back and devour in as few bites as possible while negotiating morning traffic and breathing at the same time. It’s this unique daily oxidizing process that keeps me looking youthful and feeling positive as I power-fuck the rest of my day.


On gum days, I stagger out of the office in a caffeine-induced haze. At this point I have about 27 seconds to shove a drive-through burger in my face before all that cold coffee I drank between meetings comes flying back into the world with such a violence that it adds yet another reason on the very long and exhaustively researched list of why I won’t be having my own biological children. What I’m trying to say here is that everything that comes out of me does so at the relative speed of a Spring Break t-shirt cannon these days.

I know the right answer would be to chew the food while I eat it, but that is just not going to happen with me ever.



If I’m fortunate enough to be driving from meeting to meeting, I chew another piece of gum while I drive. This helps with road rage. I keep the bag of partially eaten McDonald’s from lunch on the passenger side floor so that I can spit my gum into it while I’m parking at my client’s office. It’s really easy to do and it keeps your carpets from getting covered in gross gum.


I usually text back and forth with my partner regarding who has time to drive by Taco Bell, or whether or not Nut-Thins can go bad. Sometimes I get lucky and whatever work-thing I’m headed to at dinner time has free appetizers.


Multiple times between when we get home at 10pm and when we go to sleep at 1am, our 5-year old rat terrier, Pepper Martinez will demand to be let outside and then make us stand in the cold while she doesn’t potty because she is silently punishing us for not walking her enough. A fate we completely embrace because we deserve it. We are terrible dog parents.


At our house, togetherness is important, so we like to silently chew handfuls of gummy bears while watching Drunk History before falling asleep side by side on the couch.


Listerine is basically a sleep aid.

The False Dichotomy Between Easy and Hard aka I Just Watched the Coen Brothers Suck Each Other Off for Two Hours and This is What I Learned

First of all, and this is totally unrelated to the larger review, but who in the fuck told Hollywood it’s okay to hit women in the face again? Because I have a golf club with the name of every single one of their teeth on it. We get it, you think hitting women is edgy and cool. Well, I’ve been hit a lot in my life, and it’s not nearly as awesome as it seems in the movies.

Two things I never did after someone hit me in the face: 1. smile rakishly at them 2. nod demurely and do as I was told. Mostly I covered my face with my forearms and cried in a ball on the floor until the person hitting me decided they were done doing that. Then I let him die alone in a nursing home where he begged to come home every day and claimed the nurses were abusing him. It was all I could do to never visit or I’d have paid them to be even meaner.

This review has spoilers, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.

So we saw Hail, Cesar! tonight, and it was totally a Coen Brothers comedy, so if you like that kind of O Brother Where Art Thou, Burn After Reading story as journey, but mostly un-mapped type of shit you will eat this up. And I did. I loved every beat. It’s a good film. Aside from the fact that I will punch every Coen Brother in the dick and Periscope it if I ever meet them because for serious, please stop hitting women in the face.

The major tension is not, as the trailers suggest, the kidnapping of movie star Baird Whitlock. An offer for more money, better hours, and stock options at Lockheed is facing main character Eddie Mannix, a fixer for the studio who seems to spend 24-hours a day image-policing a revolving cast of disposable beauties in order to increase profits for an unseen corporate head in New York who has all his respect and loyalty for absolutely no reason that I can discern. Ultimately, Mannix defines the struggle as a battle between what is easy and what is hard, but good. Here in the present, we all have the knowledge that Lockheed as a company is the turd that couldn’t stop turding. They’ve “suffered” wave after wave of crushing staff reductions, even as their stock rose and their CEO pay soared on the wings of foreign slave labor. Meanwhile Hollywood looks practically robust, but only because they never had any employees to lay off, just an itinerant herd of contractors who can be thrown away or called up like comic book minions without a second thought.

The reason that Mannix ultimately decides to stick with the studio, which means 24-hour plus work days, unhealthy habits, and absentee parenthood is the same reason for Whitlock’s kidnapping, and the reason that we in the real world will continue to eat this shit up with a spoon whenever they dish it out. If you can sell someone their own fantasy, they’ll follow you to the ends of the earth to buy it from you. And we have been selling the fantasy of Western exceptionalism for so long that it’s become a moral failing to even suggest that we can’t work 24-hours a day, 7-days a week for little money and only the suggestion of dream that’s not even ours, but a faceless corporate head somewhere a continent away.

I don’t know anyone who doesn’t feel guilty for wanting to take care of themselves, who hasn’t been shamed for asking for a raise in a company where the boss makes hundreds of times what their lowest paid employee makes. Time after time, studies come out admonishing us for working more than 12 hours a day, and advising us to take breaks, but do we do it? And how many of us work in companies where that sort of behavior is encouraged? How many of us work for ourselves and wouldn’t be caught dead slacking off? Despite professional business management advice that directly contradicts the way we’re acting.

Ever since I started trying to honor my weekends, my anxiety levels have gone through the roof Friday and Sunday nights. Friday because I’m worried I haven’t done enough, and Sunday because I’m worried about the tidal wave of unfinished work that will be waiting for me first thing Monday. And then Monday comes and I’m clear-headed and able to solve problems that would have taken be hours if I hadn’t taken a break. Just because something is hard doesn’t mean it’s good. Just because something is good, doesn’t mean it has to be hard.

Doing the good thing and following your passion will always be simultaneously easy and hard. It’s easy to take a job offer you know you don’t want, if it makes your life more comfortable in the short run. It’s hard to try and fit a round peg in a square hole, and if you’re the peg it gets increasingly more painful the longer you try. It’s easy to have a dream and make deep and meaningful proclamations in the heat of the moment. It’s even easy to work grinding, long and unforgiving hours for nothing in return for the first three to four years. It’s hard to look deep inside the most desperate part of yourself and decide you’ll spend a lifetime paying out more than you get back, and that you belong so completely to the thing you love that you’d give anything, suffer any indignity just to keep it going. Harder still to know and accept your own drive so completely that you would never do anything to damage the instrument of your enjoyment for any price. It’s hard to stop working when work is all you are. It’s beyond hard to watch everything turn to shit because you’re too exhausted.

I love oblivion. Most people do. But don’t you get tired of watching the protagonist skip effortlessly across its surface? Don’t you ever want to leave a movie feeling like more than you are? Don’t you want to take a nap without feeling like a fucking communist?

A Sentance Caps Rebuttal to Your Blind Hillary Love

So, this ALL CAPS pro-Hillary rant has been making the rounds, and I have to say, there are some good points re: the misogyny that has been coming out of the woodwork from some of the Bernie camp. HOWEVER (last time I use all caps, promise) I’m going to go ahead and remind you Hillary lovers that it is nothing compared to the straight-up racism that came out of both Clintons when she went against Obama in the primaries 8 years ago. This “don’t vote for the… What do we call those people again?” style of non-saying the n-word but totally implying the n-word and n-wordish behavior wasn’t just a bad undercurrent some of their fans had going low level. That was their campaign. That they invented. And talked about. Constantly. The racism was coming from inside the white lady.

And just like your girl, Karma is a stone cold bitch. Unlike your girl, she doesn’t discriminate. But you know that.

Be honest, you don’t love Hillary because she’s an experienced and respectable stateswoman. You love Hillary because, for the first time a presidential candidate actually looks like you:

A middle aged woman who has gay friends, but only sort of tolerates the gay thing. I mean, Tom and Dan are great for brunch but you would never leave your kids with them. (What if your sweet babies got the wrong idea?)

Who basically voted for Obama (because you had to, am I right?) but you still hate to get in an elevator by yourself with a black guy.

You have a lot of feelings about the glass ceiling, and yet you pay Latin American people pennies on your own dollar to take care of your house and your children. But let’s keep those boarders closed. We don’t want them to feel like they can just come up here and take our jobs, do we? I mean you’re not racist. Rosa is like family… in that you expect her to do a lot of hard work without reciprocation.

On top of that hot bullshit, you bemoan the outsourcing of American jobs to foreign slave labor. But half your closet is Banana Republic and you would basically die if anybody you know saw you in a thrift store.

And you’re pissed I’m writing this right now because you actually kind of resemble some of these remarks and you either a) thought I know you better than that (bro, this isn’t about you, do you know how many white women are in America right now?) or b) feel like I don’t know you and I’m painting you and people like you with a pretty broad brush.

I can relate.

In her self-styled All Caps Explosion, Courtney Enlow re-classifies and then dismisses Hillary’s lack of support for anybody other than herself as “UNACCEPTABLE POLICIES” from “BACK IN THE 90S,” and shames Bernie supporters who “JUST LEARNED TRANS PEOPLE EXIST, LIKE, YESTERDAY.” Meanwhile, you know who knew trans people existed to in the 90s? Transpeople. And their families and friends. Also all of us because hello The Crying Game came out in 1992.

Same with black people, and other people of color who have also been around for, like, 200,000 fucking years. In fact, white people, we existed before you. Well, maybe not my people because apparently that whole land-bridge thing only happened 12,000 years ago, if it even happened like that at all. But whatever because Hillary’s discomfort with gay people is well documented, especially since she was still saying it’s a states rights thing as late as 2014. I wonder what your hero Hillary would say to a man suggesting that abortion services or childhood education is a states rights issue. I bet she’d be pretty pissed at the idea of people being allowed to vote on other people’s rights.

I’m not here to tear you Hillfans apart. I get it. I mean, I’ve never experienced the actual feeling of actually relating to a presidential candidate on a personal level, but I have an imagination (what the fuck else would people like me do with our lives without imagination?) I can dig it. But I also have a personal history of “liberal” white women being really fucking mean to everybody else around them because they realize they’re not white men, but they refuse to acknowledge the privilege they still do have.

When I was a kid I would clean people’s houses for money, and it was illegal because I was under 15 and of course nobody ever gave me a 1099. I had one boss who I am sure is down for Hilldog so hard right now. I charged $20 a house in 1999 (the equivalent of $28.86 according to the inflation calculator), and this boss would make me clean her filthy kitchen floor on my hands and knees with a fingernail brush. This is a punishment in the military and I did it for a mean lady for less than $30 so I had something to eat that week.

I can tell you that she would drop food on the floor and leave it for two weeks for me to come and clean it for her. And her cheap ass only paid me to come and clean her 1,200 foot house every other week. With a fucking fingernail brush.

And I can tell you that she lectured me on how “those people” were coming up from Mexico and taking American jobs for less than Americans would, driving down the economy making it so she couldn’t afford nice things. To my face. She literally said this to her illegal and underpaid Mexican household staff.

She’s not even the only racist “liberal” white lady boss I’ve had in my life, she’s just the most heinous. It’s not like I’m not voting for Hillary based solely on her uncanny resemblance to my past terrible bosses. That’s just the cherry on top of her stunning lack of likability, which I think I’ve pretty much covered elsewhere in this post.

I suddenly feel the need to protect white lady feelings and point out that I also had several awesome liberal white lady bosses, and know several awesome liberal white women and some decently not racist Hillary supporters who are willing to interpret her history of bigotry as “game playing.” I mean, if that’s what you have to say to yourself, just lay back and think of free access to legal abortion services (in rich Northern states) and the idea that maybe the Equal Pay Act won’t get sacraficed to the God of political game playing, but if you all tell me one more time that she has the same policies Obama had 8 years ago I’m going to puke in your hair. If 2008 Obama tried to sell me girl scout cookies today, I’d hit him with a broom. Because of 2008 Obama, we have the option to vote for someone 2008 Obama could never be. An actually really real progressive socialist.

Bitches, we wished for a unicorn and here he is. Now we’re going to stand around and say he might be too unrealistic. Your lack of gall disgusts me.

That said, even I am not entirely on the Bernwagon. I was a Nader supporter. I don’t vote Magical Unicorn lightly.

David Bowie

There are so many people writing about Bowie. How could you not?

Like every freak since 1969, I had a David Bowie album. I had a couple.

There were a lot of late nights driving around Los Angeles listening to Changes and Starman. In a time when people thought they knew about me, when I only knew enough to know they did not, Bowie was a light.

I’m very sad that he’s gone,  but I’m more glad he was here.

A Brief But Passionate Note on Your Basic Human Value

I want to say something about authenticity, and I’ll probably say it wrong; but I don’t have time for perfect people. Frequently, I feel like strangers are put off by how open I am about what’s going on with me. Sometimes I am too open about it, but I’m not here to be perfect. I am here to learn, and if me sharing my learning process with you makes you think less of me, that’s a you problem.

This note isn’t directed at anyone more than myself. The new year can be very difficult, with the media forcing this idea of (not quite so) attainable perfection that I should waste precious resources working toward when what’s really important to me has nothing to do with how I look, or how my stuff looks, or even whether or not I have stuff at all.

A weightloss ad with the original words edited to say New Year fuck you, try the latest bullshit weightloss plan - look and feel inadequate. Who you are is not enough!

My value can not be quantified in kitchen cleanliness, weight lost or gained, P&L Statements, or even the number or importance of my friends, no matter how one measures importance. My value is illusive, eternal, and completely apart from this world now, or at any point in the future.

And I don’t want to tell you your business, but your value is very much the same. Exactly the same, in fact.

You have basic human value. Basic human value is the only true value. Every human has it, and it can only be diminished when we ourselves decide to trade real value for a false value.

False value is finite, concrete, and it adds weight to your shoulders and stress to your life. Because unlike real value, it can be lost forever. Quickly or slowly; but either way: easily.

For real value to come back to you, all you have to do is pick it up again.

Don’t let people who have tricked themselves into a bad trade trick you into it too. Fuck this New Year New You bullshit. New Year You You. You’re the only you you have.

That went well

The dog has been extra needy since Ben and I started working out of the house more. She tends to whine constantly and pathetically whenever I’m working from home, which is really distracting. Today I put her bed on a chair next to my desk to see if she’d be less whiney.

It worked, but not for long.





You Need to be Watching Jessica Jones

Because fantastical things happen.



Like a side piece dude showing up and not completely taking over the plot.

UPDATE: I haven’t watched any more episodes as of yet, but I’m hearing that this scene was maybe just an accident on the writer’s part, and the big yellow hunk goes on to have a very traditional role in the plot. Oh well. It was fun while it lasted.

2015 Thanksgiving Twitter Hall of Fame

This is something I do every year for the holidays. I collect the funniest and most interesting tweets from around the Internet into Halls of Fame. I only use public tweets, but if you’re tweet is on here and you want me to take it down, just let me know at @marinaisgo and I’ll take it down no questions.

We got a pretty great crop this year from a precursor to horror…


…to a budding Neighborhood Watch captain


How long is it going to be live though?

“Oh, I see you two already know each other. You can sit together!”

I’m going to need some detail on that tail wearing situation.

I have a feeling I know what old dude is thankful for.

While it is wrong to try and fight the children, I do have to wonder why y’all are standing so close together.

Well, as long as you warned that ho.