Alanis Updated the Lyrics to ‘Ironic’ – & It Was Amazing.

Been a minute since I’ve updated the ol’ blog here. Such is life. Without making this overdo silence a ‘thing’, let’s cut to a video all of your 90s loving hearts will more than appreciate. It’s laugh out loud before coffee good.



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Well Played Organic Fuel. #savethebros

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This incredible mock PSA by Organic Fuel promotes awareness of the artificial ‘junk’ in your average workout drink while brilliantly imploring bro loves everywhere to #savethebros. The company recently launched their new Organic Fuel product—which boasts freedom from “artificial flavoring, sweeteners, GMOs, toxic pesticides, antibiotics or artificial hormones often found in other ‘health’ products.

Turns out there’s also a microsite that sells “Save the Bros” swag like manks (man-tanks), gym bags, yoga mats and obviously, trucker hats. #duh.

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They also pull in the #brolife – which they may want to filter a bit more, as one screenshot read:

“Life is like a penis; it is simple, soft, and relaxed. Then women make it hard.” 


Regardless, this inherently sharable ad is awesome – especially considering the inevitable depression I would personally experience if indeed, bros go extinct.

CTA: BUY one, BRO one.

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Romo: I’m like a proud motha

I don’t always gush on my blog but when I do, it’s about my friends… who are amazingly talented. I couldn’t be prouder of this girl. She’s amazing.


Check out her stuff on Never What You Think & on her YouTube

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You Are The Sum of Your Experiences – As Posted on Advertising Week

As posted on Advertising Week

It’s been a while since my last post and a helluva lot has happened. In the last quarter, I quit my ad agency job, packed up my San Diego apartment, moved to San Francisco sans job, attempted to find myself, jumped up in the air, hung out there for a while, and have just recently landed on the ground via a pretty sweet cloud ride. This post is not about the tangibles of what I did, how I landed a job, or any of that. It’s about openness, creativity, looking up, and starting to see your life in a fundamentally different way.

Read the full post Here

I scream, you scream, we all scream for WINE-CREAM.

The sky has fallen, fat ladies are singin’ a slurry tune, pigs are flying everywhere – the wonderful world in which we live just invented, you guessed it, wine ice cream – aka wine cream.

It’s not just wine flavored ice cream – that would be unnecessary and potentially gross – it’s 5% alcohol ice cream in the following delightful flavors: Cherry Merlot, Chocolate Cabernet, Peach White Zinfandel, Port, Red Raspberry Chardonnay, Riesling & Spice (the recently launched holiday flavor). The branding is clean, cute and something I sure as hell can get behind.

This 60 year old gem of an ice cream shop became a 100% female run business out of upstate New York in early 2013 – and well, women everywhere (with access to wine cream) are stoked on it.

Join the other some 11k fans on Facebook for updates galore. I’m still a smidge unclear on their ability to ship though their Facebook comments seem to suggest they do. I suppose shipping – on dry ice – may be expensive though so stay tuned on developments of that nature.

In the mean time, peruse cute pics below and imagine the wonder that will come from wine cream drunk.



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How ClassPass Quickly Became my San Francisco Tour Guide & BFF

When move day comes to a close and you finally have your sheets on, ketchup and wine in the fridge, and have successfully located your corner store – what comes next to find some semblance of normalcy in your newly wild, crazy, uncertain life? You find your gym. Obviously.

I tried to find mine that first day in San Francisco just over one month ago- and walked 1.7 miles (too far to walk to the gym if you ask me) from my spot in the Mission to the closest 24 Hour Fitness. Now, I’m not saying all 24 Hours are foul – but this one was. From the squishy feeling of the treadmill and the heavy chlorine stench of the indoor pool, to the sad, gray looking gym goers and the uber sketch strip mall location… I was depressed. After running a sad run at what I’m very sure was slower than the 7mph speed the machine read, I trudged home and checked email whilst speed walking under a highway overpass (yes, I had to walk underneath a freeway to get home).

It was in that moment, that my luck changed and my love affair with ClassPass began. With a $1 for all of October offer, ClassPass offered me a beautifully user friendly experience, easy to tweak filters to fit my schedule and access to killer boutique fitness studios in San Francisco. You can attend 3 classes per studio, per month, reserve ahead of time and as such, try so.many.activities. Of course the price went up to more than $1 – but take one yoga class a week and it more than pays for itself. #truth

Imagine my excitement.

It was then that I got the idea to use this gem of a product as a vehicle through which to learn the city. And that is precisely what I have done. From walks to SOMA for Barry’s Bootcamp and bus rides to the Marina for yoga, to 90 minute Mission Bikram sessions and contortion classes at an awesome place called Aspen Aerials, I’ve walked, skipped, and hopped around this city arguable more than most have after living here for years.

In a month, I’ve taken 27 classes and have four on the books pre Turkey Day- and yea, can now do that yoga pose above. As excited as I am to go home next week, I definitely thought with a twinge of sadness, about missing my new non-routine ClassPass routine while I’m gone.

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And then, they launched in San Diego.

So. Excited.

ClassPass Flex is live at kicking in:

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Talk about #growth.

Take a look at their interface. As you can see, it’s super easy to narrow down what you want to do, where you want to do it, and what time’s you’re free. It also works seamlessly on mobile.

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Anyway, I best be off, I have a 3 o’clock Sculpt class near the Embarcadero. Live strong, ClassPass hard.

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A Repost Yes, But a Killer One – True Life: I Went to Pure Barre and It Was Fucking Miserable

Laughed out loud to this gem of a post. Props to the dude for going… and for calling a spade a spade. Bring a guy to class night though… stellar idea.

Poor bro is lost


My fiancée goes to Pure Barre five times a week, apparently to look better than she already does (not possible). If you’re not familiar with Pure Barre, it’s basically a chick cult, which also includes a workout session where you use a barre to perform isometric movements. She comes home and talks about how “hard” class was. I pretend like I’m listening, because that’s what good fiancés do, but really I’m laughing on the inside.

Last week she tells me Pure Barre is having a “Bring the Men” session, and she wants to bring me to class with her. I was knee-deep in a Destiny Crucible match, and as all men know, when your girl asks you if you want do something while you’re gaming you simply respond with yes and hope she forgets because you will. Well let me tell you something, she didn’t forget. She literally brought it up once an hour since her proposal.

I immediately regret this decision, not because the class will be hard, which it won’t be because I’m a superior athlete, but because Gamestop called to tell me I can pick up the video game I pre-ordered at 9PM on Monday, which happens to be the same time as class. I turn this into a bargaining chip to get some unobstructed gaming time in. I’ll go to class, if we go pick up the game afterwards. She responded with yes so quickly you would have thought I volunteered to pay for her wedding dress.

Usually when I’m doing some sort of athletic activity: brisk jog, flag football, looking for stray cats in the neighborhood to collect reward money, I get mentally focused. I didn’t do any of this. Not only that but I walked into this class with my dick so far out I wanted people to think I was the god damn instructor. Much to my surprise, I wasn’t the only male who got duped into coming to class. There are five other couples in class with us.

Upon entering we need to collect three items for class: some resistance bands, two dumb-bells, and a ball I recognize from high school dodge-ball that I used to pelt the nerds in the face with. Not sure if they are on a budget or what, but they don’t have the 60 pound dumb-bells I’m accustomed to, only increments less than five. They’ll do I guess.



So we go take our positions and the instructor starts playing some progressive and trance vibes, i.e. 128 to 140 BPM shit. I’m really getting into it now. The fun is short-lived though. We start moving. We start moving fast. I was expecting some type of warmup but no. My fiancee is firing on all cylinders. She’s a natural. I on the other hand look ridiculous. You could compare my success rate in these coordination exercises to a paraplegic trying to roller-blade. Little did I know that the next 55 minutes would be the worst of my adult life.

We lay on the floor and start with aerobics. The “instructor” is “instructing” me to contort my body in ways God never intended it to. My leg is out, my arm is up, basically we are playing Twister and I spun the four corners. We are five minutes in, and I’m getting shown up by six girls with an average weight of a buck o five.

We move to abs. Abs I can handle I thought. But I thought wrong, you guys. Not sure where this workout originated but my mid-section feels like it’s being ripped open by ten-grit sandpaper. After all, lift, tone, and burn is the motto of Pure Barre, I learn. We move to planks which I’m laboring through. We are 15 minutes in, and I want to quit.

Next we’re doing push-ups, then arms, then shoulders. I feel like the Great Wall of China is piling on top of me. Some bro across the room has run into the backroom. I want to join him, but I’m refusing to be that guy. I didn’t care if I passed the fuck out and woke up in the hospital, I wasn’t giving anyone the satisfaction of knowing I couldn’t make it through this workout. The other guys have horror written all over their faces. We’re gonna make it, bros.

I’m playing mental games to get through this session. 45 minutes to go. 45 divided by five is nine. BASEBALL! I’m treating every five minutes like it’s an inning to give myself some way to cope with the time. Fourth inning, top of the order coming back up. Oh man, top of the sixth, bullpen is stirring. Seventh inning, need an insurance run….

I want to die.

My fiancee keeps looking at me and smiling. Borderline laughing. Can’t wait till she’s pushing out our child between her legs. I will be standing over her with a shit eating grin on my face.


We move to the barre. Instructor tells me not to lean or put too much weight onto it. If she knew that was the only thing keeping me from keeling over she wouldn’t have been saying that. Every exercise I’m supposed to be violently tucking my pelvis into my abs. “And tuck, and tuck, and tuck.” All I’m thinking is I want to be tucked into bed by my Mother.

I go through a 15 minute stretch (or three innings, whichever you prefer) where I have no memory. Probably blacked out. Not sure if my body was shutting down, the only thing I recall is getting flashbacks of my childhood when I played with Stretch Armstrong, because those are the movements the instructor is asking that I replicate. Eighth inning arrives! 10 minutes to go!

We went into what was called the Cobra Stretch. At this point, I would have rather been eaten by a god damn Cobra then doing this god damn stretch. Fuck me. We finish with some more ab work and I’m thankful because it involves laying down on a mat so if I passout few will notice. Strike three, closer gets the save, game over. The room is spinning. I need a beer.

Get enough women together and they can figure out what men want. We went outside the room and there are pretzels and beer waiting. I’m in no mood to field the cliche rhetorical questions from the others, “Have fun? “It’s hard, right?” I grab two Bud Light bottles to-go and start walking to the car. I need an IV and a body cast.

Add Pure Barre to the list along with Instagram pressure, high-heels, night cream, and 2.5 hours to get ready for night out, of things women have to do to be socially acceptable. I want no part of that. Shout out to females everywhere. You’re the real MVP. I’ll stick to the weight room where I dictate how much time I have between sets and natural body movements.

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NFL Fight Songs: The Good, The Bad, The Awesome

Good morning football fans. For those of you who aren’t aware, I’m a Bolts fan. I talk a big (albeit vague) San Diego game, own some decent swag, and have, at one point, had our fight song as my phone ring.

In the spirit of honesty though, I thought I’d take the Instagram filter off my life (#lo-fi, duh) and admit what is absolutely obvious to 99% of men- feel free to apply this to the majority of inconsistent Sunday bar going chicks at this time of year. I’m the girl who wears the jersey once a month when I decide Sunday Funday trumps a nice yoga sesh, you know, to start the week off right. I pause a beat after something… anything happens to make sure I’m making the right sound (#cheer or #thatwasbullshit call). I can get into/understand it if I really focus, can’t fathom how people get so worked up for teams they’re not fans of, and really, truly don’t get how anyone has time to know as much as they do about every player, his high school record, and his mom’s favorite quiche for that matter.

Now, what’s the point of all this? Football isn’t going anywhere so I will try my best to understand, like and hell, maybe look forward to this American made sport. What’s the best way to get into the spirit you ask? Well, I’m starting with the fun part: FIGHT SONGS.

I assumed San Diego has the best – few will argue otherwise – and it’s on there don’t worry. But I threw back to the olden days and found some gems… and a few fumbles.

9. Buffalo Bills “Shout”

I can’t. This pains me and I can’t imagine this is played anywhere at any game. Shame on you Bills. Be more original.

8. Pittsburgh Steelers “Here We Go”

Catchy rock ballad? Sure, but I have a few bones to pick with the lyrics, which have consistently been updated for the last 20 years. The most recent version has the line, “We’ll go to Mendenhall to get a touchdown/And if you get in his way, he’s gonna knock you around” – which obviously isn’t the case considering his recent retirement from the NFL (yes, I did real research). Also, you’d think they’d hire someone with a better voice for the official youtube video… but that’s just me.

7. Philaldephia Eagles “Fly Eagles Fly

Short, sweet and the fans know all the words, it’s a little early 1900s marching band-y but I like it.

6. Tampa Bay Buccaneers “Hey Hey Tampa Bay”

Welp, Disco got a hold of the Bucs fight song. Sorry guys. Complete with ‘pew, pew’ laser shooting sounds, a decent amount of repetition for one minute, and a few distinct sexual innuendoes, it’s only a matter of time before this puppy gets re done.

5. Chicago Bears “Bear Down”

Complete with rhymes, “You are the pride & joy of Illinois”, and a cheesy marching band tune, this old school song isn’t intimidating to say the least. That said, it’s a classic and it probably works beautifully when paired with a lovely fall parade in Chicago.

4. Oakland Raiders “The Autumn Wind”

I hate the Raiders. Sorry, but I do and I won’t stop. This though, is kind of amazing. You sure as shit can’t sing along to this Poe-esque monologue but it’s creepy and I like it. My question is, when and where do they play the first part? I hope always and everywhere. I also hope every Raiders fan knows it by heart like the pledge of allegiance. That and only that will make me hate them less.

3. New Orleans Saints “When the Saints Go Marching In”

So. Much. Swag. NOLA knows it and their fight song is living proof. Minus points for a preexisting song but the ‘who dat’ chant / instrumental integration is sweet – and you know everyone everywhere knows, lives and breathes the song.

2. San Diego Chargers “San Diego Super Chargers”

You can’t beat it. It’s snappy, its jazzy, you oh-so-naturally shimmy your hands up to the sky when the “Super Chargers” lyrics hit, it has a SAX SOLO…. I mean come on. It’s. So. Good.

1. Miami Dolphins “Dolphins Fight Song”

Rhymes? Check. Banjo? Check. Grandma Got Over By A Reindeer melody? Check. It’s a throwback gem so good I gave it the number one spot. Also, there’s a T-Pain version. Yea, that helped.

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7 Things San Diegans Take For Granted

The following are as normal as pigeons in San Diego – but in San Francisco, you’re about as likely to see the following as you are to see a baby pigeon, which happens, pretty much never.

1. Washing Machines #thisismylifenow

2. Dish Washers #lotsofboredcatsinSF

3. Parking #thereisnone #donttry

4. Flat Ground

5. Not having to take the bus #ew

6. A Trader Joes being in close proximity to you wherever you are #allIwantisTJs

7. A lack of wind

But in end, there’s this –

and this

and hot damn, there’s this,


so color me excited to live in this gem of a city.


Dear San Francisco, I now live in you. Love, me.

For those of you who don’t know, I’ve very very recently moved to San Francisco from San Diego. Life’s changed a lot in the past month and instead of being the terrible blogger I have been recently, I say – here’s to new beginnings in colder weather (though it’s ironically close to 1 million degrees in the seat I currently inhabit) – let’s do this blog thang.

The next few posts will be centered around my observations/experiences in this new fanged city of mine and to appreciate them, a spoonful of context seems necessary. I moved here, to the Mission by the way, without a ‘job’. Quotes included there because I moved here without what one might call a traditional job. All I can say is #startuplife called and honey, I answered.

They say life begins at the end of your comfort zone and if moving without a salary or health insurance makes me a little uneasy, we’re about 15 end zones past the definition of my parents’ worst nightmare. Here nor there, I’m more than stoked on my decision to pursue hopes and dreams no matter how cliche – and if I have to wade through the bogs of discomfort for an obstacle or 12, so be it.

In the mean time though, with a bunch of promising projects on the beautifully foggy horizon, I’d like to present to you #ballinonabudget (naming cred to DaRealZap). It’s too soon to tell how this lil socioeconomic experiment is going to flow, but cheers to perpetual beta – and the notion that I’ll figure it out as it goes. More to come – gotta whet your palette somehow.

Peace up, atown,



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