Mingbin, Gaga and Me

I do not want to get on this plane.  I want to stay in this state of airport gate-waiting for eternity.

I’m not afraid to fly. I don’t particularly like it, and usually I feel a little ill when I fly, but it’s only an hour flight and I have good music and a book about George Harrison (my travel buddy) so I should be set.

No, I want to stay here because this is the first time I’ve felt a sense of calm in the past several days. I got a tea, put on a travel playlist my friend made me, and set up to write this blog. It’s nice to stop, to breathe, to pause this state of existential dread.

I want to stay here and think about how adorable my Lyft driver, Mingbin, was. He was a tiny Asian man, probably 70 years old, driving a Mazda with a dancing flower attached to the dash. After a few minutes of pleasantries, he switched on a CD and suddenly I was back in my sophomore year of high school listening to Just Dance by Lady Gaga.

I have so many questions.

Did he make the CD for himself or was it given to him? It’s clearly a mix of Gaga songs spanning several records, and some are remixes. Is he playing it because he thinks I will like it? Or is Mingbin a Little Monster himself? One can only hope.

I watched the little plastic dash flower dance along to Born This Way as we passed an IKEA and I remember thinking about how much I’d rather re-live the 24 hours of travel to India (turbulence and airplane food-induced diarrhea included) than set foot in an IKEA for an hour. That place is like a maze, set up to destroy and feast on the souls of new homeowners.

I miss Mingbin. He didn’t try to make small talk, which is good since I didn’t really want to talk and also couldn’t understand him very well. He drove like a little old man,  thankfully, because I’ve clung on for dear life in the back seat of many a car in my day. He just played a ridiculous amount of Lady Gaga while I alternated between giggling and singing along.

So Merry Christmas everyone! Happy Hannukah, Happy New Year, congratulations on your new baby, have a nice time at the gym today, happy winter. I hope we can all be just as adorable as Mingbin this holiday season, or as he described it “this long weekend.”



Merry Christmas, Plebeians

We were going for “romantic” but Mickey’s rockstar heart just can’t be tamed.

Dear Friends,

Well, 2013 sure did fly by — like me, on my private jet, flying off to Morocco. I have, once again, had an amazing year that was probably much more exciting than yours.

As you probably read in the tabloids, my new lover Mickey and I were swept up in a whirlwind romance that culminated in him proposing atop the Eiffel Tower a few months ago. As we prepare for our lavish wedding in the Bahamas, we wanted to make sure we kept you up to date with our lives, since you will definitely not be getting an invite to the wedding. It’s very exclusive, and you’re just…not exclusive material.

When my latest book, Welcome to Paradise: A Memoir of Fame, Glory and Striking Beauty hit the shelves earlier this year, I was hailed by critics as “clearly having a better life than anyone else on the planet” and “a perfect example of why other people should just sit down and stop trying, since Cappy is so much better than anyone else ever could be.” Obviously, the book wasn’t as popular as I’d hoped (is a Pulitzer really too much to ask for?), but those reviews were rather sweet.

I travelled the world on yet another exhausting book tour over the summer. Asia was particularly difficult because, wherever I went, fans wanted photos with me. It must’ve been my gorgeous face, long legs and blonde hair that really made them love me. Well, that and the fact that I inspire awe wherever I go.

I dyed my gorgeous locks pink for charity earlier this month, and have been offered several modeling gigs since. I guess I just have “the look” now (who am I kidding — I’ve always had the look). I’ve turned them all down, of course, because with my hectic schedule and amazing love life I just don’t have the time. Besides, I wouldn’t want to make the other models jealous of my natural, raw talent.

Mickey has been trying to relax lately. After his recent tour of North America with his rock band, The Cat’s Meow, he came home to our New York apartment and slept for a week. When he woke up, we started a strict sushi diet — all that fish oil is really very good for the hair, you know — and have been lounging around and opening our Christmas presents from our adoring fans.

We love you. Without you, we’d have no one to brag to about our important lives. We expect amazing things in 2014 and hope you stay healthy for another year so you’re around to hear us brag about our accomplishments in the next Christmas letter.


We love you!

We love you!

I Have Learned More

Happy New Year, muffins! I wish we could’ve all been classy together and that we could’ve kissed at midnight! Instead, I hope you all had fun ringing out the old and ringing in the new! I gave Chloe two pretentious cheek kisses at midnight, and I’d say that sufficed this year. She is my ladylove, after all.

In my tradition, I shall now tell you what I have learned this year:

1. Relationships end. I don’t know how I didn’t know that before, but I think I had this thought that everything stays the same throughout life. But no. This year I ended a lot of relationships, including a romantic one, that I thought would last forever. But I’ve changed, and so have others, and I’ve seen/experienced things that have changed my life forever. Also, people are jerks and aren’t always who you think they are. So that’s a happy thought.

2. I am strong. I have risen from the blackest moments of life and continued on, somehow remaining optimistic about what the future holds. I have felt the deepest despair one can feel and have risen from the ashes like a phoenix (to put it dramatically) (also, reading that back, I can’t stop laughing…imagining my head on a bird’s body…) and HEY HERE I AM! writing detailed instructions on how to lurk in corners….So I guess I’ve healed more than I thought.

3. On a lighter note, do not, ever, under any circumstances, try to make whipped cream in a blender. You’ll get curds and whey, and Little Miss Muffet may be very pleased, but you definitely won’t.

4. Don’t make eye contact with people on public transportation. They will either try to fight you, try to start a weird romantic relationship with you, or ask you if you have cats. Answer: Let’s fight, date, and have cats together.

5. I talk in my sleep. I say very angry, belligerent things in my sleep. I am terrifying in my sleep. I giggle creepily in my sleep. …Sorry.

6. Journalism is stressful, makes me want to pull my head off, and psychology is a better major for me. So cheers to me not having a heart attack at age 30.

7. I’m a classy lady! Last night, I saw Silver Lining’s Playbook (so good), ate salmon (also good), and went to the symphony (so. good.) before heading to a lovely little party where we played board games and snuggled on couches. There were party poppers involved. Classy.

8. I’m hilarious. Quotes from last night that don’t make sense but that will (maybe?) make you giggle:
“Let’s get schmammered at the symphony!” (We didn’t, because that would be stupid and also I am not a loser.)
(Someone else singing): “Mares eat oats and does eat oats, and little lambs eat ivy.” (Me): “What’s lamsy divey? That’s fun.”
Last, but not least: “You go Jean Valjean! Four for you Jean Valjean!”

I’ll end on that note and wish you all the best in 2013. Hope you’re all healthy and happy and have nice haircuts.

I love you. PS I ate bacon this morning. Classy.

Happy Holidays! I’m Better Than You

3069914518_26770c90dfDear Friends,

It’s that season once more! The season of giving (to me) and snowmen and hot cocoa, which means its time to read my annual Holiday Letter of Self-Obsession.

As you all know, my Pulitzer Prize winning novel “This is Why I’m Hot” came out last year to rave reviews, so I’m pretty loaded now.

After my divorce from my brain surgeon husband (don’t worry, my divorce lawyers were better than his and I came away with the condo in the Bahamas and his mother’s antique diamond ring) I’ve been living a glamorous single life. Divorcing George was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, since our long relationship of one year really meant a lot to me (and he was seriously gorgeous), but the grief weight I lost was totally worth it!

In the wake of my book’s success and my very public divorce, I was hard at work on my new autobiography “The Life and Times of Me: The Jet-Setting Single Gal Who Still Manages to Make the Men Swoon” which came out last month.

I method-wrote the heck out of that book (by which I mean I travelled to every major Caribbean city and tanned for 3 hours a day in order to collect enough data to write a really sexy book about passion and mangos). I was like Daniel Day-Lewis, but feminine and a writer. And sexy.

I have also really enjoyed meeting my fans on my world book tour these past few weeks. The little people really do love me, and I’d like to thank them all for standing in line for hours while I sat in a chair drinking tea and receiving gifts from them. I want to say this: I appreciate your concern for me after my divorce, but if I get one more self-help book from you idiotic nothings, I will sue you all. Love you!

I’m now relaxing at my beach cottage in Florida with my man-servant Juan (who I met in yoga class). Juan is very flexible, soI’m enjoying life. I hope you have all been as fortunate as me this year, though I very much doubt it. If any of you are in Florida over the holidays, I would love to help set you up at a nearby cottage (for a small fee, of course). Stay beautiful…but not as beautiful as me.




Yes, Mary Did Know.

Mary, did you know that your baby boy would one day walk on water? Mary, did you know that your baby boy would save our sons and daughters?
Well, yes…an angel woke me up in the middle of my beauty sleep to let me know. I don’t think I would forget something so significant.

Did you know that your baby boy has come to make you new?
Were you drunk when you wrote that line? Because it doesn’t make any sense. Someone’s been dipping into the holiday nog.

This Child that you delivered will soon deliver you.
Yes, and as I understand it, his sacrifice will be about as painful as giving birth to a child without the use of pain killers or antibiotics. Do you know how dirty mangers are? They are infested with lots of very unsanitary things.

Mary, did you know that your baby boy will give sight to a blind man?
No, but apparently you do. Good for you, you’re amazing, shut up.

Mary, did you know that your baby boy will calm the storm with his hand?
Baby strong man!

Did you know that your baby boy has walked where angels trod?
Ooh! Ooh! Me too! Remember that thing about the angel coming down from heaven and telling me that my baby was God’s? We went on a little walk and at one point I probably stepped on his footsteps. So HA!

When you kiss your little Baby you kissed the face of God?
When you put it like that, I feel uncomfortable.

Mary did you know.. Ooo Ooo Ooo… The blind will see.The deaf will hear.The dead will live again.
Oh. Like zombies?

The lame will leap.The dumb will speak the praises of the lamb.
It’th a Chwistmas miwacle.

Mary, did you know that your baby boy is lord of all creation? Mary, did you know that your baby boy would one day rule the nations? Did you know that your baby boy is heaven’s perfect lamb? The sleeping child you’re holding is the great, I am.
Who is? He is? Or you are. You just said he’s the great but now you said you’re the great and I think it’s a little presumptuous of you to say something like that. That’s my son you’re talking about!

Where is my Vuvuzela?!

Sometimes I think I could really use a vuvuzela. It could come in handy in so many situations! Like these:

1. In class when the professor can’t see you raising your hand. VUVUZELA! I have a question!

2. At Thanksgiving when you’re running around trying to get the turkey and potatoes and stuffing ready and no one will get out of your way and…VUVUZELA! Out the road, everyone! Turkey coming through!

3. On the highway when someone cuts you off and your car has a girly horn. VUVUZELA! I am a strong person and you just wronged me! Grrr!

4. When you’re trying to get through the line of Harry Potter fans waiting to meet J.K. Rowling. VUVUZELA! I am the biggest fan of them all!

5. When you’re trying to sleep and someone’s gettin’ busy with their girlfriend next door. VUVUZELA! Be quiet!

6. When you’re in the supermarket during one of those 12 hour cereal sales and someone is standing right in front of the Captain Crunch. VUVUZELA! That’s my cereal, wench!

7. When you get an A on an exam. VUVUZELA! I’m so much better than you!

8. When you’re at a golf tournament and the silence is getting a little awkward. VUVUZELA! It’s not awkward anymore, because now everyone’s about to punch you!

9. When you want the bank teller to hurry up and put the money in your bag. VUVUZELA! Faster, faster, this is a stickup! Also, VUVUZELA! These cops will never catch me!

10. When people argue over the Christmas tree size, shape, and placement…VUVUZELA! It’s greenery, kids! Get over it.

Saint Cappy’s Day

Hi y’all! It’s officially Saint Cappy’s Day, as mentioned previously in this post.

Since Saint Cappy’s day is all about celebrating yourself, I thought I’d give y’all a few reasons to love being single:

1. Some people have arranged marriages. At least you don’t have to deal with Derk and his 12 goats buying you from your father’s farm and making you his prized woman. You’d be baking SO MUCH BREAD for the rest of your life. And you’d have 8 children, all of whom tended to the cattle in the morning and made cheese with you in the afternoon, but even though they were helpful you had to cook for all of them and cooking for 10 people every day is really tiresome. Then one day your son Yani would break his arm climbing a tree (silly kids, they never learn) and you’d have to wrap it up yourself because the closest “doctor” had a snaggle-tooth and lived in a hollowed out tree.

2. You could be a sister wife, married to a man named Jethro and wearing a calico smock. You’d have two bedrooms and you and your sisters would alternate sleeping in Jethro’s bed, which is uncomfortable since he sleeps with his pitchforks (he loves farming). You’d have about three kids of your own but 15 total, and it’s really, really hard to love 12 kids that belong to your husband but not to you.

3. You could be part of a harem. And trust me, that doesn’t just mean you’d get to wear fun pants. Your husband would be super beardy and make you feed him grapes all day while another wife told him stories of Ali Baba.

4. You could be a nun and God would be your husband but lord knows he’s barely ever home. And he’s got this goodie two-shoes son who doesn’t even do his carpentry work but instead just hangs out in a river playing with badgers and bathing people. And everyone would always be comparing you to God’s ex, Mary, and telling you how WONDERFUL she was. And you would just be quietly washing your unmentionables in the stream when the townsfolk would come by and sneer at you because everyone knows God still loves Mary but she ran off with that Joseph character and…

Anyway, happy Saint Cappy’s day. Don’t forget to love yourself, and whether you’re single or not, at least you’re not married to God. He’s a piece of work.


Chocolate Makes the Heart Grow Fonder?

There’s something rotten here, and I think I know what it is. Flowers. And chocolate.
True, the flowers are pretty fresh and I don’t actually know if chocolate can rot, but it’s the symbolism that counts here, people. Don’t let yourselves be blinded by Valentine’s Day and love and all the sugar you’ve no doubt been eating.
Here’s the deal: If you really love someone, every day should feel like Valentine’s Day. Not to mention the fact that if you REALLY loved her, you wouldn’t give her chocolate. She’s already self-conscious of her thighs.
So listen to me, the girl who has never had a Valentine and is therefore the expert on this holiday: put down the roses and back away slowly.

I think Valentine’s Day can be wonderful. Really. But does coupling up really matter? So I’ve come up with a new holiday: Saint Cappy’s Day. After all, I’m practically a saint for all I put up with from you people. I was going to make it named after a true-blue saint, but I figured 1) I’m not Catholic and the Episcopal church only has as many saints as were around when we split from the Catholic church and…basically I didn’t feel like figuring out whether there was a saint of single people and whether or not he/she was recognized by the church I don’t even attend very often. And 2) I’m cuter than most of the saints anyway.

Here’s how it goes: all my single ladies (and men…and anyone else, if you’re a little gender confused), put your hands up. Okay, there are a few of you. Kid in the back, pay attention. Every September 14, we are going to have an international day for singles in which we give ourselves chocolate (but only if we’re not dieting, and even then it has to be dark chocolate cuz that’s better for you. Anti-oxidants, people!) and flowers (any flower typical at funerals is permitted, so go crazy with your easter lilies). Then, we’re gonna take ourselves out for a coffee and/or lunch, celebrating the love we have for ourselves.
And I’m not kidding. Here’s where I get serious. Now.
I have grown to love myself so much. Who I am and what I do, they’re all mine. So let’s take a day to celebrate ourselves! Because, as Ke$ha would say, we are who we are. And as Lady Gaga (my homegirl) would say, I was born this way. It’s too dang true.


Saint Cappy.


It’s cold outside? Is that really the best argument you can think of?

I really can’t stay
But baby, it’s cold outside.
I’ve got to go away
But baby, it’s cold outside…

That is the lamest argument I’ve ever heard. If it’s cold outside, walk her home and cuddle her on the way. Or drive her in your car (carriage?). Or give her some coco for the road. But don’t go all date-rapey and beg her to stay on the premise that it’s cold outside.

The neighbors might faint
But baby, it’s bad out there
Say, what’s in this drink?
No cabs to be had out there

Lady, you suspect that there’s something in the drink and you don’t run screaming for the door? I guess nobody taught her about roofies. Induce vomiting immediately!

My sister will be suspicious
Gosh your lips look delicious


I’ve got to get home
But baby, you’d freeze out there
Say, lend me a coat
It’s up to your knees out there

Lend her your snowshoes, man. You are utterly useless.

I love Christmas songs. Really. Once mid-December rolls around, I listen to them nonstop. Usually, the cheesier the better. But this song drives me insane. The male part is usually sung in a really creepy deep voice that is waaaay too reminiscent of a date-rapist. It just weirds me out…I guess it’s meant to be sweet, and I usually appreciate that sort of thing, but…

Well, I guess the reason I hate it is because it’s something I’d totally fall for.

Only the Lonely

The holidays can really suck. They’re amazing and beautiful because it’s the season of giving and a time to bake cookies and make snowmen and wear really cute winter outfits (okay, that last one’s just me, but I’m cute year round). But they’re also the loneliest time of the year. It’s strange, because you’re surrounded by friends and family and there’s love just oozing from everyone’s pores, but you feel lonely, don’t you? You want someone to  make cookies with, to make snowmen with, to wear scarves with. You want someone, because everything you don’t have seems ten times worse at Christmas.

This is my paradoxical life: I wrote a post a few weeks ago detailing my satisfaction at being single. I am now writing a post about having a hard time with that very same subject.

It’s not that I want someone, persay (I can hear you shouting: SHE’S LYING!). It’s just that it is so hard to be single at this time of year. There’s snow falling every second, practically taunting me and saying, “You know you wish someone was snuggling with you right now as you watch me fall and blanket the ground like glittery frosting.”

The holidays remind me of everything I regret. I can no longer sit by the fire, bake food, go to French bakeries, see the trees lit up in the city, anything anything anything without being reminded of…well…you know.  “But Cappy,” you say, “you’re being so melodramatic, please shut up.” But I can’t. It’s usually okay during the daytime, but then evening rolls around and I remember and then I wallow and then I write stupid blog posts about my stupid life, which I had promised myself I would never do.

But ah, well, what’s the point of a blog if you’re never gonna moan on a little?

The point of this post (before I went on some weird tangent about frosting and trees) is this: the holidays are lonely even though we have so much to be thankful for. 90% of the time we all feel amazing, but then something triggers a memory, like the smell of cinnamon, and WHAMO – we’re crying over our Christmas pudding.

That is so unbelieveably sad. How is it that at Christmas (when we’re supposed to be celebrating Baby Jesus and a bearded man who has cute little elves) are we wallowing? Shouldn’t we just kick ourselves in the pants and dedicate ourselves to collecting money for the poor or decorating cookies to raise awareness for gingerbread-man-scoliosis?

Things we don’t even want tempt us: that diamond ring that nobody in their right mind would care about unless it was Christmas, that cashmere scarf that you definitely cannot afford but bought anyway as a present to yourself from “Santa,” that ex-boyfriend who you only regret breaking up with once a year when you want a cuddle-buddy.
Or maybe you really do regret things and Baby Jesus is reminding you to be a good person and fix them. 

Who knows? I sure don’t. Maybe another candycane will help me find reason….