Another Episode?!

You people simply won’t believe this. There’s another episode of “You Need Therapy!” my world renowned podcast, available for your listening pleasure! And not just another episode… a FIFTH episode that I have managed to post on the day I said I would. Yes you heard that right, a new episode comes out every Wednesday! Sure, did I post about it here on my long neglected blog on Thursday? 7:30 PST which is 10:30 EST which is practically Friday? Maybe! I guess so! It sounds just as good as it would if you knew about it Wednesday!

Welp, here’s episode 5. We talk about reality TV and motivation/procrastination.

If you’re so inclined, please subscribe to “You Need Therapy!” Another easy thing to do is rate us! A harder thing to do is comment on our podcast in iTunes. I understand you all have jobs and this is inconvenient. But understand it takes a village to raise me into a famous person. It’s v. v. important to give us stars and comments on iTunes because it pushes us up in the ratings which is what we need if this podcast is ever going to be something other than a thing that gives me false illusions that I’m being productive.

Was that too sad? Oh well! Listen to us! Ask us questions to answer on the show! 

You Need Therapy! Podcast is LIVE LIVE LIVE

YOUNEEDMy friend Shannon Amabile and I started a podcast- She’s an actual MFT and I’m a therapist like a bartender’s a therapist. We’re also comedians! The goal of the podcast is to help relieve the stigma of getting help for mental health issues both big and small. And to be famous!

We’d love to have some questions to answer on future episodes, so if you need any advice or have questions like “what personality disorder do you think Lindsay Lohan has?” (that particular question is covered, but you get the idea) you can email us at or submit anonymously at our tumblr

Please download our podcast on iTunes… subscribe, rate, review and help us get into the New and Noteworthy section so I at least have some hope of not handing out samples at Whole Foods across SoCal for the rest of my life!


My New Podcast!


Hello friendos.

Very soon, I’m putting out a new podcast! It’s called “You Need Therapy!” and it’s cohosted by my friend Shannon who is an MFT and a comedian. We met in UCB improv level THUH-REE so you know we must be funny because they don’t let just anybody into 301 improv. No way. Sometimes they don’t let people advance because they pose an emotional or physical threat to the other students. Not us. We made it to level 3 because the only physical threat we pose is to your funny bone.

Basically, we talk about different topics and how they relate to psychology and therapy. And sometimes we do it in (debatably) funny voices. We’re recording a bunch of episodes now so we can actually release them every week on the same day and the same time like professionals and not like the last time I had a podcast where I released them whenever I had time between Below Deck reruns and then got sick of it after two months.

So, although this is not specifically an advice podcast, we do want to take questions and answer them on the show. If you have a question relating to love, relationships of all kinds, identity, self esteem, mental health, etc. etc. etc. and you would like one qualified individual and one know-it-all to answer it on air, email us at! We can keep you anonymous if you’d like! You can also ask anonymously in my Ask Me section on this blog.

And of course, when we start releasing episodes I’ll tell you alllll about it.

The Compulsive Bike Stealer

Our tale begins on a staycation with my friend, Caroline. If you’re unfamiliar with the term “staycation” it’s when people who are too poor or busy to go on a real vacation spend the night at a hotel nearby because there’s something special about sleeping on a mattress that thousands of other people left their dead skin cells on. STAY-CAY-SHUN!

{Just to be clear, this was a staycation, not a lovers’ gettaway, but I can see how this picture may have confused you}

After some flatbread pizza in the hotel restaurant –excuse me– BRASSERIE, Caroline and  I went out on the town with buckets–simply buckets–of red paint.

We ended up in line at Mija Cantina, where a gaggle of greasy men behind us started trying to engage us in conversation. I maybe talked to them for a second, but they were rude, and I wasn’t sure if that was a vile of GHB in their pocket or if they were just happy to see me.

One of the guys invaded my treasured personal space and whispered, “you’re giving off this whole bitchy vibe and I think it’s so sexy.” To which I replied,

and turned around before I spewed feminist vitriol all over historic Fanueil Hall, Boston.

Then the group of men in front of us commandeered our attention merely by looking less like sex offenders. They were nice, and we talked for a good 20 minutes, but when we got inside and they offered us a drink we pulled the trusty “bathroom escape” because 1. I just wasn’t feeling the guy who was talking to me and 2. I’m not saying he was as small as me, but in a pinch we could have probably shared pants.

I really did have to go to the bathroom, and on our way back into the bar on our quest for greener pastures, Caroline’s friend from college intercepted us. He was with a friend, who was cute, but it was no Wayne’s World “Dreamweaver” moment.

His friend and I talked, and it was fine. Until. UNTIL. We realized we had the same birthday. And then we started talking about astrology. And then he said something about how inappropriate men can be in bars and how he worries about his sisters, and then this, and then that, and then,

This could be it, you guys. This could be The One. The one that I would give my phone number to AND almost surely, probably definitely end up texting back.

As we talked more, it seemed like he had the soul of a hippie in the body of a distant relative to the Kennedy’s, which is kind of the dream because I loves me a hippy, but hemp jewelry is the adornment of Satan. At this point, it was all A-game. My voice was suddenly a full octave higher (and one octave lower than my waitressing voice), hair was being tossed in all directions, everything I said was through a freshly Crest white stripped smile.

I. was. on.

It was all going so well. As the four of us walked outside in search of cabs, DW (Dreamweaver) mentioned something about stealing a bike, which was confusing. Surely, this happened one time, when he was drunk, and he returned the bike with an apology note the next day. We all do crazy things under the influence.

{Not exactly bike stealing}

Then the bike stealing came up again. But this time it was “bicycles.” As in plural.

Wait, wait, wait. HOW many bikes are being stolen?

A: “8… to 10… to 12…”

 {Rubber ducky from our staycation. This was the face I made in regards to the bike stealing}

With that, my voice dropped down 1.5 octaves, or into my Olivia Benson range, which I use to suss out potential murderers.

DW thought I was getting the wrong impression of him, but I don’t know. He sees a bike on someone else’s property, has an overwhelming need to take it, rides it away, and dumps it in a designated patch in the woods. Why was my impression wrong? Is he leaving out that he gives these bikes to orphans in need of reliable transportation and/or fun leisure activities?

These bicycles are chained to wood on someone’s porch, “wood that you could so easily snap, and then the bicycle would be all yours.” He said this with a dreamy look in his eye that somehow made the word “wood” sound like “human bones,” and also suggested that he might have a promising future as a staff writer on Criminal Minds.

We finally got to the hotel. For some reason they had ended up following us there, and as we walked into the lobby, I reassured Caroline in my dedicated detectives of the elite squad known as the Special Victims Unit voice that they weren’t coming upstairs because, “I got this.”

Then it was just three of us. DW was outside talking to the door men, which his friend said he does all the time. Like, he’ll just talk to doormen for an hour. Just out of curiosity I asked his friend if DW was crazy.

“Like, he’s fun and stuff,” he said.

“No, I mean is he unstable.”

“It sounds like you want to marry him or something.”

As if even after an hour of this kid telling me about his bike stealing compulsion, my dainty lady brain would be so awash with baby hormones that I would want to marry him.

How is it possible that after this kid went on and on about how he can’t help but steal bikes- nothing else, just bikes (which he referred to only as “bicycles,” which somehow makes it more insane) that I am still the crazy female?

This needs to be said to any male reading this blog. If you are not a male, please pass this message along to the nearest male: we don’t all want to marry you! In fact, I’m guessing, the vast, incredible majority of females do not want to marry you. Oh, and on a separate but related note, that gay guy isn’t hitting on you, either, so just calm down.