I’m addicted to a bad relationship. I wanted to avoid writing about it so badly that I decided to write about beets. I researched some recipes, discovered that it’s a Jewish tradition to eat beets at Rosh Hashanah (the Jewish New Year), and warned my roommates that I would be baking the chocolate beet cake for a second time. I wasn’t jazzed about the post. I had a feeling it wouldn’t top my kale post. It sounded really insincere so I decided to eff it.

Hi, my name is eff the funk and I have been addicted to a bad relationship for three years. I was sure I loved him the first year… then I’m not sure what I told myself the remainder of our on-again, off-again time together. He never promised me the moon, but I wanted to hold on anyways. We have strong chemistry and I was addicted to his attention when he chased me and my suffering when he didn’t. It’s romantic in a twisted way.  Read the rest of this entry »


At a younger age when my hormones were out of whack, classmates were mean to each other for negligible reasons, and I lacked the ability to defend myself, I would come home from school and cry. A lot. The emotional turmoil and the act of crying would exhaust me so I would fall asleep on my bed, always shaken awake by my mother when dinner was ready. The drama du jour seemed less traumatic after a nap.

I don’t face drama on-the-reg anymore (middle school was the effing worst). I try to steer clear of it, but occasionally I have the burning desire to tell people about themselves. Most people don’t want to hear it. They already know 90% of what I want to say, but they choose to ignore it.

Sometimes I reach my limit. If you are over the age of eighteen and you whine a lot, I will tell you about yourself. If you act in a way that creates large hurdles for others, I will tell you about yourself. You get the idea. Those are behaviors that other people would also discourage so I don’t feel too crazy-cat-lady-yelling-at-birds-in-the-park when I broach the subject that someone needs to check themselves before they wreck themselves (and others).  Read the rest of this entry »

Raise your hand if you just spent a lot of money on holiday gifts/plane tickets/etc. Ugh, financial funk. Eff it all! Sorry Santa. They say there’s no such thing as a free lunch. I’m here to tell you otherwise. Here is a compilation of freebies. Feel “free” to share more in the comments section!

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Picture yourself swimming in a peaceful lake. A piece of trash floats nearby. Out of fear, you focus on the trash intensely and inadvertently swim right toward it instead of avoiding it. You become partially tangled in the trash and the added weight around your midsection affects the ease with which you make your strokes. As you swim forward you see more trash and swim toward it again. This trash entangles itself on your left ankle and now your swimming is unbalanced. You start to veer to the left, which is not the way you wanted to go.

The lake is more polluted than you remembered. Or is it? Are you so afraid of the trash that it’s the only thing you can think of whereas previously, you knew the trash was there but you avoided it by ignoring it?

We worry about the trash and it distracts us, entangles us, and we fear more trash. The trash is what other people say about you. What other people say about you is none of your business. Eff the funk and ignore their trash. It’s a reflection of their negativity and you don’t need to strap it to your left ankle as you swim on by. Just keep swimming.

In the good old US of A, the word “pilgrim” conjures the image of a white man with belt buckles on his shoes sharing a turkey meal with used/abused Native Americans… Heavy junk.

Here is a picture of my friend Jeremy. Surprise, he is a pilgrim! Jeremy is originally from Sydney, Australia and he is a travel pro. He recently completed the pilgrimage in Spain with multiple names:  St. James’ Way, El Camino Santiago, and La Voje Ladee. The name La Voje Ladee was given pre-Christian history when it was just a trade route because the road appeared to follow the Milky Way in the sky.

Many of the pilgrims were in search of answers. Jeremy was one of them. He spent 35 days contemplating life along the trail. I have a lot of questions so hopefully he has answers. When a funk has you paralyzed, there is something to be said about physical movement and travel. Get out into the world and eff the funk! Read the rest of this entry »

My friend Walter is new to New York City. He understood that real estate was at a premium before moving, but once he tried to fit his life into a small one-bedroom apartment it was a clear that he would have to make some adjustments. No space. Space funk.

In the classic battle of New York City vs. man the city usually wins. You have to work with what you’re given. In this case, space, or lack thereof. Walter said eff the funk and made lemonade out of lumber. Here is his story:

Back in November 2011 I found out that I had been transferred to New York City for my job as an airline pilot. I had a few months to think about what was going on before I moved, but let’s face it: finding an apartment in New York is pretty difficult to do from outside of New York. After burning my vacation haphazardly looking, I broke down, hired a broker, and after a few frustrating days of hiking all over town, found a little one-bedroom first-floor apartment in Murray Hill. I told my broker: “This is it, I want this one.”

And boy, have I ever wished I had been carrying a tape measure.

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The neighbor who lives below my apartment is filled with rage. He carries anger like it’s a luxury handbag, waving it around whenever the opportunity arises. The smallest thing will set him off. A week ago my roommate dropped her laptop on the floor in her bedroom. Two minutes later she heard a loud banging on our door. She answered and standing there, flaring at the nostrils, was our downstairs neighbor. He started yelling, “What are you guys doing up here? What was that noise?”

My roommate, wearing her pajamas and holding a toothbrush in one hand replied, “Nothing, we’re getting ready for bed. I accidentally dropped my laptop.”

He yelled, “You broke four light bulbs in my apartment. They could have fallen on me.”

Pause. Where is this conversation going? I think it’s clear she didn’t drop her laptop on the floor on purpose.

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Occasionally I have a massive guilt hangover: I realize I haven’t called my younger brother in two weeks, asked my roommate for job search updates, or kept in touch with the friend I ran into on the streets of New York. These are things I think are important, but I let them slide. I feel bad.

STOP. Eff the funk.

“Each time you judge yourself, you break your own heart.” -Swami Kripalu

It’s okay to spend time taking care of your own needs. You’re of no use to others if you can’t stand on your own two feet. Eff the guilt funk and treat yo self. Thank you Parks & Recreation.

The exhibit “Picasso Black and White” opened two days ago at The Guggenheim Museum in New York. I went today and I have a newfound appreciation for the artist. From my limited exposure in the past, I had convinced myself that I wasn’t a fan of his work. So many cubist paintings of disproportionate faces. Not my scene.

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The first hour into an eight-hour international flight I started to feel anxious. My mind was reeling and it wasn’t a fear of flying. I had been seeing a guy for a month and I was happy but something felt off. My trip was planned for ten days so I would have to wait until I returned home to address my uneasiness. In the spirit of full disclosure, I knew he was seeing someone when we met but alas, many relationships in my city/generation start that way. When you start seeing someone they might be seeing other people and if things go well, you could end up dating exclusively a few months in after the “conversation.” How long can you hold onto the monkey bars? Longer than Suzie? Congrats! You win? If you’re reading this Mom, yes, I know it’s upsetting and far from ideal.

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