Alison Rosen Is Your New Best Friend

Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

Jim Florentine Returns

Written by Alison | July 5th, 2015 at 9:02 pm | Comments

Jim Florentine returns to Alison Rosen Is Your New Best Friend to talk about hiring a private investigator to find out what was going on in his marriage, being typecast as the “jerk boyfriend” in movies and TV shows, Trainwreck, grieving, Florentine justice, upper decking, his relationship with Robin Quivers, Howard Stern Show, Anthony Cumia, working with Louis CK, joint custody and so much more. Plus we took your questions over twitter and did a round of Just Me Or Everyone.

Download the episode from iTunes.

HOT SUMMER JAMS ALERT: The HGFY and TOUCH THE TUSHY ringtones now available for all platforms!!! Go to Gumroad.com/alisonrosen.

Also, our live podfest ep with Doug Benson and Matt Costa is now available!

Wondering how to contact the show and submit your Just Me Or Everyone?

This show is brought to you by Amazon (clear your cookies first and what the hell, make a bookmark!) and Blue Apron.  And shop in my Amazon store!

Credits? We have some!

Executive producer: Alison Rosen

Producer: Jeff Fox

Music: Trapp Dog Tom Rapp

Logo: Kezilla

follow @alisonrosen and @ariynbf for updates. Don’t use iTunes? Subscribe to the show’s RSS feed.

ALSO ALSO: like us on Facebook!

And read Alison’s new column!

And  read this review of ARIYNBFand read this article about ARIYNBF and buy the live episode from podfest.

| Posted in Uncategorized, podcast

Sarah Colonna Returns

Written by Alison | June 28th, 2015 at 9:42 pm | Comments

Sarah Colonna returns to Alison Rosen Is Your New Best Friend to talk about her new book Has Anyone Seen My Pants? We also chat about how she met her fiance, feeling comfortable with your age, doing a commercial with Candice Bergen, spending thousands on a hookup, dating an athlete, vacationing with Jen Kirkman, hating winter, toxic friendships and so much more. Plus we took your questions over twitter and did a round of Just Me Or Everyone.

Download the episode from iTunes.

HOT SUMMER JAMS ALERT: The HGFY and TOUCH THE TUSHY ringtones now available for all platforms!!! Go to Gumroad.com/alisonrosen.

Also, our live podfest ep with Doug Benson and Matt Costa is now available!

Wondering how to contact the show and submit your Just Me Or Everyone?

This show is brought to you by Amazon (clear your cookies first and what the hell, make a bookmark!) and Audible.  And shop in my Amazon store!

Credits? We have some!

Executive producer: Alison Rosen

Producer: Jeff Fox

Music: Trapp Dog Tom Rapp

Logo: Kezilla

follow @alisonrosen and @ariynbf for updates. Don’t use iTunes? Subscribe to the show’s RSS feed.

ALSO ALSO: like us on Facebook!

And read Alison’s new column!

And  read this review of ARIYNBFand read this article about ARIYNBF and buy the live episode from podfest.

| Posted in Uncategorized, podcast

Jenna’s Diet Coke Test (Plus Alison Gets Called Out for Un-Careful Texting)

Written by Alison | June 24th, 2015 at 10:23 pm | Comments

Jenna Kim Jones talks a good game about being able to identify her favorite beverage—”fresh” diet coke from McDonald’s—but can she really tell the difference between “fresh” and canned? Find out! Plus on this episode AlisonGreg HellerDaniel QuantzJenna Kim Jones and Jeff Fox talk about salons, guacamole, walking and texting, Alison’s ongoing fitness situation, deleted tweets, kid things and so much more. Plus we did a round of Just Me Or Everyone (click here to see the JMOEs from this episode).

Download the episode from iTunes.

HOT SUMMER JAMS ALERT: The HGFY and TOUCH THE TUSHY ringtones now available for all platforms!!! Go to Gumroad.com/alisonrosen.

Also, our live podfest ep with Doug Benson and Matt Costa is now available!

Wondering how to contact the show and submit your Just Me Or Everyone?

This show is brought to you by Amazon (clear your cookies first and what the hell, make a bookmark!) and Blue Apron and Blinds.com And shop in my Amazon store!

Credits? We have some!

Executive producer: Alison Rosen

Producer: Jeff Fox

Music: Trapp Dog Tom Rapp

Logo: Kezilla

follow @alisonrosen and @ariynbf for updates. Don’t use iTunes? Subscribe to the show’s RSS feed.

ALSO ALSO: like us on Facebook!

And read Alison’s new column!

And  read this review of ARIYNBFand read this article about ARIYNBF and buy the live episode from podfest.

| Posted in Uncategorized, podcast

On Being On The Ass End of the Fertility Curve

Written by Alison | May 29th, 2015 at 6:32 pm | Comments

When you first go to a fertility clinic, which we did on the advice of an OBGYN after six months of trying naturally netted us zero babies, they don’t really diagnose you like you expect they will. Instead they do tests and they try to fix the things they can fix and then when that doesn’t work they make comments in passing about what they think could be causing the infertility while also, when pressed, saying, “It’s probably a combination of things.”

The things it’s a combination of?

1) I  have endometriosis.

2) I had surgery for endometriosis 4 years ago which removed some eggs and may have left scar tissue on my ovaries preventing the fallopian tubes from picking up the eggs. (NOTE: I didn’t realize the surgery might complicate matters to this degree. At the time it seemed my hand was forced because there were masses on my ovaries and they had to rule out cancer which no one really thought it was but surgery was the prudent thing or so I’ve been told. Even my dad who’s the most overprotective father/conservative doctor in the world agreed it was the right call and at the time I was just happy I woke up with a womb still inside me NEVERMIND THAT IT WASN’T FUNCTIONAL AND WAS ONLY ONE OF THOSE TRENDY DECORATIVE WOMBS.)

3) I  have a short luteal phase which means from the time I ovulate to the time my next period starts is shorter than it should be meaning it’s possible I’ve been getting pregnant every month and miscarrying every month although I really don’t think this is likely as I feel like I would know if I were pregnant and it’s my belief that I’ve never once been pregnant.

4) I traded my fertility for a beautiful singing voice and human legs ages ago.

5) I’m one hundred and eleven years old.

6) I had polyps but those were removed and while no one knew if removing them would allow me to get pregnant, they did know that leaving them in would prevent me from getting pregnant except I just talked to two women who had babies while they also had fibroids/polyps so go figure.

But back to this age thing.

For the longest time, I saw myself as something between a whippersnapper and a prodigy. I was an extremely verbal child. I was holding conversations, interviews really, with adults at the age of 3. I wrote for the Los Angeles Times while I was still in high school. I was a professionally published writer all throughout college and I was published in People and Rolling Stone immediately after I graduated. I was in advanced classes and my friends were older and I always fell for older guys. I put an immense amount of stock in being and seeming older than I really was, which in retrospect is a sign of immaturity.

The thing with being so precocious in a professional sense is when something pulls ahead like that, something else probably always lags behind. For me what lagged behind was truly, in earnest, going through all the rites of passage and the stages necessary to become a mature, centered, fully integrated adult. My dating life and social life in general was nascent. Hold while I look up nascent.

Hm. Not sure that’s what I mean. Latent? Hold please.

Yes, that’s more what I mean. Dormant.

“Have you had much experience?” the first guy I ever kissed asked me on the phone a few days later. I was sitting in my childhood bedroom, which is where I lived, chatting on my duck phone which quacked instead of rang. Also, its eyes lit up red. Satan-style. The truth is I never liked that phone (sorry mom/dad!). It smelled like shellac and looked like it belonged in a hunter’s man cave. Before receiving the duck phone as a gift, because I liked all duck-related things, I had a pretty white trimline phone with keys that lit up. That was an attractive phone. But then I received the satanic duck with its brown keys and brown cord and I felt like I had to both use and like it because I’d made a big show of liking ducks. When you’re young what you like is who you are and I was the girl who liked ducks, and so I kept it while my pretty white phone sat unused in the garage.

The phone that got away

Back to the making out. For the record, it did not come naturally. It was very awkward and forced and I feel uncomfortable just thinking about it.

“Oh, I mean, sure I’ve slobbered on guys at parties,” I said as if this were neither a ridiculous nor disgusting thing to say. To me this seemed a perfectly reasonable, entirely fabricated answer suggesting my makeouts with men had happened at such a fast clip I barely could remember one sesh from the next. It was just a blur of lips and, apparently, saliva.

I wish I had access to my parents’ collections of family photos right now so you could take a gander at what I likely looked like as I was having this conversation. A few keywords? Big, frizzy hair, clear braces (clear on top, metal on bottom, natch), black leggings, an oversized shirt or sweatshirt, possibly a felt fedora and in general, fat.

“Huh,” he said. He would later break up with me because I was too “sarcastic” but what I think he meant by that was that I was too “unwilling to have sex.”

It’s not that I was a prude, it’s that I knew my limitations and I was barely able to kiss a guy without seeming like a spastic uncontrollable and unrelatable dork. The idea of ratcheting up the level of intensity up and down the amount of clothing terrified me.

What was I saying?

Oh yes, my friends were dating and beginning to have sex and getting to know themselves and other people and growing and maturing and I was wearing a silly hat a la Blossom and coming up with ways to lie to guys I met at coffeehouses while searching for even bigger and boxier blazers to pair with leggings and chatting on a duck phone.

Speaking of phones, which I just want to do for a few moments longer before returning to all the other stuff, at one point we had a beige cordless phone the size of a baguette. Not the size of a french roll which would be an appropriate size for a phone but I’m talking full on baguette that could serve 7-9 people. If you were talking on this phone and wanted to walk through a doorway you had to turn sideways. It’s possible I’m exaggerating a tiny bit although it’s also possible doorways were narrower. I mean, this was the 1840s when people were 17 pounds and you were lucky to see your 30th birthday and phones were the size of giant baguettes and no one had one in their covered wagon.

Being that this was the 80s, and I was in love with squiggles which you’d know based on my earrings and brooch, I grabbed our family collection of paint pens and metallic markers and besquiggled the fuck out of this phone. By the time I was done it looked like the opening credits of Saved By The Bell. And my parents were totally ok with that. I think they take a lot of heat in my stories for things like yelling a lot when I was young and not telling me I was Jewish until I was in my early 20s but when it came to encouraging expression on phones, they were tops.

So anyway, I guess what I was saying is I seemed mature for my age from a certain vantage point but I was also very behind for my age if you looked at it another way. But I think I still identify with the former so it’s weird to find myself on the ass end of this fertility curve.

I also have a zillion million more things to say and explain regarding my decision not to freeze my eggs, the way I never chose to have kids late in life but maybe refused to make having kids a priority in the way I should have, thoughts about 5 year goals and how my answer was always just “to be happy,” reasons why I didn’t prioritize having kids as I feared that would introduce a whole bunch of desperation into my dating life which I think we’ve established wasn’t going gangbusters and other stuff including but not limited to bangers and fizzies. Actually neither bangers nor anything fizzy (other than my personality and my urine if I’ve been holding it for a loooong time and am letting it out with maximum velocity) will be mentioned but I just felt I needed to rope you in.

Ok, this all will be continued. DON’T GO ANYWHERE.*

*unless you need to. I’m not unreasonable.

ARIYNBF 394: Thursday Show (Erotic Restaurants, More Hot Budgeting, Al’s Dream Cheating)

Written by Alison | May 27th, 2015 at 10:24 pm | Comments

Alison is joined by Greg HellerJeff Fox, Daniel QuantzJenna Kim Jones and Allan Moss for a discussion of romantic confusion, saying “Adolph” at the Coors Factory, maternity pants, Al’s dream cheating, cats, budgets and so much more. We also did a round of Just Me Or Everyone (click here to see the JMOEs from this episode).

Download the episode from iTunes.

And guess what? The HGFY ringtone is now available!! Hooray! Search HEY GO FUCK YOURSELF in the itunes store!

Also, our live podfest ep with Doug Benson and Matt Costa is now available!

Wondering how to contact the show and submit your Just Me Or Everyone?

This show is brought to you by Amazon (clear your cookies first and what the hell, make a bookmark!) and Next Issue and Me Undies. And shop in my Amazon store!

Credits? We have some!

Executive producer: Alison Rosen

Producer: Jeff Fox

Music: Trapp Dog Tom Rapp

Logo: Kezilla

follow @alisonrosen and @ariynbf for updates. Don’t use iTunes? Subscribe to the show’s RSS feed.

ALSO ALSO: like us on Facebook!

And read Alison’s new column!

And  read this review of ARIYNBFand read this article about ARIYNBF and buy the live episode from podfest.

| Posted in Uncategorized, podcast

Everyone Does IVF

Written by Alison | May 24th, 2015 at 5:22 pm | Comments

Yesterday Daniel and I were walking Wendy, trying to take her to more heavily populated areas because we’re trying to train her to be less of a maniac around humans who aren’t us and as we were headed home we ran into one of Daniel’s friends. It had been a few years since they’d seen each other and the guy was with his clearly pregnant wife.

We caught up, discussed career and homes and “have you talked to this person?” type-stuff and as it was going on I was thinking that I probably wouldn’t bring up the fact that we’re doing IVF. I just didn’t want to take anything away from her pregnancy and didn’t want to make her feel weird around me and I think there’s just something intrinsic in my female core that knows there’s cultural discomfort around the woman who wants a child but who is having trouble having a child and not only do I not want pity, I just would rather keep the focus on her news which is happy as opposed to mine which is complicated and awkward.

I am very open about our struggle with infertility—too open, many rooms full of men might say—but the one situation where I don’t immediately trot it out is when someone else is pregnant.

As I was thinking this, sure that not bringing it up was the right move, I heard Daniel say, “We just started IVF.”

There are times when marriage truly feels like a commingling of spirits, like you are two halves of the same whole, like you complete each other and are one heart in two bodies (which suggests you each have half a heart. How is that a good thing?) and you wonder how you existed so long without this other person who knows you so intimately it’s as if you communicate without speaking.

And then there are other times where you feel like what you are, two strangers who share a bathroom, use each other as their emergency contact, truly hope the best for one another, respect each other enough to both set an alarm when one has to be up super early which means two people are waking up every ten minutes while one of you hits snooze repeatedly and who often have a hunch about how the other feels but who don’t know for sure until you ask.

“If she guesses Moonrise Kingdom I’ll believe in telepathy,” Daniel told me he thought recently, as I guested on the Doug Loves Movies podcast. The game was to name as many Bruce Willis movies as possible and I was struggling. Daniel was in the live audience thinking the name over and over. Focusing on it, visualizing it, trying to send it to me with the power of his mind.

K-9?” I blurted out.

“The old Jim Belushi movie?” Doug asked incredulously.

“Yep!” I laughed as if maybe I’d been saying it as a joke.

Anyway, back to yesterday, before I had a chance to shoot a look at Daniel I heard the couple say they’d also done IVF. “Oh! What clinic do you go to?” I asked.

Turns out we go to the same clinic.

This is what I meant when I said, on a recent podcast, that ever since I’ve entered into the world of infertility, where I’m open about it and people are open about it with me, I feel as if it’s so much more common than you think. And so, as I explained on the podcast, I was briefly pulled out of this mindset when my good friend and fellow podcaster Jenna Kim Jones announced her pregnancy, which she achieved naturally, and which was a reminder that some people actually get pregnant naturally and easily and without spending enormous amounts of money and time and that also, though it’s become normal to me, there is a problem here and there is something a little broken about my lady bits and it shouldn’t have to be this way.

But then yesterday happened and now I’m thinking maybe I was right all along, that most of the kids in Los Angeles are conceived through IVF and that the reason everyone I know goes to the same clinic is because everyone does IVF, they just aren’t always open about it.

I just hope Jenna doesn’t feel alone. Everyone has their own pregnancy story and her way is just as valid, if a little less talked about.

| Posted in ME, Uncategorized, dogs

I’m twitchy

Written by Alison | May 23rd, 2015 at 9:57 pm | Comments

Ok so earlier today I unveiled some big news about how I want to start blogging again but where to begin? I have so much to say after, well, saying so much all these years. But the thing is I’ve been saying it into a mic and on twitter and in text messages and have gotten away from my one true love: parasailing. (I bet you thought I was going to say blogging. Just when you think I’m going to zig, I snarfle!)

Anyway, fuck where to begin. Let’s just jump into right now and the specifics of right now which is that my face is very twitchy and I can feel a certain crinkling happening circa my left eye, nose, mouth area. If I were to give into it entirely I’d blink the fuck out of my eyes and crinkle up my face like a toothless old man suffering some kind of palsy. Like a caricature of a pirate if that pirate stuck his hook hand into a socket. It’s like I have Tourette’s of my facial muscles. I guess it’s really less of a twitch than a tic except a twitch is so much more socially acceptable. Sort of like the difference between a blister on your toe and foot fungus. A cold sore vs. herpes. A bladder infection vs. a yeast infection (anyone?)

A twitch is involuntary. A tic suggests some kind of mental situation manifesting all over your face. Which is probably what’s going on.

I first became aware of said tics when I was in 2nd grade. The teacher called me up to the front of the room at the end of the day and asked if I was having trouble reading the chalk board. I said I was not. I’ve always had perfect vision which I make a big point of telling people, as if it’s some kind of accomplishment for which I should be lauded. (Ride in the car with me some time when I make out street names from really really far away. 9 times out of 10 I’m wrong but ten percent of the time it’s like magic!)

The teacher was curious, she said, because she noticed I was blinking a lot. I know the kind of blinking she was talking about. It’s less the volume than the intensity. These weren’t the fluttery blinks of someone with something in her eye. They were slow deliberate intense blinks that started in the top of my forehead and bottom of my chin as if my face was trying to fold in on itself. As if with every crashing together of my lids I was hoping to open my eyes to a new reality. I feel sad and Robert Durst-y just thinking about it.

What was really going on in 2nd grade was my home life had taken a big hit in the stability department. My mom’s parents had both died within a few weeks of each other over the summer—I don’t know what age kids normally encounter death but six for me and two for my sister felt awfully young—and we were thrust into a culture of sickness, sadness and then grief and mourning. There were a lot of hushed closed-door conversations, adults worried about things, discussions of wills and lawyers and funerals and belongings. Then my dad turned 50 and had an intense, prolonged mid-life crisis which pushed my parents’ marriage—it seemed to me—to the near breaking point. There was all sorts of fighting and yelling and door slamming and crying and tension and things which I took in stride except I didn’t, because there I was in school, scrunching up my eyes as if to make it all go away. Add to this the fact that the hardwood floors were being done or redone and we were all living in my parents small bedroom. But where did my sister and I sleep? On the living room couches which had been crammed into said smallish space. I actually thought it was fun, I enjoyed walking out my parents sliding glass door, around the perimeter of the house and through the front door to get to the refrigerator which had been moved to the foyer. It was like very early glamping. But my parents were already on edge and the close quarters plus a house full of workers just made them edgier.

Fast forward a great number of years (but not an unattractive number mind you in case you’re some kind of Hollywood casting agent) to 2013 when I was on The Adam Carolla show and once a week the shows were being broadcast in video form on the internet, giving the world a chance to see us instead of just hear us. I was pretty sure I would be great seeing as I’m overwhelmingly photogenic and God’s gift to the small screen. I mean, I’m better on screen than I am in real life. Just ask anyone who knows me.

So imagine my shock when I discover the electrical storm flashing across my face on one particular show and by discover I mean read a bunch of shitty comments talking about the non stop blinking twitchiness. Except the commenters assumed all the blinking was because I must have disliked the guest. If only it were ever that simple and obvious.

After despairing over the manic goblin who’d taken up residence in my face, I chalked it up to what was going on in my life at that exact point which is that Daniel and I had just gotten a puppy which I found, initially, to be much more stressful and overwhelming that I’d ever imagined. I remember, the second or third morning we had Oliver thinking, “Holy shit, I’m never going to be able to relax ever again.” It’s like I felt his survival depended on my being aware of him and his whereabouts one hundred percent of the time—which in a way is accurate when you’re dealing with a puppy—but I didn’t even trust his survival instinct to keep him alive. I remember the first time I left him alone for a couple hours being convinced he’d choke on one of his chew toys while I was out. Why did I leave that toy in his pen, I admonished myself. I was meeting with a producer for lunch and thought numerous times about leaving to go home to remove the toy—which wasn’t truly a danger—but then telling myself I was being ridiculous while also preparing myself to find his lifeless body. (The irony of what ultimately happened with Oliver is too sad and awful to work into this so I’ll just leave it out there, hanging uncomfortably on the edges of this overlong blog post.)

Also whenever I took a shower I felt like it was a race against the clock because while I was in the shower he was being left unattended. The crazy thing is he was in his little pen in a confined space with everythig he needed away from harm and yet I still felt like I was endangering him. I suddenly understood the appeal of the sensible mom bob. I stopped wearing makeup. And my sleep was affected quite a bit at the beginning as we figured out our routine which involved constantly getting up to let him out of his crate with the hopes of potty training him. I felt that whereas childbirth gives you nine months to prepare to be wholly overwhelmed, puppy ownership just ramps up without any warning. Except that’s not quite true because we did do some preparation, the worst kind. We read a bunch of books that only freaked us out more. My head was full of neurotic dog equations. Ok so he has to meet 100 other dogs within the first this many days or else he won’t ever be socialized and if you try to do it once he’s this many weeks it won’t take and he has to be exposed to this during this phase of his life and this during this phase or else all is lost and suddenly you have an ill-tempered feral brute on your hands. We were under such enormous pressure—entirely self-inflicted although I kind of blame those books—to get it right in a very short amount of time. “If all else fails, just play with your puppy when you bring him home. Just enjoy him and get to know him,” a dog trainer at Petco told us as we were buying all the things we’d need before bringing him home. Just play with him? Get to know him? I had half a mind to call the ASPCA on this loon dispensing such irresponsible advice.

So on day one and a half of dog ownership we recorded a show and it all came out on my face. Or at least, more than I was okay with.

I talked to a therapist around that time to find out why my face was betraying me and what I could do to get it under control. What I began to remember, as we talked more and more, was that when I was five and my sister was one we each got pretty sick and had pink eye, as is common in kids. For whatever reason the pediatrician prescribed an eye ointment for me and drops for her. Each night before bed my mom would squeeze a ribbon of ointment into my lower lid and I’d blink a few times and the world would be fuzzy. I’d keep blinking until it became clear again. It was pretty unpleasant and maybe a little scary to have this gunk squeezed into my eye but nothing like what was happening to my sister who got so sick and had such a high fever she stopped talking and began moaning. My parents began to panic, worried her fever was so high it was causing permanent damage which thankfully it didn’t. As I remembered all of this in therapy I began to cry, which is usually how I know I’ve hit upon something big. And I’m not sure why or how but after that, I stopped blinking hard.

Which brings us to earlier this year when I was thrust into a surprise transition which I felt I handled pretty well all things considered, not missing a beat with my own podcast and blah blah blah. The way all the violence of the beginning of the year manifested itself though was across my face once again. When I guested on Jordan Jesse Go, host Jesse Thorn pointed out that when I said the name of my former employer my left eye began twitching. That was a true twitch—involuntary—but the facial tics weren’t far behind. (Meanwhile I should point out that in the last four minutes I think I flexed and relaxed every single muscle in my upper body one-by-one. It’s like I’m doing upper body kegels. Which aren’t a thing.)

The thing about facial tics is you might think you can just squeeze this thing over here and stretch out that thing over there and blink and little and swallow and make a sound and no one will notice but what feels like a tiny little movement to you is actually very, very noticeable. See: Robert Durst whom I see myself in minus the murder and horrible spelling.

What was I saying? I don’t know. It’s weird it all happens on the left side of my face though seeing as how that’s my better side. What a cruel fate. Oh wait, I just crinkled everything on the right side of my face and that felt pretty good except now I have to balance it out by squeezing my left elbow.

I did some TV appearances recently and whereas normally I would feel nothing but ecstatic over the chance to be on camera since I think we’ve established it’s truly where I shine, I was worried that I might do a very particular sort of face scrunching that I was doing a lot of at that time. What is the face scrunching you ask? Wrinkling the top and sides of my nose. Not side to side, like Bewitched (although how cool would that be?) but kind of up and down. It’s not the most unnattractive thing, but still better to NOT do it on camera. I realized there was something I could do to keep the muscles of my face occupied for the duration of my appearance and that was to make sure I was smiling, which is an action, as opposed to trying to NOT do something which is an absence of an action and might result in a weird frozen expression.

As a side note: I also realized that my need to scrunch was much worse when I was applying under eye cream. I’ve gone my whole life eschewing moisturizer since I’m someone who tends to break out and it’s only in the last year or so that I’ve started moisturizing after a series of makeup artists pulled their hands away from my face in horror after brushing up against the crocodile skin handbags I call my cheeks. “You’re really dry!” they’d exclaim before slathering my face with something from France. It was always “from France” and it was always happening faster than I could start to say, “But I tend to breakout,” at which point they would assure me that whatever they just coated me in wouldn’t cause me to break out because it’s from France. I think it was this. It’s only in the last few months that I’ve deigned to put anything other than the lightest most oil-free moisturizer anywhere near my face. Maybe I do need a little something extra around my eyes, I thought. And I liked the results, the skin definitely seemed a little smoother and more youthful except I think I could feel it sitting on my skin, causing me to crinkle. And so, in an effort to be less scrunchy I stopped using it.

I should say that whatever’s causing the stress now is no longer the stuff from earlier in the year but new stuff! Maybe I should Botox my whole face?

P.S. I actually intended to write about IVF, infertility and how I found myself trying to get pregnant later in life but I thought, first, let me alienate you with a story of weird facial tics. Ok bye!

| Posted in ME, Uncategorized, nuts

ARIYNBF 387 Greg Proops Is Back

Written by Alison | May 3rd, 2015 at 9:00 pm | Comments

Greg Proops returns to Alison Rosen Is Your New Best Friend to talk about The Smartest Book in the World, serial commas, his parents (a topic he says he’s never talked about in public), gambling, his father’s misogyny, Lou Dobbs, Greg Gutfeld, drugs, how podcasting has affected his life, “sweet perfume,” morning radio, driving, insecurities, poetry and so much more. We also did a round of Just Me Or Everyone (click here to see the JMOEs from this episode).

Download the episode from iTunes.

And guess what? The HGFY ringtone is now available!! Hooray! Search HEY GO FUCK YOURSELF in the itunes store!

Also, our live podfest ep with Doug Benson and Matt Costa is now available!

Wondering how to contact the show and submit your Just Me Or Everyone?

This show is brought to you by Amazon (clear your cookies first and what the hell, make a bookmark!) and Shari’s Berries (click on mic and type BEST FRIEND) and Blue Apron.  And shop in my Amazon store!

Credits? We have some!

Executive producer: Alison Rosen

Producer: Jeff Fox

Music: Trapp Dog Tom Rapp

Logo: Kezilla

follow @alisonrosen and @ariynbf for updates. Don’t use iTunes? Subscribe to the show’s RSS feed.

ALSO ALSO: like us on Facebook!

And read Alison’s new column!

And  read this review of ARIYNBFand read this article about ARIYNBF and buy the live episode from podfest.

| Posted in Uncategorized, podcast