I can accomplish what to some are insane feats of focus and passion, but last Monday, after I drove back from shooting a phenomenal tattoo artist north of the city, I left the car running in the parking spot. It was in drive with both the emergency break and windshield wipers on. Had my knowing husband Tim not gone to check up on my parking non-prowess, the car would've been left on all night instead of just seven hours (the amount of time it took for Tim to suspiciously follow up on my less-than-successful parking job).

In four years, my daughter Lily and I have managed to document 750 extraordinary individuals for StyleLikeU, but, in that same amount of time, I haven't been able to figure out how to schedule an appointment for a routine dental checkup. I never know the date and I am often fuzzy on the year (my parents and brothers have to give me a heads up so that I don't miss important occasions.) Yes, I can talk a Hasidic gentleman into letting me try to persuade his rabbi into allowing his Hasidic wife to be in the upcoming video we're doing on the fashion of Hasidim (despite the fact that it goes against a thousand years of tradition), but every time I open my front door the keys end up being left in the lock all night long.

Tim (he's a prominent entertainment lawyer) will come home at night after his long day, cook, clean, walk our two dogs, and have a few conference calls while I barely lift my head from my computer and decline any morsel of sustenance that Tim has to offer. Instead, I choose to continue into the 14th obsessive hour of my SLU-related work.

My shrink once told me that I was, you know, "at the edge of the spectrum," which I took as a huge complement and honor (when other people hear this, they go running for the meds). My shrink also said, "If I wanted something important to get done, I would hire you." No doubt, the task she would have me do wouldn't involve something as close to the center of the "spectrum" as parking and shutting off a car.