My Friends Are All…And I’m All…(Part 2)

Ok, it’s time to wipe away the dust from my beloved little blog, and pick things up with a little dose of Vitamin Truth.

My friends are all, “Woo, summer’s here!” and I’m all, “Woo, summer’s here!”

Family vacation.jpg

Roof Pool.jpg

My friends are all, “Got the cutest new suit!” and I’m all, “Capris & a tank count as a two-piece, yeah?”

My friends are all, “Time for a new car!” and I’m all, “Time for a new car!”

My friends are all, “Just got in on that new tech IPO” and I’m all, “Mah shiny savings account is immune to the market crash.”


My friends are all, “Loving my new Neiman Marcus curtains!” and I’m all, “These vertical blinds really add a touch of class to my living room.”


Vertical Blinds.jpeg

My friends are all, “Dinner party 4TW” and I’m all, “Who’s down for a BBQ?”

Dinner party.jpeg

My friends are all, “Finally Baby Chloe slept through the night!” and I’m all, “Princess Meow Paws woke Mommy up for nom noms at 5am.”

My friends are all, “#OfficeVibes” and I’m all, “#OfficeVibes.”

My friends are all, “#MondayMotivation” and I’m all, “Need to Google ‘Saving compooter from coffee death’ but currently have compooter dying a coffee death.”

My friends are all, “Abs Day!” and I’m all, “Plz to send halp!”

My Friends Are All…And I’m All…


My friends are all, “Can’t decide between the black granite vessel or Italian ceramic sink for our bathroom renovation” and I’m all, “Just watchin’ The Simpsons in mah underwear.”



My friends are all, “Crazy that my baby girl is starting 5th grade this week!” and I’m all, “Who’s coming to my kitty’s birthday party tomorrow?”

My friends are all, “So excited to make this garlic-rosemary-roasted-artichoke-chicken-and-pureed-leeks recipe I found on Pinterest!” and I’m all, “F*** you microwave for burning my frozen burrito.”


My friends are all, “5 year anniversary dinner with the hubs. #blessed” and I’m all, “I just used my sock as a napkin.”

candle dinner

My friends are all, “Poor Lillie is sobbing after she fell off her big girl bike & got a boo-boo on her knee,” and I’m all, “Moooooooom, I’m watching Rocky 4 and no one likes me.”

girl fell

My friends are all, “Just put in an offer for a 4 bedroom Colonial” and I’m all, “Better start claiming my cats as dependents if I wanna upgrade to a 1 bedroom apartment.”


pretty kitties

My friends are all, “Facebook check in: Boston to Bali via Amazeballs Airlines” and I’m all, “Guess who’s driving to Santa Monica and has two thumbs? This betch, that’s right.”


traffic jam

My friends are all, “Beautiful roses from the hubs today for my birthday. #blessed #bae” and I’m all, “Cat barfed up my dying plant.”


My friends are all, “So psyched to submit my film to Sundance!” and I’m all “I just wrote a blog post and my mom thinks I’m hilarious.”



My friends are all, “Getting up at 7 to do yoga” and I’m all, “Stayed up til 2 watching informercials and eating cheese.”



The Patient Girl’s Guide To Caring For Your Drummer

Drummers are a special breed. They’re idiosyncratic. They’re fun. And they need a unique type of TLC to keep them happy.

I’ve compiled a checklist for you fabulous females out there who may need a little help in properly caring for your drummer.

You must feed him.

You must remind him to cut his nails once in awhile.

You must remind him to shower, trim his beard, and brush his teeth.

You must not get angry when his fingers tap EVERY FRIGGIN SURFACE IN THE ENTIRE WORLD in a rhythmic manner.

You must not get annoyed by how much space his stuff takes up – this includes, but may not be limited to, his cymbals, his hardware, his drums, the 10,684 drum sticks he owns, and the thousands of loose papers “just in case I ever need to play that song again.”

You must accept the fact that he likes to show off every now and then.

You must realize that drum sticks are to him, what hair ties are to you = they are strewn about EVERYWHERE, yet you always somehow run out.

You must not get angry at how many T-shirts he owns. Even though he never wears half of them. And the other half are permanently stained with beer, sweat, food, and possibly vomit.

You must accept the fact that you are not more important than band practice.

You must realize that when you go to a show or concert, he will not pay attention to you.

You must realize that going to Sam Ash or Guitar Center “just for 2 secs” means you will be wandering the store for 2 hours while he tests out cymbals, sticks, and other things he doesn’t really need, and probably can’t afford.

You must accept the fact that you have different ideas about what constitutes “dressing up.”

You must know that if you go see him play, and he thinks he messed up, nothing you say will comfort him. It’s just like when you feel fat, but nothing he says can help you.

You must not get angry when he drinks beer in his underwear.

But most importantly, you must accept that however annoying and frustrating your drummer is, he’s just so dang irresistible.

What I Thought Versus What I Am

I know that you’re not supposed to compare yourself to others. You shouldn’t be jealous of what others have, or as the Bible puts it, “Thou Shall Not Covet Thy Neighbor’s Hut” or something.  But as I’m around the corner from turning 33, and all my friends in North Andover have mortgages and a lot of babies, I can’t help but take stock of my personal inventory. So, I thought about all the things I imagined I would have by the age of 30, and I’m comparing those with what I actually have at 32:

The house I thought I would live in:

The apartment I actually live in:

The family I thought I would have:

The family I actually have:

The car I thought I would drive:

The car I actually drive:

What I thought I’d do for fun:

What I actually do for fun:

What I thought I’d be drinking:

What I’m actually drinking:

What I thought I’d be writing about:

What I’m actually writing about: