If you grew up like many of my friends did, you grew up with a fear of sounding like Steve Urkle, getting a brain injury from not wearing a bike helmet and being viewed as a bragger if you touted your own accomplishments. Of course you’d smile in public, but any type of praise was dutifully pushed aside with phrases like “Oh thanks, I’m not as good as _________ (insert name of teammate) but I try”, ” I just got lucky”, “My team did most of the work” and/or ” Yeah I did okay”. It was on the car ride …READ MORE
1. I don’t drink smoothies. I mean, I WANT to drink them. Every person I know raves about them on the daily. But let’s face it. I’m lazy as hell. And smoothies involve peeling and chopping and slicing and giving a fuck. Smoothies are like, french braids or completed crosswords done in pen. You want to show off that you’ve completed it but there’s a level of effort involved that no one wants to talk about. I slice a lemon into my naglene and think I’m channeling Eric Ripert.
2. I skipped the Grammy Awards because I don’t need another …READ MORE
My wish for you:
“I hope you will have a wonderful year, that you’ll dream dangerously and outrageously, that you’ll make something that didn’t exist before you made it, that you will be loved and that you will be liked, and that you will have people to love and to like in return. And, most importantly (because I think there should be more kindness and more wisdom in the world right now), that you will, when you need to be, be wise, and that you will always be kind.” ―Neil Gaiman
Say you are sitting in Starbucks and you see a woman with a stroller who is struggling to open the door.
You have a choice. Either return to your issue of Glamour newspaper while using your stealth peripheral vision to see who goes to help the woman or you go and hold the door open for the woman.
Say you decide to help the woman. Your morals, your belief in how to behave in any situation, requires you to act. She will say thank you, you will reply with “Oh, it’s no problem!” but inside you are secretly full of glee at …READ MORE
BiSC. Heard of it?
I had the term written on my calendar at work and one of my students asked if BiSC stood for “Betcha I’m So Cool”. I almost agreed, because yes- that phrase definitely fits.
If you are out of the loop, BiSC actually stands for “Bloggers in Sin City”. Last year on a whim, I signed up to go to Vegas and spent 4 days with some of the most thoughtful, amazing and hilarious people on the planet. Who just happened to be bloggers. I wore a balloon hat for 7 hours straight, there was a band created …READ MORE
I have a blog?
What wonderful news!
Seriously though, the last month has been a whirlwind of pie baking and sleepovers and dress freakouts and pictures posed while modeling 1 am lush flush. There’s been swimming in clear water, fighting grasshoppers and napping under trees. There’s been last minute speech meltdowns and celebratory high fives. There’s been gasps over the dress, sighs over the kiss and a successful mission to recapture a flower girl gone rogue.
Originally, my plan was to try and keep life sane while preparing to watch my best friend get married- though eventually through …READ MORE
Recently, I won life coaching sessions from Molly. Which (for me), seems as essential as daily viewing of sea otters on youtube before going to work (aka: ESSENTIAL LIKE OXYGEN).
One of the assignments I have this week has been to write a love letter to myself. So naturally, I decided to pull a Hermoine Granger and share this. Because sometimes I like to paint myself with the ‘overachiever’ brush. It makes me feel sophisticated and grand- like Gwyneth Paltrow minus Goop (and a body that should go to prison because it’s KILLER). But mostly I wanted to share this so people …READ MORE
I’m not sure how it happened.
I could blame “Eat, Pray, Love”. The idea that, when faced with a devastating loss or unyielding heartache of epic proportions, the most courageous thing you can do is to leave. To run. To flee. To explore new lands and discover new people. That anything less than a dramatic exit will not suffice, will not illustrate to those around you just how absolutely crushed you are. That unless I smash plates, book trips to exotic lands, get ill-placed tattoos, take up chain smoking and jeggings- that my sadness does not have a home, isn’t …READ MORE