This is a big day! No, I’m not sending any of my kids off to college (although if you know any colleges that start at age 11, please message me directly).
I am in a new anthology. That is out today!! It’s called, I Just Want to Be Perfect, and it was put together by New York Times best selling author and blogger extraordinaire Jen Mann.
I, along with 36 other very funny ladies, write about the cult of perfection.
Whether it’s the hot new diet that involves only eating what you can forage from the floor of your minivan, trying to find a flattering swimsuit under the harmful rays of department store fluorescent lighting or Botox that has gone terribly wrong, we’ve all tried something to be more perfect.
And sometimes we fail–spectacularly. These are those stories.
You will laugh. You will wince. You will feel so much better about your own life.
You can also find it on my Amazon author page. (I know! I have an Amazon author page. And you thought free shipping was the best thing to happen on Amazon.)
After you read this kick ass, super humiliating book (for us, not you), please give us an Amazon review.
Thank you! xo
I was recently out to dinner with two friends in New York City. We ate at Craft bar and then one of my friends said, “Let’s go to the Gansevoort.”
The Gansevoort is a swanky hotel with two locations in NYC… the meatpacking district and on Park Avenue.
This idea seemed a little insane because very young and beautiful people tend to hang out at the Gansevoort. And we are not exactly so young anymore. Although we still got that beauty thing (despite the occasional horrific selfie which I blame on very poor lighting.)
But in life, when something seems a bit insane, it’s probably a good idea to try it. So we headed up to the Gansevoort.
As soon as we got there, we saw the velvet rope. I wanted to immediately flee because I was afraid of this…
Remember in Knocked up, when Leslie Mann and the pregnant Katherine Heigl got denied entrance into a club? And ended up like this…
Yup, that’s what I was feared. Sitting on the curb in tears.
But inexplicably we pressed on.
There were some guys ahead of us in line. The bouncer explained that they would need to get bottle/table service to come in. That’s when you pay hundreds and hundreds of dollars for a table and a bottle of alcohol that would cost about $40 bucks in a liquor store. But hey, they throw in the mixers!
The guys in front of us apparently decided not to go for the bottle service and exited the line.
It was our turn. I considered giving the bouncer my best, “I don’t care if you let us in but you should because we are really super fun and I love your bouncer muscles and your super sleek suit and why don’t you just push that velvet rope aside and lets us in” look.
But instead I just smiled and said, “We’re here for a drink.”
And he said, “Come on in.”
That was it.
We took an elevator up to the bar where there was lots of people milling around and a rooftop bar that was closed for some reason. This was sad because it looks like this…
We surveyed the scene, considered getting a drink and then decided we were done.
As we left, there was now a very long line of people behind the velvet rope. I can only imagine they were taking photos of us and posting them on social media with captions like, “Look at these beauties leaving! Are they celebrities?!! #NYC #Gansevoort #WhereIsTMZ?”
We headed to an Irish pub a few blocks a way. It was very chill and perfect. With great dim lighting.
We sipped our drinks and laughed about our evening. And we could take comfort in knowing… we still got it.
Every day my 5 year old twins get home from school and almost immediately… they sit down to do their kindergarten homework. There is a math sheet. There are spelling words. There are very basic early reader books.
I have to help them with it all. Which is okay. But I’d rather be reading them a book. Or jumping on the trampoline. Or watching them make a fort which I will love because it’s so creative and then hate because they start fighting over the construction and then hate even more because somehow I always end up cleaning it up.
But that doesn’t happen. At least not right away. Because of homework.
My son flies through it. And then runs off to fight imaginary enemies and bother real older sisters.
But my 5 year old daughter inches her way along, with great frustration. She stops so often, to moan about homework, that it can take her more than an hour to get it done.
It all seems sort of ridiculous. My older daughters never had homework at this age. They barely had it in first grade.
After 6 1/2 hours of school, shouldn’t a kindergartener be able to run, jump, hide and seek, color, climb trees, draw treasure maps, create science experiments and whatever else they can come up with in their creative little brains.
I don’t blame the teachers. Not at all. They are rock stars. They are just trying to keep up with impossible academic standards for younger and younger children.
The United States just never seems to get it quite right when it comes to education.
Can’t we learn from countries like Finland? Finland, one of the leading countries in education, gives far less homework and has a shorter school day. And only one standardized test. Which is not in kindergarten. It’s in high school.
Can you imagine that? One standardized test. And teachers get more time to collaborate. And kids get more time to (yup, you guessed it)… play.
It’s so hard to leave a baby, especially a new baby. Especially your first baby.
I remember leaving 2 month old Dylan with a babysitter when I went back to work and wanting to know everything. Like no detail was too small. When did she eat? What did she eat? Did she poop? Does she seem more like she is leaning Democrat or Republican?
And when I would come home, I would look at her little scrunched up old man face and think, “Oh my god, I love you too much.”
Which is why when one mom recently went back to work after maternity leave, she wanted regular updates from her husband on their baby Charlie.
And she got them. Sort of.
So she tried again…
Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to happen.
She serious now. But it doesn’t matter.
No word on whether dad got punched in the testicles. Of course, baby Charlie was okay. Probably taking a boring nap instead of hanging out at the Wildkatz strip joint.
The real question is – how can a guy who knows how to photoshop so well not know to charge his phone before it hits 1%.
I recently went to Jazz Fest in New Orleans.
There is no reason to go to Jazz Fest unless you like amazing food, frozen margaritas, awesome music and the coolest city ever.
(I’ll wait while you make your travel arrangements for next year.)
As soon as I got there, I saw this sign in the taxi…
It’s kind of New Orleans’ folksy way of saying, “Welcome!”
And there are all kinds of inspirational messages around the city.
It’s just a gritty, funky, charming place.
I went to NOLA with some of my favorite Tulane girls.
There is something so special about hanging with friends that you’ve known a very long time. It just feels so easy, so comforting, so fun. You get to say things like, “You look exactly the same” and then they say, “You look exactly the same.” And you both really mean it.
And they understand when you explain that you thought you were bringing your ibuprofen but you accidentally brought stool softeners (from your pregnancy days) and now you can definitely confirm that a stool softener won’t get rid of a headache.
But in your defense, the bottles are exactly the same size.
See what I mean?
Of course, it’s a little hard to come back to reality. Like when you come back, your kids expect you to take care of them again.
And partying with your friends for a weekend does not really improve your parenting skills the following week.
But I’m starting to accept that Jazz Fest is over.
One of these days, I might even unpack.