gratitude-a-thon day 534: bruce jenner is the most real kardashian there is


Say what you want about that crazy Kardashian clan, and I believe I’ve made myself clear about my utter distaste for this fabricated, totally unreal reality tv fam, but hurray for Bruce Jenner, who, it has been confirmed, is transitioning into a woman.


I could make about 4,56,891 jokes about this, but instead I’d like to applaud his courage. I can’t imagine having a bout of diarrhea in that family, because there’s a camera covering every move they make, let alone change my gender. Male or female, this Olympian has major league BALLS (deflated ball joke here).

This is a real life “Transparent” scenario playing out in every magazine on the newsstand. This man has not been able to bite his nails without being filmed, so hungry is every paparazzi to prove that Bruce wants to be one of the girls.

The headline above this photo: “Bruce Jenner Bites His Nails While Sitting in Traffic Days After Filming New Docuseries.” God forbid, we let this man have a moment. And yes, apparently there will be a docuseries about his transition.


The late night banter is rich, the opportunity for laughs is enormous, but to me this is about the most real thing that’s ever happened on the Keeping Up With the Kardashians–one of them realizing, and being who they really are, versus who they portray for ratings and cash. Gratitude for keeping it realz, Bruce.

gratitude-a-thon day 533: small bites friday

Superbowl Haiku

Tired of Tom’s balls.

Can’t we stop.

Me hate the deflate.


In other news, it’s going to snow today. Hurray. I mean, who cares, we already have two feet out there, like a few more inches is really going to matter?

Scandal really went there last night. What a crazy, terrifying episode. Only Olivia would be kidnapped in silk pajamas, right? And if she ever gets rescued, how is she going to get that red wine out of her chair?

Robin Chase, Zipcar co-founder, is smart, like really smart.


Well here’s some good news on Ebola.

Thanks, Pete Wentz, for coming out to talk about your bi-polar disorder. It will help.

Gratitude to the guys who shoveled the Boston Marathon finish line. Nice.


Ok, it definitely looks like Bruce Jenner is transitioning to becoming a woman. Imagine the options for clothes this guy is going to have.



gratitude-a-thon day 531: the mac is back

Lots of great video screens last night, behind a band who has been there and is back again.


Last night I saw Fleetwood Mac. And I’ll have what they’re having, because these guys are giving the over 50 crowd, hell the over 60 crowd, a good name. AARP, take note. If you need some celebrity endorsers, call the Mac. Christine McVie is 71, John McVie is 69, Mick Fleetwood is 67, Stevie Nicks is 66, and Lindsay Buckingham, the baby of the band, is 65. AND THESE GUYS CRUSHED IT.

I hadn’t really wanted to go, truth be known, and I was fighting with an ugly migraine yesterday, but Peter bought me the tickets as a Christmas gift, with a note about an article I’d read about how thinking young, might actually make you feel better physically (see my blog post about it). So, he decided we should wind back the hands of time, and hit the Dunkin’ Donuts Center. He loves a theme gift. (Fortunately, we didn’t hit anything, but the DD Center, but we could have, since Providence roads were almost un-ploughed.)

Hey Sharon! I bumped into my high school friend at the show!


Fleetwood Mac was my favorite high school band. My yearbook quote was from “LandsIide.” What teenage girl wasn’t enamored with Stevie Nicks and all her ethereal clothing? I saw the band when I was 17, and last night I saw a friend at the concert, from when I was 17! (Shout out, Sharon!) Not to mention a neighbor who lives a few streets away (Shout out, Deb & Josh!). And in the coincidental category, it was the friend I went to the concert with at 17’s birthday yesterday, (shout out, Steph!) and we were texting before the show. (I don’t know, there seemed some fun in that for both of us!)


Turns out tripping down memory lane with FM was pretty great. Stevie Nicks did a lot of talking to the audience, which was really nice. In fact, the only person who never said a word, was Jon McVie. Everybody else, had some inspiring and grateful words. Stevie is still rocking layers of clothes, and still has long blond hair. Her voice was strong on some songs, not so much on others. But she was crazy likable. And at one point talked about the way the band formed, and how if you have a dream, you should go after that bad boy. I found it pretty inspiring, and not like canned chatter. Christine McVie was more subdued, but sounded great. Lindsay Buckingham was the star of the show, for me. The dude CAN PLAY GUITAR. He had some solos that were absolutely astonishing. He was a real revelation.

And forget it, if you’re thinking these guys came out and played an hour and called it, like Miss Aretha Franklin, who I saw a few years back, and who did more costume changing, than singing, this show was a full 2 1/2 hours. I’m telling you, these people were in good shape (Peter and I, who stood for the whole concert, on the other hand, were pretty exhausted by the end).

Aside from the music, and the chatting, I felt like there was a lot of gratitude on the band’s part last night. Much of what they said when they spoke, was about what they’d all been through personally and professionally (divorces, break-ups, drugs), and how they’d endured, and how grateful they were to not only just be standing, but to be singing. It was very cool. I feel younger already.

gratitude-a-thon day 529: the view from here

Through the back door of my house. What, you wanted me to go OUT THERE?


The quiet is striking. There isn’t a sound (full disclosure, a neighbor had a service come and snow blow her driveway, so that’s what woke me up, but now they’re gone). I can’t see to the end of my street. It’s my favorite color: white. Everywhere you look, in fact, is white.

Apparently we’ve been downgraded from snowmageddon to like snow-half-marathon, but it still looks like a couple feet out there and it’s continuing to come down hard, so who knows. My biggest problem is clearing a place for Riley to do his, you know thing, out there. That little guy is going to drown in this amount of snow. I’m hoping he will sleep until Peter gets up can do a little makeshift outhouse.

A few of the supplies centers I set up around the house, in case we lost power.


There isn’t any school for two days! Mid-terms, much to my daughter’s delight, had to be all sorts of rescheduled. I am taunting my son: #stuffucantgetincali.

As for me, I will be making a vegetable soup, binge watching The Wire, and hopefully, because we all fell asleep at 9:30 last night (so I hope it’s on ON DEMAND), a PBS special called A Path Appears about the struggles women face here and abroad and the people who work with them to make a difference.

This is the only time I like snow. A big, crazy storm, when people are forced by nature to slow down and settle. I won’t like the aftermath tomorrow, when I will be inconvenienced, but for today, I’m grateful to be safe, warm, and with my family. Juno, Shmuno. I’ll take it.

gratitude-a-thon day 528: Sag Awards, Fashion Trashin’

Red carpet mania. Last show before the Academy Awards, and it was a fashion doozy. There were so MANY bad dresses last night, I could be here until next year’s Sag Awards, so we’ll just go with some of the ladies who got it the most wrongsville.

Amanda Peet. I know she’s with child, but she’s also with a bad stylist.


What’s with stomach area? is this some sort of treasure hunt clue? Triangle marks the spot? The bust line fit is a bust. Yes, it’s the Sag awards, but you’re not supposed to take it literally. I know, I know, she’s expecting, but I was expecting so much more.


Lorelie Llinklater. And I’m not even going to get into the hair.


Here’s what I’m thinking. Lorelie got really hungry during the Golden Globes, and decided to bring her own food next time. She had the snack aisle of Costco in her bell sleeves. I hope she shared.


Anna Chlumsky. I like her, but Jeesh, not her dress.

Are we wearing a vest over a dress? Why are we wearing a vest over a dress?


Laverne Cox. When more is too much.


Proving she only plays a hairdresser on tv, her tragic train wreck of extensions took this look from “maybe” to “hot mess” status faster than you can say “Sophia, can you do my ‘do?”


Emma “are you” Stoned.


It’s a dress. It’s a jacket. It’s a dress. It’s a jacket. It’s ugly.


Julia Louis Dreyfus Oy vey.


It’s a Beverly Hills mother of the bar mitzvah boy dress. “Enjoy the brisket. Did you say hello to my big man?”


Julia Roberts. Did not leave me panting.


The fit, the concept, the 1980’s peep toe pumps. Um, no, no, and lastly no. And in case you didn’t hear me, that would be a big, fat no.


Felicity Jones. How old is she? Like, 68?

This dress is for someone much older. And like, really conservative.  And like, who might be a mother of the bride.


Dascha Polanco. Snowmageddon.


This is like the epic blizzard about to hit New England. Too much white all in one place.


Taryn Manning. And she has a clothing line. Maybe my dog can have one, too?


Were there fittings? Did we miss the fittings? WHY did we miss the fittings? Why did we choose this color? Why is this even a color?


And da Best

There were some great looks, just not as many as I wish there’d been. Hollywood seems to be lacking in stylists these days. Was there an out of town  stylist convention last night?

1. Jenifer Aniston. You glow, girl.


After a disappointing Golden Globes look, the golden girl is back. With a Malibu tan, her hair 50 shades of blond, and and a bangin’ bod, this vintage John Galiano dress said, “Fuck you, academy.” (I wish her boobs were a little perkier, but then I wish mine were, too).


Emmy Rossum. I. want. this. dress.


A whipped Armani confection of perfect. The way the skirt moved, moved me. I mean, SWOON. I’d have taken off the necklace, though, and just given her bigger earrings. I got me a bad case for this dress.


Julianne Moore. The wearin’ of the green.


A redhead in green is so right. This dress was simple, but blingy, at the same time. And her bed head and minimal jewelry, made the grade.


Julianna Marguilies.


Cool shape, modern simplicity. Yeah, the split is a little bit close to the vajayjay, but I loved this dress and this hair.


Maria Menounos. Say yes to the dress.


Not usually a fan of this brocade-y fabric, but I just loved the fit, and the simple lines. And her hair and make-up was beyond reproach. No, she’s not a star, but man, she was dressed like one.


Kiera Knightly. Purple Reign.


Let’s face it, the girl just had to wear a Whole Foods Market Eco Friendly bag and she would have looked better than she did in that horrible, you-just-can’t-unsee-it Chanel she wore to the Globes. I am not a fan of the color purple, but she looked pretty. Nothing ground breaking, or that has me longing for one in my own closet, but with expectations lower than Amanda Peet’s boobs, I give her the “comeback” award.


Julie Bowen. Pixie stick.


She either gets it terribly wrong, or terribly right. This dress could have been a miss for me, but interestingly, it’s her modern hair that makes this a “best” in my book.


Clare Danes. Green with envy.

I wish she’d have taken off the “GI Joe” belt, but I never saw Clare Danes look better. This dress was super cool. And the color was really good on her. Great make-up and hair, too.


What did YOU think? Tell me. C’mon, let ‘er rip. Everyone’s a critic!


gratitude-a-thon day 526: don’t get me a gift. I have everything


It’s my birthday. BUT DON’T GET ME ANYTHING. Really.

Unless, it’s like jewelry. Because you know how I love me some bling. A little sparkle goes a long way in my book. But really, I have a lot of jewelry. So don’t get me any more. How much jewelry can one person wear (an endless amount, actually), But I’m all set for jewelry. DON’T GET ME JEWELRY OR ANYTHING ELSE. I don’t need anything. Really.

Unless it’s clothing. Like something cute, or warm, or you know, has a ruffle, or is made of leather, or makes me look thin. If it makes me look thin, you should probably give it to me. But really, you should not give me anything, you should buy yourself something, and think of me. Yeah, that’d be a great gift to me–BUY YOURSELF SOMETHING, AND THINK OF ME.

But I mean, if it’s for my house, and it’s like an antique, or decorative, anything white, or you know, like a candle, one of my favorite all time things, or art, or something like that, well, gosh, how could I say no. But honestly, you should not buy me a thing. Seriously. I’m good. I have everything.

If it’s food, maybe you should give it to me. Because it will go bad, and also because I LOVE FOOD. But probably, you should just eat it yourself. I’m good. I mean, unless someone gives me some clothes that make me look thin, then I could eat it and not have to worry. But that’s not going to happen, because nobody should give me a thing. I am really and truly good. I don’t even need one thing.

Unless, it’s like a book, God, I love a book. A good book, which, I’m sure is all anybody would get me, if they were getting me a book. But come to think of it, I have a Kindle, so I could like buy a book right now, at 7:04 AM if I wanted, so don’t buy me a book. I have books. And I have a bookstore on my nightstand. Please, buy yourself a good book and think of me when you read it. That would be awesome.

Of course if you wanted to take me somewhere, like out to lunch, or dinner, or for drinks, or coffee, or to a museum, or play, or a book reading, or concert, or to the gym, or the movies, or something like that, that would be something hard to turn down. I love to spend time with friends and family. I mean, who doesn’t, right? Am I right? But I know you’re probably busy, so you should skip taking me out, and just take some downtime for yourself. It’s important to do your stuff, and if you get some downtime, to just relax a little. We’re all rushing around too much. Yeah, forget it. Just cool out, and that’s a gift to me, in and of itself. Me thinking about you relaxing. Because I’m so fine. I don’t need anything. I have everything. I’M JUST SO GOOD.

But if it’s jewelry. Well…….


gratitude-a-thon day 524: i missed you, new yorker

Having the New Yorker delivered means always having something intelligent to read (and read, and read).Or in my husband’s and my case, not being able to read enough of.

We just started getting The New Yorker again, after a short hiatus. We found it was killing our self-esteem. I mean, can anyone ever really finish an issue before the next one shows up? Boom, first one arrives, and immediately I realize I am worse than DeflateGate married to John Boehner’s fake orange tan, for canceling my subscription, and missing stuff like this brilliant (see below) and hilarious, Shouts & Murmurs. Kelly Stout: you are a vat of whipped cream with a $100,000 Barney’s gift card on top.

Shouts & Murmurs JANUARY 19, 2015 ISSUE

Let’s Get Drinks


A: Hey, girl! So great to see you at Mike’s party on New Year’s. You free this week? Want to grab drinks?

B: Yo!!!!! Sorry it took me so long to respond. I’m the worst. Yes! I’d love to! First round is on me because I’m so terrible. Tuesday???

A: Ugh, Tuesday is my friend Rachel’s birthday. I am the actual worst. What about Weds?

B: Weds works! Let’s e-mail next week about where to go. Yayyyyyyyyyy.



B: I am total garbage at scheduling and forgot we were supposed to meet up tonight. Could you do Mon? SO SORRY. I feel terrible.

A: OMG, do not feel terrible. You are not as bad as I am. If you’re garbage, then I am, like, the Deepwater Horizon oil spill, because Monday doesn’t work. What about tomorrow?

B: I am worse than the global food crisis. Tomorrow’s no good. This is embarrassing, but I signed up for a yoga workshop. (I know, eye roll.) Anyway, hopefully I’ll get my shit together and stop being the 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami by next week. Xo.


B: Heya—we both totally dropped the ball on this! Our bad! We are, like, the subprime-lending crisis of hanging out, right? You around on Weds? I want to go back to that tapas place we went to on the Fourth of July.

A: Shoot, Wednesday doesn’t work. My mom and stepdad are in town, so I have to take them to dinner, which is going to be worse than the rollout of, but whatever, I have to do it. Hmm . . . dare I say Friday?

B: Shit. Friday is no good. I am literally Operation Rolling Thunder mixed with the N.F.L.’s policy on domestic violence. But whatcha gonna do? Monday?

A: Stop it. You’re fine. I, on the other hand, am seriously Vermont’s heroin epidemic multiplied by Bill Cosby. I can’t do Monday because I have to help my roommate pick up a kitchen island she bought on Craigslist. (Loooong story.)


A: I can’t believe we never scheduled this! I miss u! I’m gonna stop being brokers’ fees atop a cake made out of unlicensed plastic surgery and say . . . Tuesday?

B: Jesus. I am, like, the Spanish Civil War riding in a subway car with broken A.C., seated between Kim Jong-un and the phrase “said no one ever.” But I could do coffee like midday on Tues?

A: I’m sorta, kinda trying to get off caffeine (I know, I know—I’m worse than the Hobby Lobby verdict dancing with Vladimir Putin on Elaine Stritch’s grave while the Vietnam War plays “All About That Bass” on the didgeridoo), but lunch would be great.

B: OMG, do not worry about it. I’m the one who should be apologizing. I’m a smoothie blended in an Amazon fulfillment center, containing “Songs of Innocence,” Reaganomics, and old hot-dog water. I seriously cannot believe I forgot you quit coffee. Lunch it is.


B: So excited about our lunch date! 12:30?

A: This is basically just a joke at this point, but I have this dumb meeting about records retention or something that got pushed back to one. You don’t have to tell me that I’m mercury poisoning hooking up with the Crusades in the bathroom at trans fat’s wedding to voter suppression, because I know. Ugh . . . sorry.

B: Don’t worry about it, dude. How’s tonight?

B: Oh, wait, shit, sorry to be Aaron Sorkin eating toothpaste straight from the tube. I forgot that my writing group meets tonight. Then tomorrow I have a thing—too hard to explain—and on Friday I have dinner with some work people. You’re going to think that I’m the Salem witch trials giving Osama bin Laden a massage at a spa run by the California drought, but I’m also pretty busy next week. How about the ninth, tho?

A: The ninth works great! Yay. ♦

gratitude-a-thon day 522: the age of acceptance


Sometimes the “A” word makes me shudder, like when you hear an eerie story that makes your arm hair stand straight on up, sometimes it makes me calm as the cutest sleeping baby you’ve ever seen. (Is anything more tranquilizing?) It depends on the light, I guess. It depends on where it is I’m standing.

As the years pile up, acceptance becomes easier to friend, not so difficult to embrace in a sincere bear hug. There are certain things that no longer seem to be worth fighting against. Things that were not really ever possible, but that you thought just had to be possible. The letting go is like stripping yourself naked on an absurdly hot day and running with your arms overhead into the roaring ocean (arms must be overhead for accurate and intended experiential simile).

I will never be on an “under 30, authors to watch” list.  Despite intense longing and prayer to the contrary, my dad and I share the same DNA. I will never again weigh 115 (unless, and God forbid, I contract a serious illness that makes the pounds slide off like an expensive silk nighty from the expensive silky nighty department at Agent Provocateur). I’m not going to marry George Clooney. I’m not going to have an illustrious career as a ballerina, model, movie star, fill in ridiculous childhood wannabe career here. But I can still be a lot of things. Many of them really possible. Realistic expectations aren’t dreary, they’re hopeful. Ah, acceptance.

I was always trying to re-write the not-so-nice parts of my life. As if I could.  I knew it was silly. But still, I hung on the idea. I kept thinking if I wished hard enough, long enough, maybe. But what I’ve learned, is history doesn’t need to be re-written, so much as digested, and processed, and sprinkled generously on, and throughout your life, like Miracle Grow plant food  This is acceptance. It gets a little harder as you get older. And a whole lot easier.