It’s the End of My Twenties And I Feel Fine

Today marks the start of my dirty thirties. I am 30 years old. Thirty. Three-zero. Fourth decade of life.

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Alright I went too far with that last one, because that’s some freaky shit right there.

What better time to revive my hilarious and not-award-winning blog? Exactly. Glad we’re on the same page again, readers. And by readers, I mean my mom. Hi mom.

It seems pretty standard for people to lose their shit when one of these milestone birthdays peer deep into their souls and cause them to stare in a mirror, crying about all the insane expectations we had when we were younger about where we’d be at 30. Hey, weren’t you supposed to be an astronaut and take a few spins around Mars like, five years ago? No? What a loser.

What I learned in my twenties was to scrap all your preconditioned ideas about what you’re supposed to be, where you’re supposed to be, when you’re supposed be, how you’re supposed to be, and why you’re supposed to be at a certain age. It’s just total bullshit to have those expectations because the best parts of life are the unexpected moments and people who rock your world without any formulated plans.

My boss, Ron Swanson, gave me the perfect gift to accompany this wisdom. Lagavulin 16 scotch whisky and a note that ended with OMNIA PARATUS: Ready for anything.


In my now thirty years, I’d like to think one of my best qualities is being scrappy, an improv master, and all around make it work aficionado. Our teachers, parents, and coworkers will continuously tell us to ask as many questions as possible. No question is dumb, they said. I’m here to offer an amendment to this rule: take some time to think, let shit sink in, because you can probably answer the question yourself. Or just fucking Google it. Whatever means you choose, you are capable of being the answer, the solution, the method. Find your way, goddammit.

Here’s a list of 15 things I want to achieve this decade, no questions asked:

1. Visit my homeland, Ireland, and relish in all the pale glory.

2. Watch more good television, and stop assuming Parks & Recreation is still going on.

3. Start writing a best-selling novel that JK Rowling lauds as the best thing since Harry Potter.

4. Start writing my biography that will become a feature film starring my celebrity twin, Emma Stone. Emma Watson will be my second choice, but only if she keeps the British accent.


5. Work with Tina Fey and Amy Poehler.

6. Become best friends with above.

7. Be the “Freakshow” guest at Britney’s Piece of Me show and be whipped by a fucking goddess.

8. Become best friends with above and begin concocting a plan to unite her and Justin in holy matrimony.
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9. Invent a flying car so we can do this future shit right already.

10. Become an Avenger. I already have hardware in my back, Stan Lee. Come at me.

11. Witness Leonardo DiCaprio win an Oscar.

12. Be in the audience and watch my brothers HardNox perform on Saturday Night Live.

13. Finally have that sleepover party with my BFF Miri (Jennifer Lawrence, for those out of the loop).

14. Play Tina Fey in her lifetime movie about her beginnings and career. I’d be so good, you don’t even know.

15. Experience 7 minutes in heaven with Ryan Gosling. My husband is fully supportive of this.
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This will be a piece of cake.


Consider Me Fireproof.


Nope, nope, nope, nope.

I will burn with that building if it means that goddamn nest goes down with me.

Enjoy your nightmares, everyone!


PS: Hey, guys – there is a very sensitive topic that’s been reported and I haven’t had a chance to discuss it with you. Bring it in, this is serious shit.




Bored clapping Hermione

Now I have to rearrange my life plans.

My consolation with this equally exciting and depressing news is, if it’s a boy, in 18 years I officially have that father-son fantasy locked up.

I didn’t even know I wanted it. #optimism

I See What Shoe Did There

A coincidence is afoot.


A MARVELOUS coincidence.

Also, he wishes.

That Moment When You See Iggy Azalea For the First Time




Hearing “Fancy” and then seeing Iggy in her natural state of New Zealand-ness are two very different experiences. AMIRIGHT?

Medicaring About Sports.

I often wonder how different an athlete’s healthcare coverage is from mine. Apparently, LeBron’s is probably fairly similar. I often feel crampy once a month, and Lord knows the stairs leading out of the train station are a doozy on my hammies.

But let’s be serious. The NBA Finals are happening simultaneously as the Stanley Cup Finals (that’s hockey, to those wondering “Stanley, who?”). I’ve gotten really into hockey since I first met my husband, a Boston born Bruins fanatic. I think the biggest realization I’ve had since getting into hockey is how basketball and baseball players can be huuuuuuuuge pussies.

LeBron, if you please.


Last year, I watched a hockey game where a guy actually kept playing on a broken leg. A BROKEN LEG. This wasn’t an RG3 ragdoll showcase, either. This guy was legitimately playing, skating with a limp, and plowing into guys until he physically couldn’t handle anymore.

On top of that, even the referees in hockey are more badass. This past season, a ref got knocked on the side of his head by a speeding puck. The officials called time to let him off the ice and get checked out, only to come back from commercial with the ref returning to the game, swelling face and all. When asked why he came back, he said, “I’m fine.” And he was. It was no biggie. Game on.

I should’ve known hockey was one of the greatest sports of all time. My childhood even encouraged it.


Call Me, Maybe?


Oh, hey, guys. Let’s catch up. What’s happenin’? What’s the goings on? How you doin’?

Enough about you. Let’s talk about me. In the past few weeks since I last posted I have:

  • Gotten a new job.
  • Gone on my honeymoon.
  • Been in Alaska.
  • Been in Canada.
  • Been on a mothafuckin’ SHIP.
  • Been crazy, balls out busy.

Good talk. Same time next week, yea? Cool.

Alright, time for the punch line.

This invention is divine.


The bluetooth is IN the gloves. So you are encouraged to look like a crazy person faking a phone call with your hand while you’re…ACTUALLY HAVING A PHONE CALL WITH YOUR HAND.

Christmas just came early.

The One With Sharon’s Inadvertent Hug

It’s a good day to reminisce, my friends. Ten years ago today the last episode of Friends aired to millions, and millions were wiping their tear-drenched faces. The Last One.

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My love for Friends runs very deep. So deep that I recreated one of their promotional pictures at my wedding.


That’s a great fucking picture. We’re on the left, by the way. I feel like that clarification is necessary.

During the live run of the series, and countless reruns over the last 10 years, I stand confidently by my sentiment that all life events can be traced to an episode of Friends. Oddly enough, even the most unlikely story lines from the series can happen in real life. Believe me, I KNOW. So in honor of this momentous occasion, it’s story telling time.

Many of you might be familiar with the season five episode, The One With Rachel’s Inadvertent Kiss. Quick rundown for those scratching their heads: Rachel goes on an interview at Ralph Lauren, and, on her way out, the male interviewer gives her a handshake while leaning toward the door, which Rachel mistakes for an invitation to kiss him on the cheek. She gets called back for another interviewing, thinking it was because of the kiss – hilarity ensues.

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But that doesn’t happen to people, this was one of those episode subplots that was far too silly to ever think it could be an actual thing. Right? RIGHT?!

A few months ago I went on an interview in Redwood City, an hour and 40 minutes from my apartment. It took me five freeways and a bridge to get there, but the downtown area was lovely and I had nothing to lose.

Upon my arrival to this sweet little start-up joint, I was greeted by this chic and tall young woman who was the person I had interviewed with over the phone. Awesome, we’re a little acquainted, so my sweat glands were at some ease. Her and I chat about the job, responsibilities, and each other. She’s incredibly chill and seemed like a great person. I met with one other, and then my time was up.

Feeling good, I met up with the chic gal again as she led me to the door. I had my professional notebook (you know, the uselessly padded kind) in my left hand as I opened the door with my right. Propping the door open with my right foot, I turned around to offer her a “hire me” handshake when I noticed her arm reach out, seeming to beg for a hug. Did the interview go that well? I don’t blame her, really, I gave some great anecdotes in there and managed to never laugh when the word “duties” was dropped in conversation (thanks, Chandler). I’d probably want to hug me, too.

As if it happened in slow motion, I went in for the hug. I couldn’t use my left hand since the professional pad of never used paper was there, but I gave her a decent wrap of my right arm. Once I realized she wasn’t hugging me back, I knew it.



I back away slowly, wondering where I misread the signals. I look to my right and notice her outstretched arm, the one I assumed was eager for a hug, was currently holding the door open. My brain started sparking, putting the situation together. This just happened to me. I hugged my interviewer. Must. Recover. So I did what I do in all awkward moments, I threw it out in the open and laid it all on the table.

Me: “Oh god, you were just being nice and normal and holding the door open for me.”

Cool, Chic Interviewer: “[nervous laughter]”

Me: “Wow, I thought it was odd you wanted a hug!”

CCI: “Oh, yea…[nervous laughter]”

Me: “I made it weird. It was me. Well, I guess if nothing else, now we’re sort of friends?”

CCI: “Haha…”

Me: “Alright, thank you again for your time. I’m going to go die now.”

As I left the building, all I could think of was Rachel’s Inadvertent Kiss, and that one of the stranger Friends story lines actually happened to me. This was real life. Thank God it wasn’t a kiss, but OHMYGOD I HUGGED HER. I could not stop laughing at the ridiculousness, and I had an hour and 40 minute drive home to think about what I’d just done.

As with Rachel Green’s story, I, too, was asked for another interview, and the cool, chic young woman thought my hug was pretty hilarious. But that’s where it stopped. I didn’t get further than that follow-up interview. Guess I should’ve thought more seriously about a follow-up boob graze to my initial hug. Rachel accidentally touched her interviewer’s crotch on her second interview, and she got the job. Total missed opportunity.

Regardless of the outcome, the importance of this story is that Friends continually breaks the barrier of television hilarity and real life embarrassment. Sure, they may have been six extremely attractive people with apartments their jobs never seemed to be able to cover and more time on their hands than normal, but their lives live on through our own – sometimes inadvertently.

Here’s to you, Friends!


What Would Kanye Do?

It’s Earth Day, so let’s all feel super uncomfortable as I provide you with one of our advanced creatures of the human race that’s living (still, maybe?) on this planet.


Look, I know what you’re seeing here. He’s totally leaning on the door. It’s clearly stated he’s not supposed to lean on the door. UGH. Don’t you hate ignorant people?

Also, anyone else wish he would’ve at least been consistent in replacing all the i’s with #’s on his shirt? No? Alr#ght, just check#ing.

Regardless, the dude on the left seems fairly weary of the RWN – he’s guarding his bag quite well. But maybe that’s just his basketball position.

Okay, I’m done.


I Want Jay and Bey to Help Me With My Bills, Bills, Bills

As I’m trying to dispel the feeling of buyers remorse after dropping $130 at Old Navy on a work break, I gazed at my Facebook feed and found a picture of Beyonce and (presumably) Jay-Z – the latter seeming to sport a shirt that reads on the back, “BILLIONAIRY.”


It got me thinking the obvious, Wow, they have so much more money than we do. And there he is, showing exactly that, without even having to stare me in the face. What I just threw down at a goddamn Old Navy wouldn’t even register on their bank account. That’s if they have a bank account. At this point, I doubt it. I imagine money just gets injected into their veins now, literally making them of money. The cash flows hard with these ones.

I, on the other hand, pushed our banking boundaries and burned our plastic on jeans, a cardigan, and two shirts. All of which are necessary for our honeymoon coming up. We live a California life, people, and we hear Alaska calls for thicker denim. Plus, it’s our honeymoon, shouldn’t we splurge toward looking good? YES. However, I had to stick with my list and not stray, which is so hard when I haven’t been shopping at stores other than Ross, Marshalls, or TJMaxx in about a year. It went something like –

[Ground floor] Dear God, it’s all on sale and decently priced. NO. You’re such a cotton whore, you cute striped dress! I DON’T NEED YOU BUT I WANT YOU. (backs away slowly) Where the hell is the mens section? Hubby needs some bootcuts. Ah, the escalator.

[Second floor] Of course the mens section is on the goddamn 3rd floor. Time to walk through all the adorable swimsuits. Polka dots are mocking me. Look straight ahead. (GASP!) SANDALS. No. Stop. Escalator, now.

[Third floor] Where the shit am I? Ah, a wall of jeans. Done.

Repeat process backwards.

It’s fairly easy to assume Mr. and Mrs. Carter haven’t had this problem in a good 10-15 years. So I get to thinking, where does all their piles of extra money go? Blue Ivy has certainly taken her fair share, but they have BUTTLOADS of cash. Surely they could discard some of it to make some peoples’ lives (cough-look here-cough) much less stressful.

What if there was a lottery every month where they gave one lucky person $10,000? Shit, even $1,000 would be amazing. I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt them. Am I being totally insensitive here? It’s their hard earned cash, sure, but how cool would it be if celebrities just randomly gave an average Joe a lump sum of money, no strings attached? FUCKING cool. That’s how. I wouldn’t even feel bad taking it, like I usually would, because Jay’s hat and Bey’s glasses combined probably cost more than six months worth of our rent. And I’m sure they got them for free. Big, deep, stomach-wrenching sigh.

In conclusion, this is a genius idea and I’d like to be the first “random.”


Say my name, say my name.*

*I couldn’t help it.


Only in Europe.

Last year for my birthday, I made a list of things I’ve learned, one for every year I’ve blessed this planet with my presence. (You’re welcome.) It would be far too ridiculous to add a 29th thing to that list, so, instead, I’m going to post an inappropriate joke about life.

Thanks to the land of Germany for this bit of honest advertising. Translated, of course. I’m American, after all. Shit ain’t funny when I can’t read it.


Mean. Clever. Ominous. German.

Well, how else is a funeral service supposed to gain business? Do funeral places usually advertise? Do they get competitive or roam hospitals and senior homes to network? I need to stop asking questions.

Watch for their next ad posted above a cigarette wall, probably titled, “Breathe deep.”

In opposite news, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ME!!!


Fuck off, thirty. It ain’t your time yet.