While I Was Away…


I was at the beach, away from a wifi source for one week, and didn’t post here, or really read any other sites, and now I’ve returned and HuffPo has totally changed the cat game. A real mitzvah.


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Friday Links and a Happy Weekend to You


In preparation for our upcoming week in glorious Ocean City, I’ve been loading my Kindle with books. I was making a note to add another one tonight when I realized every book I’ve added is fucking depressing.

They’re all about serial killers and jailed teenagers and missing children and the lonliness of being aware of your reincarnations. I’m halfway through the single not-murder-related book I purchased, so I can’t even liven things up a bit once I get going on this list. If anyone has any actual beach read suggestions, my pysche (and husband and beach guests) will appreciate it. My mood is often a direct reflection of what I’m reading, so WATCH OUT, EVERYONE AROUND ME NEXT WEEK!

My current list, should you want to hold hands as I dive into this pool of despair, is as follows:

Life After Life, The Shining Girls, My Education, The Panopticon, The Yonahlossee Riding Camp for Girls, and The Engagements.

And now, some links that aren’t upsetting!

Awesome Designer for Affordable Home Goods Store.

This kid is cooler than you.


I wish I had known these when I was a kid. Everyone honors bets they make with kids, right?

Something I will soom purchase during a fit of insomnia-induced late night TV watching.

“One Cookie Monster shrugged, as if to say he had no information, and offered a hug instead.”

A moment of optimism turned sour when these came in this week.

All of these. (borrowed lovingly from acupofjo)

City Cafe mention on Buzz Feed. We celebrated at their Open Equality Bar with lots of Vodka Doma’s and Supreme-a Coladas.

And finally, SO MUCH LOVE to everyone who loves anyone or is anyone celebrating the incredible victories of this week. The header for this post was taken at Pride in 2009 when none of us could have imagined how soon things would change.

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bsbLast week I posted about boy bands. Specifically, their turtlenecks. This week, I met a boy band. If I believed in Oprah, I’d think this was straight out of her Book of The Secret.

Lauren (former co-proprietess of this blog and musical theatre dramaturg) called yesterday morning and instructed me to get a Zip Car and race to the Rotunda. I arrived and we sat in a room with a gang of ladies until the Back Street Boys walked in. And then they played five of their songs and ten or so of us in the room awkwardly chair-danced while the remaining five mouthed the words to the songs, which have not yet been released. Then people told stories of how BSB got them through hard times, and encouraged two young Bosnian gals to learn English and move to America because they knew the band would never tour there.

Because Lauren and I are too cool for everything, we quietly shit-texted about everyone in the room and then tried to not be impressed when they sang a capella for us (eventhoughtheywerereallygood).

We were definitely not too cool to get pictures with the band, however. I put out my hand to shake and was instead enveloped in hugs from each band member. I was always a little more Team NSYNC (Lance Bass was my JAM at 13 because my gaydar was still forming), but as each aging pop star hugged me I imagined how! freaking! awesome! that would have been for me at the turn of the millennium.

It was a little weird, though, to be on this side of life with people who added to the sound track of my early teens. They’re all married with kids, and I’m married with cats. We’ve all grown up, and no one is breaking decibel counters when they walk in a room anymore. A superfan asked how one member felt about being the father figure of the group, and five adult men in their thirties looked back at her, unsure how to answer a question that no longer applied.

I’m happy we got to meet them and listen to them and check in, like getting coffee with an old friend. Remembering that I had their CD’s and watched them on TRL and called radio stations to request their songs because being 13 or 14 or 15 was different back then, even though back then wasn’t really all that long ago. You didn’t just have access, you had to work for it a little. The songs made you feel like you were the only person in the world, and not like you were the hottest person in the eighth grade. They weren’t sex symbols, they were crushes, and it was nice.

Thanks to Lauren and Clear Channel for setting up this little midday meet & greet. It was fun to be a tween again.



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Friday Links and a Happy Weekend to You


Heading to Manhattan for the baby shower of one Miz Kyle Ramsvig-nee-Phillips. In the picture above, we were drinking vodka in the back of a cab in South Beach, and now all three of those people are married. One has a baby and one is adding a future half-Canadian woodsman to the population of Vermont in August. And then the other one is me and I have a lot of cats.

Enjoy your weekend, friends. I hear it’s supposed to feel like summer which will be a nice change of pace from the last four months of March.

Here are some links.

This. I wore Heaven and Dream and can smell them both as I type this.

Important information.

Drunk Christmas.

Rosie is a true silent partner. A real Milford man.

Get classy.

Beach book one, beach book two.

This is pretty good.

Well this changes everything.

A lady never tells how many Jennifer Anistons she weighs.

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Fake Eyelashes

prideshotThe time has come for a new look. I’ve been toying with new design ideas and haven’t, you know, come up with one yet, but I just needed the old header to go away. She’s been leading the charmed city ship for over four years and needed a break. Bitch was tired.

Please accept these cross-dressing Pride butts as an interim header. I’m still working on the redesign, and I think these gals will tide us all over nicely while I figure out what’s next for this blog.

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I was doing important things on the internet last night in 2001 and came across this:


The ribbed turtleneck. Do you remember ribbed turtlenecks?

I clicked pause on the second season episode of Mad Men I was watching for the fourth time (my life is depressing) and got lost in the ribbed turtleneck. For a moment, my research took me down the k-hole that is Steve from Blue’s Clues life story/then-and-now pictures, but I righted myself and got back to business.

If you were a jacked dude with bicep tattoos and Lou Pearlman PTSD, you wore ribbed turtlenecks. You wore them in pools and on album covers and to TRL and with a scarf in the wintertime. You knew that a ribbed turtleneck would curve your torso sexually, while leaving the clavicle to the imagination of a young Megan, caught in the rosaried web of a single-sexed Catholic school education. You wore a ribbed turtleneck because it demanded more respect than, say, movement denim…


…or whatever is happening here:

Other than on Steve Jobs (iRIP), I haven’t really seen a good turtleneck in a while. This is important. I think this means that we, as human Americans, have evolved past the post-Clinton/early Bush belly button piercing, and are now settled in a sort of locally-sourced whiskey   hangover/so let’s get vegan brunch skinny jean. We’re more serious now, guys.

Here are a few more turtleneck shots for your enjoyment. It’s important to look back and remember what things and times were like. And to be grateful that corn rows on white people are now strictly reserved for sunburned tweens vacationing in Atlantis.





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