I do not have postpartum depression. I have postpartum ennui.

It’s been almost seven weeks with two little ones. Its been almost six months since I’ve worked. It’s been I don’t know how long since I’ve worn anything but yoga pants. Life is grand.

You want to know how grand? Here’s how grand:

On a day, which is every day

7am: Get out of bed, put on yoga pants and a shirt that doesn’t obviously look like pajamas so I can go out in public. Put in breast pump.

7:15am: Get toddler ready for daycare, get baby up. Assemble bottle to feed baby while dealing with toddler. Drink coffee.

8:15am: Drop toddler off at daycare–good riddance (more on that later), come home.

8:30am – 4pm: Drink coffee, feed baby, do laundry, do dishes, watch trash tv, tidy up, deep clean random things that I come across that need it. Organize random things that I come across that need it. Prioritize said things over napping. Tell myself I’ll take a nap as soon as all of these books have been dusted and put in alphabetical order. Then, find another home project and never nap. Feed baby, feed baby, feed baby.

4:30pm-7pm: Pick up toddler, deal with Hurricane Toddler while cooking dinner and feeding cranky newborn. Usually around this time, husband gets home to help. Put toddler to bed, pour glass of wine.

7pm-8:30pm: Try to drink one glass of wine while feeding and dealing with cranky newborn. Put newborn to bed.

8:31pm: Go to bed myself in order to stand the best chance of getting one three hour stretch of sleep.

Midnight – 7am: Get up every 90 minutes to feed/soothe newborn.

Reading this back it sounds worse to me than it is. It’s manageable, but meh.

I knew having kids would be hard. In fact, I thought it would be harder. I mean, I expected to be an exhausted, strung out, sobbing, fat, mood-swingy mess. And while I am more tired, and slightly more fat. In general, I’m doing pretty okay.


I miss having a hobby I could be passionate about, or having a reason to put on real clothes. I miss having friends and family close by. I miss having exciting things to look forward to.

My toddler is adorable, but he is at an age where defiance is his primary personality trait. And my newborn, who is thankfully pretty chill in general, is going through a peak fussiness period or growth spurt, or is just not going to be chill ever again, who knows. In a broad sense, I look forward to watching them change and grow up (ahem… sleep through the night), but I miss having selfish indulgent things–like buying an outfit for a fancy event, or doing a show, or even seeing a show.

Nothing about having children ever sounded appealing to me, which is why I never wanted children until I met my now husband. I think subconsciously I recognized that he is the only person I’ve ever been with that would be worthy/ up to the challenge of raising a child. Even now it’s hard to articulate why its worth it, other than despite everything I’ve written here, it most certainly is.

I just refuse to be someone that defines myself, principally, as a mom. That doesn’t mean I don’t prioritize my children, it just means that there are other facets of me that I’ve always had, that I still have that deserve attention and cultivation and nurturing, as well. I’ve seen too many women subsumed by motherhood. I am in the thick of it right now, but my career hiatus is not forever, my creative urges are just finding new outlets that suit my disjointed schedule, and I’m maximizing the smallest opportunities to be glamorous (with a jade face roller, for instance).

I honestly think that I’ve managed to avoid a lot of the postpartum emotional strain by not being a martyr, by not trying to do everything perfectly at the expense of my own preservation. I’ve always put the oxygen mask on myself first, so to speak. But that doesn’t mean I don’t miss the bad-ass, carefree days of my old life.

Just not enough to actually take a nap.

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Its only been three and a half years, what?


Oh Hey.

What can happen in three and a half years? Sometimes nothing. However, in looking back on my life, I’m trying to find a three year period in which nothing substantial happened, and well, it hasn’t happened yet. Maybe now that I’m legitimately, like, in my mid-30s WHICH IS STILL NOT MIDDLE AGED THANK YOU VERY MUCH, but a more  traditionally “settled” time of life for most people, I’ll live a more settled life.

However, the past three years for me, since I last updated this site, have not been that.

During this time I have:

  1. Graduated from law school/started practicing law
  2. Got married
  3. Had a baby
  4. Got knocked up again (due imminently with baby 2)
  5. Moved down South
  6. Stopped practicing law
  7. Not blogged

In the next three years I have concrete plans to not move, not get married, not have any more children, and to settle it down with all the change.

I do plan to go back to working as an attorney again. I fucking worked hard for that shit, dammit.

But because of my current condition, which is something akin to this…


working full-time is not really feasible. Plus, in order to go back to a similar job, I have to take and pass the Georgia bar which I can’t do for several more months. Plus, I have to take care of a newborn. Plus, I have to take care of a toddler also who thankfully also goes to daycare some of the time. Plus, we just moved and I’m trying to get as much unpacked and put out of the way before the new baby. Plus, I am also trying to do laundry and clean and cook. Plus, my husband works a shit-ton so I’m on the hook for most of this stuff, otherwise it won’t get done until he retires in 30 years.  Plus, even though we just moved, I can barely move, so household chores, especially ones relating to boxes and unpacking them, takes a lot out of me.

But I feel guilty. I feel guilty that for the first time in my adult-post-college life, I am not working full-time. Despite being 300-months pregnant, despite not have a license to work in this state, and despite having just moved across the country for husband’s job with few connections or networking prospects, I feel shame and guilt in not pulling in an income. I am not financially independent.

I am a stay at home mom.

It’s only been a few months, but I am keeping busy by cleaning, going grocery shopping, going to Target and doing laundry, and then repeating the cycle. Except that’s a pretty awful existence, and I still like to engage myself mentally, so here I am blogging again to exercise some creativity.

I have to to remind myself that, even though I have less time for creative pursuits, I am still this person in gold-sequined pants.

Except now they are just covered up by yoga pants.


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Stupid and the City


Sex and the City was clever, fashionable and easily digestible TV that I immensely enjoyed watching throughout my 20s. This is despite the fact that my life has never come close to resembling the lives of the women in the show (although, for the record, I spent most of my 20s wishing it could).

But whatever, I still felt like I could relate to it, despite my cheap footwear.

Because dating woes are universal, right?




I recently revisited the first season of Sex and the City and discovered that:

1. I was, finally (at age 32), the same age as the women that I had long admired.

2. My long-held admiration was misplaced and asinine


3. These women are idiots.

Emotionally, anyway. No wonder no one wants to date them.

For Instance (most of the relationship drama in the first season centered on Carrie and Mr. Big so those are the examples I’m using):

• Carrie shows up at Mr. Big’s house unannounced and drunk in the middle of the night to yell at him.

• Carrie calls Mr. Big when she’s on a date with another man (in front of the other man!) to rub it in Mr. Big’s face that she’s on another date.

• Carrie finds out that Mr. Big is divorced and, then, behind his back, sets up a meeting with his ex-wife (under the auspices of a publishing pitch) so she can meet and judge her in person.

But Also:

• On Miranda’s first date with Skipper she spends the entire time chastising him and telling him how much she hates men.

• When she sees Skipper dating someone new, she calls him just to make sure she still has emotional control over him.

Note: Samantha and Charlotte’s behaviors are hard to judge on this spectrum because they represent two opposite extremes (that, probably, don’t really exist in the real world)

Anyway, this is the kind of relationship mind-gaming dramatic nonsense that seems painfully immature to me now, but I don’t remember having those thoughts about it in my 20s. And confession: I am totally guilty of showing up at one gentleman’s apartment drunk and unannounced in the middle of the night, WHEN I WAS IN COLLEGE.

But at 32, ew. No.

So I guess what I’m saying is… girlfriends ::hair flip:: don’t get your dating advice from Sex and The City (get your fashion advice there). Also, if a man ever makes you feel so insecure about yourself that you want to resort to any of the above tactics, you’re in the wrong relationship.

And lastly, cheap footwear is nothing to be ashamed of, but credit card debt is.





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Carrie Reads a Magazine for Teenagers


Remember YM? Haha, you’re old.

Anyways, it is now time for my bi-annual blog post.

When I was about 14, I got a subscription to Seventeen magazine as a birthday present or a christmas present or a bribe I don’t remember. What I do remember, though, is fondly perusing its pages throughout my formative years…when I was fat and bad at dressing in grunge. This is to say that reading a teen fashion magazine did not make me more fashionable. In fact, it probably gave me lots and lots of insecurity that took about 10-12 years to get over but that is besides the point.

Because just recently, my mom has begun receiving monthly Seventeen magazines. She is 62. I’d be interested to hear her perspective on them, but she doesn’t read them she just gives them to me, because they are addressed to me. I am 32.

Today I read one and these are my thoughts.

1.  I have no freaking clue who the hell those people are on the cover. Apparently they are YouTube star vloggers? YouTube stars are on the covers of  magazines now? Apparently this is the “social media” issue. Ok. well, whatever.

2.  As per the cover, Zoella the YouTube star doesn’t have a perfect life. I’m sure this is very comforting to teenagers everywhere.

3. The story “I Dated a Bisexual Guy” would never, ever have existed when I was of the proper age to be reading teen magazines. In those days teen magazines pretended that LGBT issues did not exist. Brava for progressivism.

4. There is an article profiling a seventeen-year-old male singer/songwriter, the article asks what he is looking for in a girlfriend (because of course).



5.   What the hell kind of ad copy is that? First of all, I didn’t think that teenagers were the prime demographic for Sperry loafers, and second of all no one actually wears them to go boating, they wear them to the mall. Also, what the hell does that even mean? Am I missing something clever because I am not a teenager or does this ad just make no sense?


6. This is beginning to look like a regular fashion magazine except that the fashions that are detailed are a lot cheaper. I guess because teenagers are broke. I am also broke and am happy not to look at a $6,000 Marchesa dress as the must-have for Fall. I will get an Aeropostale flannel instead.



7. Cool! These eye makeup looks are way too loud for typical 32-year-olds….. but I am in a band, bitches! so I can (and do) wear all sorts of tacky nonsense. Including drastic purple liner and fuchsia shadow. Score!

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That time when I ate the Christmas gift I got for my dad


Guys, it’s hard times being a full-time student. Hard-ass, broke times. As far as low life moments go, there’s this one, and this one… and then all the other ones I opted not to share on my blog.

So I had an eventful end of the year and first week of January, such that I had been dragging my feet sending my Dad and his family their Christmas gifts. It’s kind of like a joke at this point, though, as I do this every year and my dad’s birthday is in January so I always send their gifts in January at some point as part of a birthday/Christmas combo in a  “ha ha I’m such a quirky, lovable, blundering daughter, aw shucks Dad” kinda way.

Anyways, this year my dad, stepmom and half-brother are getting sweet-ass Amazon gift cards, and then on my actual suburban mall shopping trip (because I only ever make one) I picked them up a smallish Hickory Farms meat and cheese holiday display tray. My dad loves these and usually has them around at holiday time, which was what prompted the purchase.

HOWEVER, I bought it the week before Christmas, and in the last month I have become really broke, which I will continue to be, at least until the beginning of February.

Like, frighteningly poor for myself.

As a result of this,  the only thing in my fridge right now is corn tortillas and sriracha.

This is a low moment for me: but…[oh god, forgive me dad] I think I might send their Amazon gift cards as usual,  and keep the Hickory Farms tray…for myself… in lieu of grocery shopping. Even more pathetically, If I’m going to eat it,  I have to remove the festive holiday gift wrapping that I painstakingly* applied.

I mean, I like summer sausage well-enough, and there are amazing things to be done with that block of cheese. I can’t remember exactly, but there may even be some crackers and mustard in there too. In short, this will be the best meal I will have eaten in the last several days because the pasta e fagioli at Temple Law blows, and Raisin Bran Crunch is just not that satisfying.

Plus… I’m out of it.

Ok ok, sorry Dad.  But, #1 you don’t need all that saturated fat, #2 you don’t want me to starve #3  You can still be proud of me because my credit score is  good,  but that is sometimes a result of making hard decisions… like keeping your Christmas present for myself…

You know, when I first started law school I was like “aw yeah law school, I love law school, school is awesome I am enriching my life by enriching my brain and to quote the Lego Movie, everything is awesome!” And then, like three semesters in, all I can think about is how I really miss having a reasonably respectable salary. And how I still have a whole damn year and a half left of this lifestyle and cue perpetual “::sigh::.”

But for the record, law school is important for becoming a lawyer, sure, but it is also important insofar as obtaining life skills– if you choose to make it that, which I do. For instance, I am taking tax this semester. Last semester I took corporations. Now I know more than I ever did about how to best make, save, and use money to further my life goals. By the end of this semester I will know even more. BUT  None of this is helpful to me right now  because I DONT HAVE ANY OF IT.

Still, all I can hope for is that my broke is fleeting, and my knowledge is for life.

In short…sorry for eating your Christmas present, Dad.

I’ll make it up to you Christmas, 2016.


* I suck at gift wrapping, it was only painstaking because of the pain at stake from prospective paper cuts.

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On Weirdness


Its hard to find an image that can truly encompass what it means to be weird, but at least that one is entertaining.

Yesterday I went to Bosu Ball class at my gym. Today, I’m sore. They put you on this stability ball and make you jump around and almost twist your ankle a gazillion times, and then you can’t move the next day. The instructor for the class was this cute little blonde girl,  like 19 or 20, and I heard her say to this other girl after class that she really “loved Iggy.” For the splitest of seconds I thought she meant Iggy Pop, and for the splitest of seconds I was really, really pleasantly surprised. I forgot there was a top-40 pop singer out now named Iggy too. I guess it was because I read this book over the summer about the punk scene in the 70s and 80s so the Stooges have more top-of-mind awareness for me.

How totally fucking cool would it have been if this cute, little blond girl who is probably in a sorority and does squats like its nobody’s business also loved Iggy Pop?  I don’t even like The Stooges that much, I just really love it when people transcend the boxes I have a tendency to put them in.

Unfortunately, she didn’t.

I have hipster boxes, manic pixie dream girl/guy boxes,  dumb dude/dudettebro boxes,  smart dude/dudettebro boxes, nerd boxes, punk boxes, transient loser boxes, etc, and rarely does anyone ever surprise me anymore. A lot of the people in these boxes will self-identify as weird. However, most of these people have all the same interest and hobbies you would expect from someone in their respective box, which is not weird. Like, if you’re in a manic pixie dream girl box and you love cat picture books, ceramic figurines and indie rock you’re not fucking weird, you’re predictable. If you wear doc martens when it’s 100 degrees out and collect vintage records, you’re also predictable.

The Point Is: People tend to adopt the style and hobbies/activities of the (counter) culture they want to be associated with. That is not weird. In my experience, the people that are truly, organically weird you might box in as a standard nerd or a dude/dudette bro. You’d never be able to pick them out in a crowd. And they definitely don’t fit in any counter culture box, mainly because those boxes are all about the need to “belong.”  True weird is not about belonging at all, or making a statement, or being perceived in a certain way. True weird has no agenda.

For instance, hands down the weirdest person I’ve ever met is my best friend MattyV. He; obsessively follows entertainment award shows, fantasy football, and Disney World, is startlingly devoid of shame, screeches the hell out of Janis Joplin at Karaoke, and he goes to protests even when he doesn’t know what people are protesting because he likes big groups of people and solidarity.  That description does no justice to the true extent of his weirdness, but the best thing about it is you would never guess by looking at him. His weirdness is organic, hence it doesn’t need to be broadcasted.

Meanwhile manufactured weirdness exists solely to be broadcasted, and is generally not weird at all. Like Bronies. Do you think that all of these dudes discovered a tremendous passion for My Little Pony independently, unaffected by outside influence?  That would be organically weird. However, I’m willing to bet they wanted to be passionate about something, wanted to feel like a part of something, and someone they looked up to was passionate about My Little Pony. Hence, they are now full-blown Bronie, too. To me, thats how counter-culture works. Is that narrow? Bronies aren’t weird, they’re just followers who needed to fill their time, and, I guess, don’t like sports.

No But The Real Point Is: I don’t think that what most people associate as “weird,” is really that weird. What really makes someone weird is that they don’t fit into any box, cliche, or stereotype. But because society is so concerned about fitting in and not standing out, most people are content to find the box they like best and live in it. This is why people are so dull.

Also, I am a misanthrope.



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How to win friends and influence people with cocktails


That is such a baiting headline I’m kind of ashamed of myself but moving on…

We live in the age of Facebook Image Crafting, and because of it people seem to think that the best way to earn respect and admiration is to be perfect. Hence, they plaster their social media feeds with filtered images of their perfect relationships, perfect kids, perfect dinners, perfect pinterest crafting projects, etc.

And dude–I’m all about boosting my self-esteem via social media, so I get it. I mean, who really wants to cop to how fucked up and flummoxing life is? Not I, said the millennial.

But when it comes to earning admiration and respect, you’re doing it wrong. Perfection does not garner admiration, it garners jealousy…which, technically, is admiration but with an added pinch of disdain.

Haters be jealous, but if you want admirers you need to have sparing chinks in your otherwise pristine armor. And you need to draw sparing attention to them, too.

Anyways, I’m writing on this subject because basically I’m just really pissed that people still seem to hate Anne Hathaway. She’s a perfectly acceptable actress, she’s aesthetically pleasing to look at, and she is poised and articulate. And, unfortunately,  just a little too put together to be perceived as “real”.

Anne Hathaway is that frenemy you follow on instagram who is thinner and richer (translation: better) than you, and you really fucking hate her because you want to be thinner and richer too.

You are jealous of Anne Hathaway. You can not relate to Anne Hathaway.

Jennifer Lawrence is that friend you follow on instagram who is thinner and richer but curses regularly, drinks beer and falls on her ass.

You admire Jennifer Lawrence. You are just so sure that you and Jennifer Lawrence would totally be besties if you met.







The irony is that I’m almost certain that Jennifer Lawrence’s persona is more “crafted” than Anne’s. Honestly, I think they’re both pretty chill people with half a brain. The only difference is maybe that Jennifer is more comfortable broadcasting vulnerability in the form of embarrassing herself and seeming a little crass. That’s really all…but  that is also precisely why proper Facebook image crafting requires a willingness to be perfect-ish, and then post a picture of a big coffee or spaghetti stain on your shirt because you spilled. This is the social media version of the “Celebrities! They’re just like us!” column in the tabloids.

I’ve simplified this further with a cocktail recipe below.


An adoring public cocktail:

3.5  parts elegance

1 part total mess.

Serve slightly inaccessible and chilled but, by no means, frigid.

Feel free to substitute soda for elegance and whiskey for total mess. It’s actually quite metaphorical.

Also, this ratio skewers slightly the higher-brow your public function is. Actresses, for instance, are different than first ladies and diplomats, who should probably max out at .5 part total mess. Still, the money’s in the mess, as long as it’s proportionate.

If you have too much mess people will laugh at you (Tara Reid or that friend you have that posts something like this :”That’s it I’m so over it.”).

And…y’know be thankful either way for, like, the gift of life. Whether you’re more high-flying hated like Anne or adored like Jlaw at least you’re not fucking ridiculous like Kristin Stewart.







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Fig 1. Bad law

Fig 2. Bad ad

Last summer when I announced my decision to go on sabbatical from the real world in order to become a full-time law student it was met with understandable side eye. My close friends had known that it was an idea I had been incubating until the right time, but others were pretty stupefied. I had a fairly cushy, work from home if I wanted to,  position, and my clients were pretty cool, which almost never happens. Advertising is not the most lucrative position, but after years of scraping, I was freelancing on the side and was pretty financially comfortable going out most nights of the week.

Law school was such a seemingly unrelated, expensive, potentially useless career move that to some it made little sense. I mean, I was/am starting all over from square one. (Case in point: at the moment I am applying for unpaid internships. I am 30 years old).

Now it’s been a while since I’ve seen square one but its not a bad little place to hang out every once in a while. It tends to bring out the opportunistic idealist in all of us. (Case in point: I am applying for unpaid internships and am not totally hostile at the fact that they are unpaid because of the experience I stand to gain).

However, the further I get into my studies and understanding of the legal profession, the further I am realizing that advertising and law are kind of exactly, 100%, the same, except not. The language is different but the struggles are parallel.

Here is why*:

1. Advertising is primarily a client service industry.

If you don’t make clients happy, you don’t stay employed. In law, if you can’t make your clients happy, you won’t stay employed, either.

2. The billable hours are just as vast.

Christ if I could tell you the hours I used to work when I was a young, upstart account executive. Evenings, weekends, I occasionally even got up super early to get to the office and that is something I am pretty much abhorrently against.

Similarly, from my understanding, once you work at a big corporate law firm you are almost never heard from again.

3. The “work hard, play hard” mentality is thankfully also vast.

Of the people I know that can out drink my advertising friends, most of them are lawyers or lawyers-in-training. Thats a damn tall order too because you should see my advertising friends.

Additionally, never have I attended so many school-oriented functions that were centered around happy hour.

4. You work yourself to death for years to ultimately either make partner or go in-house.


5.  You speak in Greek.

This is a relatively inconsequential similarity, but often times advertising agencies will present concepts for mail pieces or artwork in which the copy is “greeked” in. This tactic is utilized to show the general layout, even if all the information needed to create the copy is not yet known.


Therefore, advertising clients are often actually reading Greek, whereas legal clients just think they are.

Har har har.

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The Carrie Stardust guide to managing your rockstar lifestyle like a responsible adult

By Carrie Stardust

We have a saying in my band. We’re ‘good at life’; meaning that we’re all perfectly functioning adults.

We just really like making music, playing music, talking about music and making fun of each other. We also all have jobs. So it’s kind of a perfect combination of optimum band dynamics.

People are sometimes shocked when we show up to gigs 15 minutes early, ready to go. And then calmly and efficiently pack up all our gear at the end of the set and load the hell out.

HOWEVER. Don’t you think for a minute that this means that I am not a true fucking rockstar.

I go out pretty much every night, with a wide array of musicians, eccentrics and other creative personalities, I don’t have cable, and I can’t remember what day it is most of the time.  Also, notably, I play keyboards and sing in a rock band.

So regardless of what your definition of a rockstar life style is, that’s mine, and I’m living it.

But… health is of the essence…I’m going to be 30 (AHHHHHHHHHHH) in a few months and I don’t plan to spend it looking like Lindsay Lohan. Plus, I need to continue to be accountable, pay my bills on time, and go to the dentist regularly.

So I’ve managed to find a few ways to maximize fun, funds and general well-being, amidst my  life tendency to be broke, hungover and sleep deprived.

Here are those ways:


I’m not super picky about what I’m drinking. You shouldn’t be either.

Lately my go-to has been the City Wide Special which includes a shot of whiskey and a PBR for $3.

That’s 2 drinks for the price of one, people! far as efficiency is concerned– shots of whiskey will get the job done.


For each cigarette I smoke at night, I eat one serving of produce the following day.

I really don’t eat junk. Like ever. My “empty calories” are saved for alcohol. I try to make everything else that goes into my mouth  insanely nutritious and full of vitamins and minerals.  I don’t know if there’s any scientific evidence that this approach curbs the harmful effects of cigarettes and alcohol but it certainly can’t hurt.

Plus, did you know that people that eat the most fruits & vegetables have the best skin?


I swear by Coconut Water & Emergen-C as the ultimate hangover cure. Coconut water is super expensive, which sucks, so I only get it maybe once or twice every two weeks, but I get the Rite-Aid brand of Emergen-C and drink one of those packets in water every day.

In fact, occasionally I’ll order vodka & water at a bar and then add a packet of Emergen-C to it–this goes back to my checks & balances system.

It hydrates while it intoxicates!


Stay away from them. Not only do they make you look & feel like shit, but they’re mad expensive. I hate to sound like Sally Guidance Counselor and obviously I don’t judge, but mehhh…they’re certainly not conducive to my rockstar lifestyle.


Particularly the produce food trucks. You can get a ginormo bag of grapes, pineapple, melon, berries PLUS a whole banana for $3! Thats 2-3 days worth of breakfasts to me, and something similar at Superfresh would be like seven bucks.

Also, egg & cheese sandwiches are like $2.50 and they’re like 9″ long. More than enough for 2 meals.


I have really expensive anti-aging moisturizer and eye cream. Everything else I get from CVS. So far no one has noticed and I don’t have any wrinkles. I’m fine with this arrangement.


Ok so I don’t floss ALL the time but I know I should and I certainly try to.


Having just come back from a band tour, I can’t stress this enough. Ear plugs serve a dual purpose.  Not only do they protect your ears from really loud, shitty bands in rock clubs, but they also protect your ability to sleep in trying circumstances. Getting enough hours of sleep isn’t the only concern, the quality of sleep can make all the difference, and you never know where you might have to crash.

Ear plugs will keep you from waking up 17 times in 4 hours because your boyfriend won’t stop snoring, or because there’s feral cats outside of your hotel room, or your next door neighbor really likes buzzsawing at 7AM.

All of these things have happened to me, PS.


Well, duh. Not only is coffee the ultimate energy-jolter, it also has mucho antioxidants. In fact, its the #1 source of antioxidants for the majority of the American population.

Occasionally I will grab a Red Bull or something but I try to go natural when I can.


The next time someone invites you out. Even if you’re exhausted, even if you haven’t showered, even if it’s midnight and you just got done unpacking all of your stuff (all of this has also happened to me), GO!

You never know who you might meet!  Your next  Foo Fighters night* could be just over the horizon!

If you have one drink and are still not feeling it. Go home. You have my blessing.

So there you have it…

Hey that’s 10 ways… Exactly..

Ehhh..that’s almost too well-packaged to be rockstar…I need to add another tip….



So lame.

So, so, so lame.


Andddddddddddd I’m off!



*Those spontaneous, incredible nights that remind you that you’re both mortal and still young. They also make you want to sing that song.





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Why I Don’t Lent


Occasionally I write on subject matter that could be construed as blasphemous. If that is not your speed then please stop reading here. Actually no, first hear me out; From a religious standpoint, if God did not want us to question things he wouldn’t have given us the ability to reason. Go ahead and marinade on that for a minute. Now you can stop reading.

Anyways, yesterday my best good friend Miz asked me what I was giving up for Lent.  It was only 25% serious as Miz knows I don’t celebrate Lent, but I told him my thoughts on it anyway:  I don’t believe in sacrifice for sacrifice’s sake. Giving something up purely  to experience suffering goes against my philosophy of making the most of the one life you have. And unless participating in Lent conditions you to be better prepared when you have to actually sacrifice with good reason–say in a fight for survival–(which it doesn’t) it’s absolutely pointless.

Miz’s eyes had completely glazed over by this point, but I’ve never been deterred by this.

I continued; While I don’t believe in superfluous suffering I do believe in overcoming fear. And that overcoming fear begets progress. Meaning that if giving up a reliance on something scares you, it’s probably good for your psyche and long-term mental health to feel like you’re accomplishing something and be proud of yourself.

But by that logic, you’re not suffering at all (which is moreorless the point of Lent, yes?) you’re actually benefitting by gaining more self-worth!

I was now talking only to the wall in the general direction where Miz had been standing previously, but I continued…unrelenting….

AND FURTHERMORE— for the sake of this argument lets say that Jesus Christ died in agony on the cross for all of our past, present and future sins thereby absolving us from similar fates. He suffered, explicitly, so that we do not have to, and isn’t it a big, fat, slap in the face  to not make the most of that?

That’s like me volunteering to go out of my way to get coffee for my entire office, and having a select few co-workers go out and get coffee for themselves at the same damn time–a waste of time and resources, not to mention insulting.

I told you I would borderline on blasphemous.  I can only imagine your reactions to me comparing the passion of the Christ to getting Starbucks, but it’s the only befitting analogy I can think of right now.

Regardless, this is why I don’t do Lent, man

And also, I am presbyterian.




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