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Go Fund Yaself!!!

10 Sep

Hey guys,

It’s been awhile. I know. I’ve been waiting around for a little inspiration. And I found it this month after seeing 3 people on my Facebook newsfeed post links to Go Fund Me accounts. Wondering if something was wrong, as what is usually the case with a donation website link -whether it be an illness, financial assistance with funeral costs for a family member, or natural disasters affecting ones home- I was worried that my acquaintances had been affected by some sort of tragic event.

When the clickage of the link brought me to the page, I was stunned. All three times.

What I read was paragraphs of complete bullshit by totally healthy, able-bodied individuals, requesting the monetary aid of family and friends and acquaintances like myself for help with the following:

  • Higher education school loans.
  • Caribbean vacations.
  • Rent needed to move to a new residence for no good particular reason.
  • Gas money for travel.
  • Automobile violation fees.
  • Higher education loans from someone who did not qualify for financial aid (think about what this means).
  • “Every day expenses” (this translates to booze money in my book).
  • Tits. No joke, I saw a Go Fund Me for a boob job.

Look, I would love to quit my life here, move to California on a whim, and crash Leo’s yacht, whether he’s in shape or out of shape. But guess what? I’m not going to beg anyone via the internet because I want my pipe dreams to come true without being prepared to make them happen MYSELF. Because if you are going as far as to create your own donation page FOR YOURSELF, and write a couple paragraphs explaining why YOU are deserving of charity for loans or rent or superficial shit because you worked hard like you should probably be doing, then you are obviously not fiscally prepared to follow your dreams and should probably go back a couple of steps.



What’s harsh is this: envision yourself in front of every single one of your Facebook friends, with a straight face, and a small, squirrely looking man playing a small (the world’s smallest) violin behind you. Now force a single tear to stream down your stupid face, as you explain your problems to whoever the fuck it is you are talking to (probably some chick or dude whose locker was next to yours in high school). Tell them that life has been hard since you started pursuing your liberal arts degree. You have to live at home. You can’t work full time because you have night school twice a week, so you need money to pay off that Easy Pass ticket without affecting your bar tab. Or tell them about how you can’t defer your students loans for your MBA any longer because you’ve been out of school for two years. Or that gas money COSTS MONEY, thus making traveling not as convenient as you would like it to be. Make sure you let them know how it’s going to suck balls to pay a monthly bill for something YOU CHOSE TO DO, that comes free in some other shittier country. MAKE THEM FEEL THE STRUGGLE.

Because the struggle, my friend, is real.

Okay, now all sarcasm aside, I am not trying to pick on anyone here. I just would pray to Tupac that if I ever totally lost my fucking mind and started a donation page for myself, that one of my friends would pull me aside, look into my beautiful blue eyes, compliment them, and then slap me clean across my dome. I’d hope that I would then WAKE UP and realize that although donation pages are a great thing, that they help people out who REALLY NEED IT, they are NOT for people who WANT. At the risk of sounding like an uber-Republican grandfather after a nice pork dinner: the sense of entitlement is unreal. No one, not family members, not friends, owes it to you to help you pay a parking ticket YOU acquired. Or for some silicone. I mean, it’s charming to joke about being poor, I do it all the time. Just today I opted for Dunks over Starbucks (FUNNY RIGHT?! But only because it had a drive-thru, not because I’m poor!!! Don’t laugh at me!!!). But to stand atop Mount Washington with tattered pants, and a can of Spam? That’s pretty much the same thing as creating a Go Fund Me for yourself. If that makes sense?

Jeez, there’s always gotta be someone who ruins a really good thing, huh?

(PS: Do you think it’s considered “tragic” to drop 2 iPhone’s in less than 1 week? Because I did that. Shattered TWO screens. The first time I did it, someone laughed at me in the Marshall’s parking lot (MARSHALL’S…ANOTHER POOR JOKE! FUNNY RIGHT?!). So not only did I lose a perfectly good Apple product, but I also got bullied. Go Fund me, right now!)

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Because Molly Said GO!: Birch Street Bistro

4 Aug


A few things I look for in a restaurant: delicious steak, (several) good drinks, a good vibe and an aesthetically pleasing atmosphere, and finally: good music. I found all of these things at Birch Street Bistro in Roslindale Village. So much so that I went twice in one week (#fat). The first time I went to Birch Street was for a bachelorette dinner. We sat out in the adorable courtyard, think white lights, flowers, ivy, and brick. Perfect girl’s night setting with a menu full of girly drinks, like the mouth-watering Watermelon Sangria. I was told by one of the girls I was with that the roasted chicken falls right off the bone, so I took her recommendation and ordered the chicken. I did not regret that decision. So good! We decided to split the bread pudding for dessert. I was full from eating an entire chicken, but had to give it one bite: heaven!

The second time I went to Birch Street was last Thursday for date night with my husband. I requested that we wait for a table outside because it’s too pretty to ignore when the weather is just right. We got a drink at the bar and before we finished them our table was ready. Thursdays, I was told, are live music nights, so I was pretty excited about that. There was a DJ playing reggae music while the band set up, which was cool.

We started with an order of calamari, which I had to stop myself from finishing after 4 bites, to save room for the entree. Ryan always hopes that I will order whatever meal he doesn’t order but was torn between, so that he can pick off my plate. He also almost always orders a filet mignon, and unfortunately for him I had already tried the chicken, so we both got the filet. While we waited for our food, we relaxed by listening to the live saxophone player and his band. Good vibes all around. When our food came out, it looked too pretty to even eat. The steak had a little bit of red wine reduction dripping from it, and was served with roasted potatoes and spinach. The steak was separated in the middle by some gorgonzola cheese, giving it a more unique taste than your standard filet. Ryan always says that when you need A1 or any kind of sauce with a steak, that it’s not a good steak. Well this steak did NOT need any extra sauces. It stood on it’s own, and we both agreed it may be the best steak we have ever tasted. Cooked just right for both of us (he prefers rare, while I opt for medium).

Whether you are looking for a girl’s night out, or a date night listening to some jazz, Birch Street Bistro is the perfect choice. Great food, drink, atmosphere, service, and music! Get going! Because I said GO!






Dedicated to the Basic Bitches All Across the World

31 Jul

I love basic bitches. I love basic bitches, because basic bitches are meeeee. And I should only love those which are me. (Reeeeeemixxxxxxx)

The concept of “the basic bitch” is so in right now. Like, “THAT bitch be BASIC!” Being dubbed a basic bitch means you’re a boring broad with no eye for the non-basic. What defines a basic bitch? Well, according to what I’ve seen on the world wide web, a basic bitch is an average Jane who enjoys outlet shopping, pumpkin lattes and other seasonal coffees/beers, the dollar flip flop sale at Old Navy, desk jobs ranging from 40-80k annually, The Notebook/Ryan Gosling in general, Longchamp bags, instagram’ing bodies of water or sunsets, popular clothing worn for comfort, Pinkberry, TGI Fridays, hash tagging “love my life”/other things about life being pleasant, joining Planet Fitness, sock buns, discussing crockpot recipes,  Toms, going to school for business/teaching/nursing. Basically the basic bitch is someone who likes what a lot of other basic bitches like and do what other basic bitches do. Well you know, I have some coming out to do because I’m a a bit of a basic bitch myself.

Bitches all over the world like to think of themselves as “not boring”, and herein lies the problem with the basic bitch. No one wants to be boring. But let me ask you bitches this: What is wrong with enjoying flavors of Fall, comfortable clothing, a good monthly bargain on a gym, some froyo topped with coconut and granola, or bragging that you’re sitting by the sea, and going to school for something in demand? As for Old Navy flip flops, they are the perfect amount of flip, with a good amount of flop and I can dig that. I can match my $1 footwear to my flag tank on the 4th of July, throw on a red white and blue bandana, and people will consider me “festive”. What’s so wrong with being festive/4th of July’sy?

I’d like to give all the bitches who don’t consider themselves basic out there a little wake up call: you’re as basic as the rest of us. Because the number one sign of a basic bitch is calling other bitches a “basic bitch”. Bragging about being non-boring is more boring than a sober game of Scrabble on a rainy day. Real non-basic bitches don’t concern themselves with matters of the basic. All these women namecalling basic bitches need to realize that the most boring thing in the world is not admitting to being the slightest bit boring. You think people find you fascinating because you are “artsy” (subjective), minored in Philosophy,  love your weird ass job, have never owned a pair of Uggs, made your own Toms out of hemp, only drink your coffee black imported from a 3rd world country, and only shop at Trader Joe’s? I’m pretty basic and I like Trader Joe’s, so what does that say?! Because let me remind you: basic or not, NO ONE GIVES A FUCK. Boring or interesting: people only care for so long.  Just be who you are and if other people like the same shit, stop getting exasperated and pretending not to like it anymore. Everyone is a little bit weird, and that makes us all a little bit similar, thus you’re basic unless you’re Angelina Jolie. And that about sums it up.




Vitamins and Tour Trolleys

31 Jul

Every once in awhile, annually before getting married, I go on a week long health kick. Cut the booze out. Cut the guacamole y Tostitos out. Cut the self loathing on the couch while I watch Dance Moms. JK, I love Dance Moms, and myself! But I do go on health kicks maybe once every 6 months for (short) periods of time. And I try to take vitamins. Because vitamins are healthy and good for your organs (liver, I hope). Last Summer I was on a “don’t forget your vitamins EVERY DAY or you’ll fucking DIE” thing. Mainly because Sally Field osteoporosis commercials scared the SHIT out of me for many years. Like, what if I’m just walking and break my clavicle? Hell no. I also am partial to ignoring pill bottle directions. Just for vitamins and natural supplements, NOT for hardcore drugs, don’t worry, I’m no fool!

ANYWAYS, last Summer was on a vita-crack binge and thought it was bologna that you had to eat before you take one measly vitamin. So the first day of my binge, I ignored it. It was a Saturday and I was headed out to day drink at a family cookout with Ryan. Ate a couple raspberries from the fridge then popped a Women’s vitamin (because I’m a woman. So weird, here I was thinking I’m 17), and headed out the door into the glorious sun. Well, I made it to the steps outside of my apartment before starting to feel something …weird. Almost like…nausea. But that would be impossible, I thought to myself, I was sober last night! I walk 5-10 more feet, slowly. I notice a group of tourists standing across the street in front of the Adams Mansion, awaiting the next trolley for their tour around Quincy. Ryan, who is walking in front of me, notices I’ve stalled. I get to the middle of the street. And boom, start puking. Ryan looks at me in horror. I am throwing up red raspberries (AKA “BLOOD” to the asshole tourists across the street STARING at me) right in the middle of my street. Some old man shouts “Hey missy!!!! Are you alright!!!!”. NO I was NOT alright! Think you’re having a bad day checking out tombs in Quincy Center?! I’m over here puking up red shit in front of 15-20 strangers with fanny packs and good intentions!

Fuck you Sally Field. sally

Thank You For Reading My Bullshit

31 Jul

One boring week night in November 2011, I was chatting with my friend Jess about the time we got shitfaced and psychoanalyzed every single character on the Nickelodeon show “Doug”. I was all like “You know what? Random people on the internet need to know that Bebe Bluff’s shopping addiction was just her overcompensating for the lack of love her father showed her as a child. I think I’ll start a blog as a platform to explore these issues in Bluffington”. Then I did. And random people shared it. Then I wrote more blogs about the city I grew up in. And it wasn’t a very flattering portrayal, but still, people shared it. And I came up with some lame name for the blog with my friend Mike while we chatted on Facebook the same night I wrote the first blog (I named it via a Facebook message. Because it was important to me). And I’d have picked something a little less lame if I’d have known even one person would share anything I wrote. Coulda shoulda woulda. AmIRite? Hundreds of blogs and bottles of cheap Pino later (my taste has changed from Grigio to Noir in the last 2 1/2 years. I feel we’ve evolved together, you guys), I got pretty excited to reach 2,800 “likes” on Facebook. Which leads me on a tangent: how sad is it to base anything around “likes” on social media? But…fuck it! (Haha, “but fuck it”, get it?!). 2,800 seemed pretty cool to me. It’s a little more than twice as much as my last car repair order! In 2 years I’ve gotten yelled at (a lot), threatened with a few baseless lawsuits, and had a few strange (yet funny) moments at bars. But it was worth it, and worth meeting anyone I have met through BCMSS. So, THANK YOU for being one of those randoms to read me, share me, like me. You are my e-friend forever.


Passing Notes

24 Jul

Remember life before texting? Me neither. But I did find a box of old notes from middle school through high school at my parents’ house the other night! I’m that sappy psycho who likes to look at this kind of shit years later and reminisce (I’ve done this maybe twice with these notes so they are mostly just taking up room). The sad thing is, kids these days don’t know what they are missing: not paying attention to equations for 45 minutes so that we could write to our girlfriends about crushes,  tests we failed, Christmas presents, Justin Timberlake, what we were being for halloween (school girl Britney Spears and Salvation Army models), and what we bought at Limited Too. My plan was to write a cutesy blog about the way we folded the paper and the lingo we used in our notes (“w/b/s!” “n/m/g/o/h” “s/o/s/h” “LYLAS!” “F/U/2/C/ONLY!”…the usual). But once I got to my second note from friends dating back to 1999, I felt less nostalgic and more like I was the spawn of fucking satan! Like, my friends and I were BAD!

It all starts off innocently enough. Just some “I love this boy. You love that boy”, coming up with adorably lame nicknames for crushes like “monkey” and “hippo” (wicked cute?), “love” letters from first boyfriend, St. Ann’s dances, 3 way call planning (“attack” rather)….take a look:

(click on pictures to enlarge)

note1 note2note3pic4who

But as 7th grade progressed, we started to become assholes from hell. Shoplifting/chewing and screwing at Friendly’s on half day Tuesday/conning our parents into giving us money was the new thing. We also enjoyed being dramatic and passive aggressive in our “PS’s”



As I got further in the notes, high school started and I began to notice a creepy trend in switching boyfriends.


Then…waiting at the T for booze at 2 in the afternoon? Indoor suspension?!?!?!!?! PASSES TO THE LAVATORY DURING HUTCH’S ALGEBRA 1 LESSON?!?!?!?! (that’s NQHS vintage right there!)


Boys we liked writing us letters from juvie!!!!


So what I thought would be a fun look back in my history, has led me on a tangent to say I’M SORRY MOM!!!!! I wonder if kids who text/sext run into these issues?



Local Love…

23 Jul

Some local love…new rings from GypsySoulRings go fabulously with my Tiffany Jazelle stack.

Get the look: “The Traveler” feather ring or “Karma Rings” – http://www.gypsysoulrings.com

“Onyx With Lucky Elephant” or “Amethyst With Starfish” bracelet – http://www.tiffany-jazelle.myshopify.com




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