Right before I left for Cape Cod, a girl at my local coffee shop said, “I bet everyone is super laid back there.” I couldn’t help laughing. Growing up in Massachusetts and moving to New York City right after school, I first encountered a laidback person when I visited California at the end of my twenties. “Ooooh,” I remember thinking as I struggled valiantly not to interrupt the slow-talkers and slam into the slow-walkers. “This is laid-back.”
The truth is that native Massholes are impatient, skeptical people who loathe airs and whose only form of pretentiousness is an avowed hatred of pretentiousness. Regardless of their ethnicity, religion, or sexuality, almost everyone in this state dresses terribly, drives even worse, and prides themselves on their frugality and inability to suffer fools. I find it all totally endearing, especially because, since nobody shines you on, the friendships you form are life-long and right as rain.
But the people are hardly laidback. Continue Reading →
I can tell my grand love affair with this natural brown-grey hair color is over, oooover, we-need-a-new-word-for-over* because yesterday at the beach I caught myself squeezing lemon after lemon on my hair to “lighten it just the tiniest bit.” Bring in the big-gun chemical blonde STAT, please; I’m over looking like the earnest, granola-baking, leftist bumpersticker-sporting Cambridge mothers of my 1970s childhood. (Hey, I warned you re: shallow.)
*yep, to make matters worse, I am quoting Sex and the City Season 3 here.