I recently read an article about Ty Beanie Babies being worth far less than experts predicted. Do you remember how people flocked to stores to buy the latest release? True collectors protected their Beanie Babies in curio cabinets. Amateurs cut off the tag.

Fast forward a decade later and you have a worthless box of teddy bears. Fools. (Evil cackle) I had a better plan to get rich. I collected New Kids on the Block Memorabilia. Who the hell could have predicted that comeback? There was no way of knowing women, on the verge of “the change,” would buy albums and concert tickets in 2013.
So, according to the Ebay Gods, my vintage lunchbox is not even worth 20 bucks.


A few months ago I decided to clean out my collection. It has been stored in my Mom’s attic for well over a decade. I donated a t-shirt to Goodwill. So, if you see someone walking around town sporting a Hangin’ Tough t-shirt, you’re welcome. I gave my 3-year-old daughter the Joey Joe doll. That slut Barbie has already gotten her claws into him. I think she just wants his gold ring. I washed the beach towel and placed it in our linen closest. A few days ago, I decided it was time to put NKOTB to work. So, after a fun filled afternoon on the Slip n’ Slide (not to be confused with the Slip and Slide) I wrapped my 6-year-old in that invaluable towel. My son asked, “Who are those guys?” I told him, “New Kids on the Block.” He gave a blank stare. “They were a popular boy band when I was younger,” I explained.


My son was not impressed. He kept the towel on long enough for me to snap this photo before demanding a new one. I will never understand kids these days. Who wouldn’t want Jordan’s face on a beach towel? He has the right stuff. (Thank you, I will be here all night. Tip your waitresses.)

Hey girl, your tweet was favorited

My heart skipped a beat. Could it be? Ryan Gosling favorited one of my tweets? What did I write on Twitter that inspired him? Was it my tweet about a spork? Did he enjoy a tweet about my bickering children?


Snap out of it woman! Ryan Gosling doesn’t want to hear about potty training or your c-section scar. It wasn’t the real Ryan Gosling. It was the Ryan Gosling Fan Club. (The official club, not one of those poser clubs) I may be a lonely housewife pining for a celebrity who doesn’t know I exist, but I am not pathetic. I am not going to join a fan club at 37-years-old. I have only joined one fan club in my entire life and I got screwed. (Get your mind out of the gutter!) More than 20 years later, I am still waiting for my membership packet to the New Kids on the Block Fan Club. What’s up with that Joey Joe? I recently found a box in my parent’s attic that contained my NKOTB collection. It included a lunchbox, watch, t-shirt and doll. I gave the doll to my daughter. Princess Barbie wasted no time moving in on that hot piece of meat.


No, I don’t own a Ryan Gosling doll, too. They don’t make them.

The Hardest Thing

I am getting old. As if the cabinet full of anti-aging cream wasn’t proof enough, another boy band I grew up with is reuniting. 98 Degrees announced it will take the stage once again. They are no longer the young hot studs wearing white and singing on the beach. Now, they are fathers and husbands in their late 30’s. I chuckle at the idea of my husband and his friends doing a choreographed dance. The Insider did an entire piece about why the band decided to get back together. I can tell you it’s not because Nick Lachey writes inspiring lyrics. It’s because middle-aged women, on the verge of a hot flash, will buy tickets. I was actually a big fan of New Kids on the Block. I camped out at a local record store for concert tickets. What parent wouldn’t let their 15-year-old daughter sleep outside a place called “Vinyl Jungle?” Luckily, I wasn’t kidnapped and got to see Joey Joe’s baby blues up close. I’m not sure I would buy a ticket to see his age spots. Thankfully, my kids have no desire to go to a concert yet. They really aren’t old enough to idolize a band. Well, my younger kids enjoy The Fresh Beat Band, but I won’t be going to extreme measures to see actors sing about bananas.