We Are Unlikely To Be Friends If...

This cat is more potty-trained than we are or ever will be...

You don't think my kids are cute. Or at least pretend to.

You breastfeed your six-year-old son. In fact, not only would we not be friends I might try to have you arrested.

You are a prescription drug addict. This is not a moral judgement on you. This is a moral judgement on me. You are more ambitious, creative and have a lot more money than I do. I can't even manage to find a way to get my hands on a non-addictive pill that eliminates water weight while you are probably rocking out on vicodin or xanax or a lovely combination thereof. Plus my husband notices when I spend $75. Something tells me if thousands in cash mysteriously disappeared he'd catch on. Before I even had a chance to get a buzz or two.

You inform me either verbally or in written form that you "work hard and play hard." If you say that, chances are you do neither. Plus, you're a moron.

You don't understand the genius that is Barry Manilow.

You are sleeping with Daniel Craig.

You are married to Keith Urban.

Or Tom Cruise for that matter, but for very different reasons.

You, without irony, use use the term "vis a vis."

You forward to me more than two unfunny e-mails that you preface with a note which includes the acronym "LOL!!!!!"  If you write "LOL!!!!!!" I better in fact f***ing laugh out loud.

You do something on your iPhone more than three times during the course of dinner. Unless I am involved and dictating psychotic, threatening text messages to the guy who just dumped you.

You post unflattering photos of me on Facebook. (Note to Facebook friends: I find all photos of me unflattering.)

Four of us go out to lunch and you ask the waitress for four separate checks. The woman isn't a mathematician for the love of god. Plus, you're cheap.

You don't want to engage in discussions such as whether a boring person can in fact bore someone else to death. (I say yes, but unfortunately there is no conclusive test a coroner can conduct so we'll never know for sure.) Once I convince you that a person CAN be bored to death by another person, you're unwilling to discuss whether that person should be charged with first degree murder or a lesser charge.

So how are you peeps? (I should use the singular "peep" given one person -- my mother -- probably still reads this blog.) Happy New Year! I'd like to say I haven't posted in a month because I've been super productive and spent the time potty training and getting my THREE YEAR OLDS off the bottle but alas, no. We're still rolling with poop in our pants and bottles in our mouths. It's starting to get slightly embarrassing. Like when Lulu squatted in the middle of Little Gym class and screamed to me proudly from across the room, "I'm pooping Mommy! Did you bring the diaper bag!?" The thin, blonde bitchy nanny in there I can't stand (her charge hates her too) looked down at me smugly and I almost popped her one. But that would make me no better than Teresa Giudice. And everyone knows I am slightly better than Teresa Giudice.