I think I was cool once. . . okay, not really.

There's nothing like seeing really cool people to remind you that you're not cool. This didn't come as a big shock to me on my whirlwind vacation to LA, but more of a gradual 10 year revelation. Actually, I have four little daily reminders. One, and I'm not naming names, told me on my birthday this past week that he thought I was 44. I'm 33. Another one, again, no names, poured juice all over the floor because he really wanted milk. Another one corrects my spelling. You get the idea. I'm constantly being reminded that it's just not about me, and that I have special powers that only I can do. Like unloading the dishwasher.

Recently Topher and I went away to Maroon5's CD launch party in L.A. It was such an incredible trip, and such a fun, fun time. It was a nice, short break from reality into an entirely different world that I suspected existed, but had convinced myself was an illusion. If you want to read about how cool the party was, or the cool people I met, visit my guest blog at www.designmom.com.

We were treated by my brother to an incredible getaway. He was really so nice and generous, quite sincerely. We stayed in a nice hotel, rented a brand-new car (300 miles on it, GPS system, etc), were treated to an incredible dinner at the Palm, backstage passes to the Tonight Show and Ellen, and introduced all around at the launch party itself to friends and celebrities. James treated us like rock-stars.

We grew up in Nebraska, a family of five kids close in age. When I was home from my freshman year at college, little James was 14. He and his best friend, Shane begged me to take them to Omaha for the Firehose concert at the Ranch Bowl. I reluctantly agreed, not wanting my little brother to cramp my style. Wearing my Doc Martins and flannel, I thought I was pretty cool. To this day, it was one of the best concerts I've ever been to: small and intimate, incredible music, and Mike Watt actually talked to me and called me "sister." It was awesome, and it was very, very cool.

I also remember bringing boyfriends home who would talk music with my little brother, which I thought was so cute. I brought home the lead singer from the YardApes and James tripped over the rug, he was so excited to talk with him. One boyfriend lent him his guitar to practice with. Although I haven't spoken to him in a decade, they're still friends and he crashes at James' home. (Notice how I said "crashes" instead of "stays over"? Yeah, I still got it.)

So when I see how James lives, with assistants and stylists and fans and all of that, and he shows me around his incredible mid-century modern home, I expect a little attitude or a little, "see, you should have been happy to take me to see Firehose!" But instead, he is so, so sweet and happy to see me and asks all about the kids.

Now you know which long-haired guitar player is my brother. Do you see the family resemblance? Hey, we have the same hair--layers, highlights and all!

Now go buy the album!