I’m not gonna talk about pee sex. Just…in case that’s the only reason you’re here. It was a bait and switch, lemme be up front about that. BUT….if this were ten years ago…I totally would. Today, come wander with me. As a favor. Because today I miss my old blog. The first one, that I…
To my ears, these nice ladies had just chirped “Hey you know what the Sistine Chapel needs? Some tract lighting with pretty scarfs draped over the bulbs! Hey, has anyone ever petitioned Congress to update the Statue of Liberty’s outfit?”
Don’t call them “Rebs” and don’t call it The War of Northern Aggression even in fun. OR in sincerity because you’re contrarian by nature and you’ve read waayyyyy too much about the Right of Secession. They will go pale, look frustrated or guilty or…..guiltstrated…. and not be able to think of how to respond.…
By the end of Produce, my underpants had slid clear down my butt and hips. They came to a crumpled state of rest in the seat of my “joggers” (grey sweat pants with pineapples on them) and there they seemed content to stay. I tried, once, in the toilet paper, tampon and cold medicine aisle,…
I’m a New York Times Best-Selling author. It’s rather technical, the NYT divides its non-fiction into sub categories. I’m on the Fashion, Manners and Customs list. I’ve decided it counts and have began dressing appropriately for a person befitting my station (see left). The big list…just plain “Non-Fiction Hardbacks”….I think you have to be on…
I sounded like Daffy Duck and Sylvester the Cat had a baby and it was on meth.
The first thing I said to the first person to ever interview me on national (Canadian) radio regarding my book was in response to “How are you this morning?” “Certainly not so nervous that I’m gonna vomit! HAA!” My husband Gus calls these my “flipper baby” moments, in reference to a unfortunate bit of miscommunication…
Since I became aware of blogs, I’ve had one. Always anonymous because I had guck, and I wanted to be free to splatter that guck any way I wished to fling it. I can’t do that freely anymore. I’m real now, accountable for my whines and prejudices and selfishness. But just this once…I’m just gonna…
The relationship budding between me and my accountant bares similarities to that between my beloved Pam, and her own very talented accountant, Cyril. Let’s watch, shall we? Once again I sit in Mike the CPA’s office to talk about why I should have to pay taxes on the art and information I offer the…
My husband’s Uncle Shep is a doctor and surgeon and has probably saved more lives than most towns have people. Yet he believes home based technologies peaked around 1993, and his home, which he graciously opened to my family for our stay in Pennsylvania, reflects that belief. Specifically, he had no internet. No computer even. His…
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