Funny chick. Loudmouth writer. Changer of the World. Wife. Dog mom. Obvious abuser of punctuation. Author of “If You Were An Alien Would You Want To Live Here: an Alien Hypothesis.”
45 and Fat…and Feeling Good
Birds flying high You know how I feel Sun in the sky You know how I feel Breeze driftin’ on by You know how I feel It’s a new dawn
Don’t Eat Peter’s Tomatoes
He walked in looking like George Clooney and smelling like George Costanza. He was a smorgas-George. She closed her eyes and gripped the stem of her wine glass. Then again, she was a total Betty. Bettie Page, Betty White and Betty Rubble but maybe Georgie-boy liked older women. She was certainly about to find out.
Disney Mornings Playlist
Do you have a secret desire to be a mermaid? Do you like to hold up your pet(s) and pretend they’re a cub destined for greatness?
Dearest, How does one start a letter like this? With an apology? No. I’m fairly certain that isn’t what I’m supposed to do. Maybe, in fact, the opposite. Maybe, that’s been the real trouble all along. Taking responsibility for something that wasn’t my doing. And maybe when we spend our energy blaming ourselves for things that weren’t our fault, we miss taking the blame for the things that are.
I Just Want To Be Okay
“I’m fine.” This is my mantra. It’s become almost a joke between my husband and I. The louder I say it, the less likely it’s true. The fact of the matter is, I just want to be okay.
She stared at the envelope, her eyes going in and out of focus. She knew what was inside; knew what the letter said. She’d seen them before. Saw her own, saw her husband’s, both of which were locked up safe here at home. It had been suggested they keep them in a safe deposit box at the bank but that was simply laughable.