A MAJOR Announcement (Not a Baby)

I’m not good at many things that I like: I can load a dishwasher like a freaking ninja savant, but I wouldn’t want to build a life around that particular talent. At the same time there are many things that I like but am not particularly good at: upon hearing my highway rendition of Paradise by the Dashboard Light you’d understand that I like singing, but am not good at it; you’d also see that I’m good enough at remembering lyrics to sing both sides of a conversational duet with feeling, but thus far no one has offered me a job with benefits based on my singing while driving (SWD) proclivities.

The only thing that I like and have some proficiency in is writing.* It’s always been writing. I’ve loved writing for as long as I’ve known how to do it. I kept diaries and wrote stories. Every trip I’ve ever taken has its corresponding travel journal. I kept my writing to myself, never taking the risk of putting it out there, fearing I’d find out that I wasn’t actually very good at it after all. To that end I kept it as a hobby, never a career.

*Any awkward sentence structures, fragments, or gratuitous use of the passive voice is done totally on purpose. Totally. Misspellings too. To keep you on your toes.

Even after all this time as a blogger, I can’t say “I’m a writer” without feeling somewhat fraudulent. After all, what have I really written? Isn’t this whole blog just a glorified journal? I mean, I’m not published or anything. Right?


For as long as I can remember my dream has been: to be a published author. To see my name on a book. A BOOK!

Well, people, I am officially announcing that I am in a book. A BOOK! I.AM.IN.A.BOOK. Iaminabook. A BOOK! (Sorry, about that. I keep shouting “A BOOK!” in real life too.)

"You Have Lipstick on Your Teeth" and Other Things You'll Only Hear from Your Friends In The Powder Room

I am one of several contributors to You Have Lipstick on Your Teeth. My co-authors are talented, hilarious, and accomplished writers; I would say that I’m humbled to be among them, but I’ve been too busy being psyched to notice how humble I am. (Seriously though, a huge thank you to Leslie and all the editors at In the Powder Room for including me!)

You Have Lipstick on Your Teeth is so crazy-full of funny that it should come with the following warning: Do not attempt to drink any beverages while reading this book – you will snarf. If you’ve birthed children, please consider adding some Depends to your Amazon order. 

I promise you’ll laugh your ass off.

So, what are you waiting for? Click here to buy the book at Amazon. Or here. Or here.


Sense of Humor: I sure hope my kids get one

Being funny is a major component of my personality. Without humor, I’d just be a bitch. And what’s worse than a humorless bitch? (Not much.) My husband is funny too. He cracks me up on a daily basis. Sure, 90% of the time everyone else in the room just looks at him bewildered, but I always get his jokes. (He’s foreign. Foreign people are weird.*)

*I’m allowed to say this because in some countries I’m foreign too.

My kids are still working on becoming funny. At least I hope they’re working on it and that where they are now on the funny spectrum is not where they’ll remain. Sally doesn’t think anything that’s actually funny is funny. But the girl can laugh for hours if you keep insisting that her name is Pickle. Luke is coming along nicely. He knows he’s supposed to find certain things funny, so even if he doesn’t get it he laughs like a crazy person.

The jokes that both tell leave much to be desired. Sally: “I know a funny joke: monkey!” At this she laughs and laughs and then goes on to repeat her joke 7856 times. (She takes after her father.) Luke is closer: “Why did the chicken cross the road? To get to the other SLIDE. Get it? The other SLIDE, not SIDE but SLIDE. Get it? Isn’t it funny?” I suggested once that maybe the chicken was crossing a playground and not a road and he told me that I just don’t get good jokes.

I’m In the Powder Room today talking about how my kids’ “sense of humor” made me look bad this Halloween.

Click the badge to read my post at In the Powder Room.

I don’t hate you, just don’t talk to me anymore

I’ve been called a misanthrope and I suppose it’s true. I don’t hate all of humanity, I just don’t want to talk to most of it. Wouldn’t life be simpler if everyone wore personality name tags? Mine might say:

You’d know from a mile away if you’d want to talk to me or not. And if yours read:

I’d know to steer clear of you at a party. It’s win-win!

I should write more posts about my generally objectionable ideas.