Megan’s beloved hermit crab died the other week. She sobbed and sobbed over Isabella (whom Benjamin always delightfully referred to as “Mrs. Bella”). She cried in my arms when we found her deceased crustacean companion, and then again when we buried the tiny, now-exposed crabby body in the front flower bed. Megan used Isabella’s rainbow…Read More
Well, peeps. Looks like I have some bad news for you all. Sorry. The Irishman? Done. Over. Finished. Sorry to disappoint. I know a lot of you liked hearing about him and the idea that I, a 40-year old single momma, could have a little true-life, fairytale romance. And it so started out that way.…Read More
Dear Irishman, This day last year, I did not know you. I did not know that the very next day you would ask to meet me. I did not know that I would try very hard not to like you or that you would be so persistent in showing me how wonderful you are. I…Read More
Allow me to sound like a fussy, pretentious asshole for a moment, won’t you? I feel self-important and persnickety saying that I’m an artist. But I am a writer. Yes, writing is an art. I know this. I also know that I’m not writing the great American novel here on the old bloggity. But I’m sure…Read More
Did your lights dim for just sec on Friday night? Yeah? Sorry about that. That was just me entering a new decade. That’s right, darling bitches, I am 40. My daughter Megan LOVES to celebrate anyone and everyone’s birthday. A few days before my birthday I told her, “You know, I’m turning 40 this week. I…Read More
Last night the Irishman invited the kids and I to family night at his “secrety society” of Irishmen. Want to know what the raffle prizes are for a gathering of Irish people? First prize: Whiskey. Second prize: Whiskey. Third prize: Whiskey. There was no fourth prize. No kidding. I think I laughed for 20 minutes…Read More
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