Scarred for Life

I was in the privacy of my own home. The shades were drawn. It was the middle of the day.  There was no chance of getting caught.

Or so I thought.

In my haste, I overlooked one very important detail – locking the back door.

I don’t know who was more startled. And I’m not sure exactly how much The Boys witnessed before I realized they were standing there. It was a scene no teenager should ever have to see.

The spectacle they observed was so utterly horrifying, so completely embarrassing for all of us that there is not enough therapy available to wipe that look of disgust off their faces.

There I was in my ratty Louisville sweatshirt, mismatched Smart Wool socks and Mom Jeans.  And I was doing a Mid-Life Mom interpretation of Running Man all alone to a windowpane rattling volume of Party Rock Anthem.

I was totally busted – for bustin’ a move. [Read more…]

Yellowstone for Dummies


Many people who move to Bozeman soon make an unexpected discovery –  suddenly they have become extremely popular. Long lost friends come a callin’ hoping to hang out with you – in your Montana paradise. Without fail, my wannabe guests always have two questions. First: Can we stay with you?  Second: Will you take us to Yellowstone?

Without question, my besties can show up at my door, unannounced, at any time, day or night, and stay for as long as they want. I will feed them, share my wine, and do their laundry. However, the same is not true for mere acquaintances.  But once I was living in Big Sky Country, it seemed I was now required by law to roll out the red carpet, be the AirBnB host, executive chef, and perky tour guide for every cousin twice-removed, anyone who signed my high school yearbook, or any human who ever appeared in my contacts.

Although I imagined emailing a Travelocity link for flights, hotels, and rental cars – It’s cheaper when you book together! – inevitably I caved in to the pressure to avoid being known that total schmuck who lives in Montana. “Of course,” I’d say, sometimes while popping my molars like bubble wrap.

Really, I always wanted to be Julie, the Love Boat Cruise Director. [Read more…]

Worrying About Worrying

ear worm

A missed call only minutes ago and now he won’t answer me? Ring. Where could he have gone? Ring. Ring.  And why doesn’t he have his phone? Ring.  He ALWAYS has his phone.  Ring. No voicemail? Ring. For crying out loud! Ring. Ring.  Why isn’t he answering me?  Ring. Ring. ANSWER. ME. Ring. Ring. Maybe he’s hurt. Ring.  What if he broke his leg? Ring. Ring. Or maybe he fell and hit his head. Ring. Ring. Ring. Maybe I should go look for him. Ring.  ANSWER THE &%#$ PHONE! Ring-a-ding-ding.

Without fail, for the past 20 years, that little exchange has always been with myself. This was painfully true once the state issued driver’s licenses to The Boys.  But I come from a long line of worriers, so it’s not surprising. My foremothers are naturally inclined to a doomsday view of the world.  As their default setting, worry is as natural to my tribe as breathing.

My mother doesn’t need a mere string of worry beads. She needs something the size of bowling balls because she worries about EVERYTHING. Big stuff.  Little stuff.  It’s all worry-worthy. When she leaves the house, Mom worries that she left the iron on.  She’s concerned that the Big One will hit California even though she doesn’t live there.  In reality, Mom’s probably worried there’s a chance that impending earthquake will knock over the iron she most certainly left on, even though she lives 2000 miles away.  Of course, there’s always the possibility of a band of marauding intruders, a rogue meteor careening toward earth, and identity theft by a Russian hacker.

As Mom is quick to remind me, “Something’s gonna get you.” [Read more…]

Is This Reality? (an Election Day reprise)


For Election Day, I dug up a column from 2008 where I suggested that the Presidential Election would be more interesting if it were more like a reality show.  I was only kidding, people.

Now – GO VOTE!!!



I love presidential election years.  As a political junkie, I love the debates, the verbal sparring and the meaningful discourse.  I love hearing the candidates parse the issues.  But as I watched yet another debate where the field of candidates clamored to out-answer one another, and at times threatened to break into a full-blown Jerry Springer Show moment, I couldn’t help but think something has gone horribly wrong with this process.

But my good ol’ American pride jumped up in full force – that’s why this country is great, we get to cast our vote for the president.  It’s a democracy dammit. Your vote counts, unless of course, your chad is hanging.  It is our right, duty and obligation to participate in the political process. Casting your vote for the leader of the free world is one of the traditions we hold sacred, right behind jury duty.  But as I heard the candidates drone on with talking points that didn’t even match the question, I couldn’t help but wonder if we could improve the system.  If a political junkie like me is getting bored with it, what’s the average take-it-or-leave-it voter thinking?  With the thought of having to endure a year of political commercials and endless debates where “Oh yeah, YOUR greasy granny” has become a perfectly acceptable retort, I’ve come up with a plan revamp politics as we know it.  It’s a world free of electronic voting machine hassles, hanging chads and superdelegates.

This plan is based, in part, on an alarming trend – more people can name who is on Dancing With the Stars or the American Idol finalists than can name the current members of the presidential cabinet or sitting members of the Supreme Court.  The Nielsen polls really say it all, the American public loves reality television, the stars and a bit of drama, so why not pack all of that into our presidential election?

What this country needs, and what I think Americans would support, is a presidential election based in reality – reality television, that is.  With the popularity of Survivor, Fear Factor, the Great Race and Who Wants to be a Millionaire, wouldn’t it be infinitely more fun (and entertaining) to see the presidential candidates do something other than wear a suit and tie (and now this year even pantyhose) and drone on like some Disney animatronic.  And just for fun, let’s give a nod to the one of this country’s long-time annual television traditions, the Miss America Pageant, and include a swimsuit competition as part of the festivities.  Let’s give the American voter the whole she-bang.

Now I’ve repeatedly heard John McCain’s views on the war, but can he merengue with J. Lo?  Sure he’s tough on crime but does he know the words to Dude Looks Like a Lady?   Hillary wants universal health care but would she be willing to bob for a pig’s tongue in a vat of lard?  She’s made it perfectly clear that she doesn’t bake cookies but does she have what it takes to be the next Iron Chef?  I know Obama wants to lower taxes for the middle class but how does he look in a swimsuit?  We know he has a plan for getting the troops out of Iraq but can he sing like a true American Idol?  These are issues that we as a nation could embrace.  I’m betting that the American public would be glued to the tube each week giving each episode their undivided attention.

I say out with the delegate system and in with Don’t Forget the Lyrics.  I mean, if you can’t remember the words to Philadelphia Freedom, should you really be president anyway?  We could make it a year-long competition, throw your name in the hat and get ready for the weekly challenges which would be broadcast live on CNN.  By November, it would be narrowed down to the lone Survivor after the other candidates have been voted off the island.

And just like American Idol, why limit the votes to just one?  Just dial the 1-800 number or go online and cast your vote.  Again and again and again.  Vote early, vote often.  We’ll not only Rock the Vote, America, we’ll get the reality in American politics that we deserve.  What’s the worst that could happen? No matter who wins, at least we’ll have a hoofer in the White House.



When Baby Makes Three

holding baby

There are certain events in life that are tailor made for a contract. Buying a home? Get it in writing. Landed a new job with a big fat salary and a comprehensive dental plan? It’s only a reality after you sign your John Hancock. Have a bunch of moola before you get married? Better get a pre-nup.

So shouldn’t it follow that BEFORE your baby is even conceived, parents-to-be should sign on the dotted line to map out every little detail of the upcoming child- rearing gig? That’s exactly the arrangement, dubbed a “pre-pup,” that Rebecca Onion recently proposed in an article on

Ms. Onion, 36, mused about the many changes becoming a mother might bring. She wrote, “I’m willing to allow that being a mom might strip me of some of my independence.” (emphasis mine).


As a mother of two, I can’t stop laughing.

Ms. Onion, should you ever be standing in the bathroom watching those little blue lines appear on that pregnancy test stick signaling Baby’s on Board, there’s only one thing to do. Look into the bathroom mirror, gaze at your reflection, and give yourself a little smooch.

This is you kissing your independence goodbye. [Read more…]

Rules of Engagement


Many people remember the instant it happens. And nothing is ever the same. The sun is brighter. Mr. Bluebird lands on your shoulder because you’re just so darned happy. You’ve become so annoying that your closest friends are actually plotting Mr. Bluebird’s untimely demise.

And that’s a sure sign that you are head over heels in love.

Every teenager experiences that universal rite of passage known as falling in love – usually with a person who doesn’t even know they occupy space on planet earth. For me, it was probably best if I remained unnoticed by my high school Crush de Jour. With my unibrow, a space between my front teeth big enough to park a Prius and a wardrobe from the Sears flammable collection, not being noticed was probably best to keep at least one tiny shard of my fragile teenage ego intact.

But eventually those unacknowledged teenage crushes pave the way for Real Life LOVE. It’s On the Job Training for that life changing moment when Cupid runs over you driving that Mack Truck of full of Flaming Amore Arrows. You can’t eat. You can’t sleep. You can’t talk about anything but your One and Only. That special someone has swept you off your feet.

It’s hopeless when you’re smitten. Then it’s all over except for deciding between the FryDaddy Jr. or the George Foreman Grill for the registry. What the heck, you only have a few weddings in this lifetime, make them special. So don’t be greedy, you can ask for the Foreman on the next go round.

Those were the days. [Read more…]

Cell Phone Addict

cell phone woman

When I was a kid and the phone would ring during dinner, my mom would glare at the harvest gold wall mount and yell, “DON’T answer it!” She’d then lower her voice. “Pretend we’re not home,” she’d whisper as if the caller could hear her. According to Mom, there was an appropriate time and place to be connected to the outside world via that 10-foot tangled cord.

Dinner was not one of them.

In the 70s, when it was time to make a long distance call to Grandma, Mom would watch the clock until 7 p.m. when AT&T dropped the rates to fifty-cents a minute. “Talk fast!” Mom would admonish me in the background as the bill ticked higher with every tick of the clock. “Just write a letter!” she’d finally screech as she grabbed the phone from me and slammed it down. If the end-of-the-month budget was especially tight, Mom wasn’t opposed to ringing up Grandma at 11 p.m., when the rates went to a quarter a minute. Although at that time of night we could talk longer, as I recall the musings of a seven-year-old at that hour could not compete with Grandma’s obsession with Johnny Carson’s monologue.

[Read more…]

50 Shades of A Real Mother


The 50 Shades of Grey Trilogy, written by E.L. James, has become a worldwide phenomenon. This series continues to reach unprecedented sales milestones that suggest every man and woman on the planet currently owns a copy.  The craze started for the self-published James thanks to friends telling friends and ebooks – where women could simply download James’ smutty tales in the privacy of their own homes.

Which, of course, is the digital equivalent of a brown paper bag.

And now, just in time for Valentine’s Day 2015, the movie version hits the big screen.

In 2012, everywhere you looked women were toting around, and actually READING, copies 50 Shades in public. Without so much as blushing.  In the Chicago airport, I witnessed women of all ages, from gray haired grannies to moms with babies in strollers, so totally mesmerized while reading the book they nearly missed their flights.  If the sales numbers are any indication, the odds are good that my own mother has a copy of the book on her nightstand.

The mere thought is so horrifying; I’m going to need therapy. [Read more…]

Shakin’ off the Earworm

ear worm

In the past decade, the field of neuroscience has produced amazing scientific breakthroughs. Researchers have learned how to control micro RNA, help individuals achieve impulse control, and change behavior with non-invasive brain stimulation. Recently, two MIT scientists successfully implanted a memory that NEVER HAPPENED into a mouse’s brain. But despite all these incredible advances, I’m curious why researchers ignore a condition that plagues 90% of the population at least once a week.

I am speaking, of course, of the earworm.

For my entire life, I have suffered from a recurring case of this auditory MRSA. From the moment The Beatles urged me to Twist and Shout, I have been afflicted with this disorder. So my question for neuroscientists, if you are able to put Visions of That Which Never Happened into a tiny rodent’s noggin, why, oh why, can you not find a way to remove Meghan Trainor from mine?

Because I’m All About That Bass. [Read more…]

Axe the Axe




Santa, dear Santa

santa2It’s that time of year

But you showing up

Is now my biggest fear


I’m not being critical

Of the stuff that you bring

In fact, I’ll tell you

It’s only one thing


Santa, you know

I don’t mean to be mocking

But last time you left

This stuff in their stocking


So Santa, my friend

I’ve just one thing to say

Please don’t leave Axe

At my house Christmas Day [Read more…]

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