If I could trade places for one week, one day even, with anyone, I would trade places with a man. Any man. Except maybe a black man, because, well, you know, times are a bit tough for the black man today. And yesterday. And tomorrow. Especially tomorrow, with the mostest mediocre white-ish orangeman of all deciding what’s what, and which lives matter. But if I could be a man for just
Can you even believe it? I sold out the house. Or the Villa, to be exact, for any Newtowners or Hookers reading this. But still. Working Women’s Forum SOLD OUT. So this was a big deal. A huge deal. Imagine if you were invited to speak at an event, and no one came. Or perhaps, just maybe, everyone came? That’s what happened. It was standing room only at the Villa Pizzeria & Italian
The envelope was smooth and creamy, it felt expensive. Rich and luxurious paper, announcing right away, even before the careful calligraphy announced wedding with all its curlicues and fanciful penmanship. It is a joy to be invited to this celebration of love, what with an open bar and dancing, especially when most of my friends are getting divorced. These days, the brides and grooms are my friend’s children, and there really is something wonderful about the
As you know, I was denied, yet again, from Listen To Your Mother. This time in Boston. However as part of my ‘try, try and try again‘ resolutions for the new and improved me, I submitted my story to The Good Men Project where it happily found a home. The editor did ask me to re-record the video, without all the boo-hooing about being rejected. Please stop by and take a peak at
They love me, they love me not. Not talking about the kids, talking about the judges. And editors. And well, yeah. Had the New Year’s goal to submit, apply, audition, and not worry about acceptance … just keep writing … and it was all going so good, until the rejections started rolling in. My ego is ouching. After a successful debut in 2012, I am a Listen To Your Mother reject.
Lots of talk about Mad Men and the treatment of women during the ice-clinking, smoky bar, burning the midnight oil, hat-wearing era. I love the show, and I love the fact that such sexism seems absolutely impossible to the many of teens in my life. They simply can’t believe it was really like that “back then.” But you needn’t travel back to the 1960s to experience such brash disrespect and