Let’s face facts: I’m less the “Lean In” and more the “Lie Back” type. Don’t get me wrong — I’m aware and an advocate of the fact that hard work, diligence and effort are what make success. In life, if you want to get ahead, or get somewhere, anywhere, you have to get up. . . . → Read More: Lean In? I’d Rather Lean Back
What if one day you got an email out of the blue from someone claiming to be your sister? What would you do?
I was 50 when I met my brother. It was a month or so after I met my mother. Wait, let me back up a little.
Growing up, my biological mother . . . → Read More: How I Met My Brother
You never think it’ll be you.
After all, you seem sane (publicly). You think you’re pretty cool (privately). But then, one day you wake up and somehow, it’s happened. There’s no use denying it. You‘ve become crazy parrot lady. There’s no escaping the fact I’ve become one of those women you read about, . . . → Read More: Unplanned Parrothood
The public debate surrounding Dylan Farrow-Woody Allen has kept me up nights. I’ve been immobilized by sadness, anger, and shame.
For 40 years I’ve been terrified to write about this, and 40 years is a long time to be terrified. But now, maybe it’s been long enough. Both my parents are dead now. And . . . → Read More: Down There: Woody Allen, Dylan Farrow and Me
My first love is dead.
Like millions of girls (and undoubtedly quite a few boys) growing up in the 60s, my first crush was on Russell Johnson, who played Roy Hinkley, known to generations of TV viewers simply as The Professor.
The One-Track Minded Professor
I imagined being held in his arms, smelling . . . → Read More: STILL Hot For Teacher
My dad and me.
Toward the end of his life, one of my heroes, George Bernard Shaw, was asked what person in history he would most like to have been. His response was that he would most like to have been the George Bernard Shaw he might have been, and never became.
Like . . . → Read More: Remembering Bob-Daddy
I got my first and my favorite tattoo right after 9/11.
On September 12th I literally couldn’t sit up or get out of bed, lying there paralyzed by grief, anguish and anger. In the days that followed I joined my fellow New Yorkers as we shambled about like dazed sleepwalkers stunned by grief and . . . → Read More: Thanksgiving and My First Tattoo
“I’m a creep, I’m a weirdo. What the hell am I doing here? I don’t belong here.” — Radiohead
Writing this is probably a big mistake.
After all, my intent here is to offer advice and inspiration to help women embrace their best selves. But I’ve been uneasy about the title of . . . → Read More: Who the Hell Do I Think I Am?
I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.
What should I be for Halloween this year? A sexy vampire, a sexy astronaut, a sexy nurse, a sexy pirate, a sexy carrot – the possibilities are endless.
When I was a little girl, like all children I Imagined who I’d like to be . . . → Read More: Halloween Costumes, Pop Tarts and Candy Porn
I have unclean thoughts about Mr. Rogers.
I’m not kidding, or trying to be cute. (Who in their right mind would think wanting to mount Mr. Rogers is “adorable”?)
I’d like to say it started when I was a little girl, but I’d be lying. Sure, I loved Mr. Rogers back then — and . . . → Read More: My Perverted Feelings for Mr. Rogers