"She is too fond of books and it has turned her brain." –Louisa May Alcott
On Saturday, my mommy pals and I went to see A Bad Moms Christmas.It was hilarious. I mean, in so many ways it was a terrible movie, but I laughed harder and longer than I have in a looooong time. It’s got a killer cast and it’s unapologetically raunchy.
But you know what made me laugh even more? My friends. Continue reading “33 for 33: Bad Moms”
My husband bought this thing called the Echo–we call her Alexa–so I’ve been walking into my kitchen to tell my robot servant to play Christmas music or to ask her what the temperature is outside. My Trekkie husband has been saying things like, “Alexa: Tea. Earl Grey. Hot.” To which she replies “Replicators are offline” or “I’m not a replicator.”
I read Emma Cline’s The Girls and Googled the heck out of Charles Manson, then had a hard time sleeping that night.
I had three custom cartoon portraits in the hopper. I’ve drawn a chicken with a fro, a Delorean, and am working on several dinosaurs.
It snowed here in Seattle, which doesn’t happen very often. Then my Facebook feed blew up with pictures of kids in the snow (including my own).
Today is the girl‘s first birthday–can you believe it? I can’t believe it. We were going to have a party but poor baby is sick. I get the feeling that’s going to happen to her a lot. I was often sick on Thanksgiving or Christmas. Throw a birthday midway between the two and I’d say the likelihood of being sick on at least one of them is pretty significant. But I’m no mathematician.
When this week began, I knew very little about Charles Manson and the “Manson Family.” I’d seen his picture. I’d heard references to Patricia Krenwinkel and Leslie Van Houten without really knowing who they were. I knew it wasn’t pretty, but I’d never gone in search of the details.
Then I picked up The Girls by Emma Cline. A popular book, often featured on end caps, with an appealing cover and a vaguely historical basis. An impulse purchase, if I must admit it, on a shopping trip to Target. It sat on my shelf for about six months before I cracked the cover, then I read the whole thing in two days. Continue reading “Hanging Out with The Girls”
The Sensitive, Bookish Type 