In school, I was teacher's pet. I'm pretty sure everyone hated me, not for my gorgeous good looks (hello, braces for three years) but because my hand was ALWAYS. IN. THE. AIR. Pick me! Pick me!
Want me to learn differential equations? Got it. Passé composé in French class? Oui, oui, but of course! In-depth analysis of Greek mythology? Child's play.
But there are two things I'll never learn:
1. How to turn on our TV
2. How to stop at the right number of drinks to avoid a hangover
I thought once I had kids I would magically never be hungover again. Um, no. I certainly don't drink as often but when I do, all bets are off.
And now the hangover is eleventy billion times worse because, kids. No matter how crappy you feel, they still need to eat, pee, and bang on every pot and pan in the house.
The last time I went out on the town I promised myself I'd behave. I promised I'd avoid a hangover. I promised I'd learned my lesson from all the previous times.
Do you think I kept my promise? Read my article, Total Eclipse of Good Judgment, on BLUNTmoms to find out!
Monday, October 27, 2014
Monday, October 20, 2014
Why French Women Don’t Shave
You know the myth that French women don’t shave their armpits? Turns out it’s true, for three reasons:
Want to find out just how embarrassing? Want to learn what an “underleg” is? Check out my guest post on When Crazy Meets Exhaustion: "Oversharing: Parisian Laser Hair Removal".
- They do laser hair removal instead
- They don’t know the word for armpits
- OK, fine, the rest of them actually do shave their armpits
Want to find out just how embarrassing? Want to learn what an “underleg” is? Check out my guest post on When Crazy Meets Exhaustion: "Oversharing: Parisian Laser Hair Removal".
Thursday, October 16, 2014
Velvet Morning Press
What do you do when you want to be part of an anthology but don't want to be at someone else's mercy? You create your own.
What do you do when you think a happy medium should exist between traditional publishers and self-publishing? You launch your own.
Say hello to Velvet Morning Press.
What do you do when you think a happy medium should exist between traditional publishers and self-publishing? You launch your own.
Say hello to Velvet Morning Press.
Monday, October 13, 2014
Start Me Up
When I got put on bed rest I thought it was a one-way ticket to blubber town. Marooned on the couch all day, I was only allowed to leave my plush island to go to the bathroom. So of course I cheated and drank loads of water in order to have a legitimate excuse to pee 100 times a day. Take THAT, doctors! Wait, what's that you say? Water is good for me? Bwah.
Anywho, I surprisingly didn't gain much weight during my pregnancy. So when my svelte form waddled to the hospital to deliver Little Miss Stella, I was sure I'd walk out of there the supermodel I was always meant to be.
Yeah right. I somehow managed to GAIN weight after my little princess was born. It might have had something to do with all the French vanilla ice cream I ate (here, it's just called vanilla).
But about a month before I returned to work and squeezed into my pre-baby office attire, I cranked it into high gear. Out came the Wii and the Zumba belt. All I can say is, thank god we don't have downstairs neighbors in our apartment because I sounded like a drunken rhinoceros as Istomped danced around my living room.
To get the full story of my Return to Zumba, check out my article on Mamalode. And feel free to leave a comment. I'll even give you a sample: "You'll always look like a supermodel to me! Keep on rockin' it, you crazy rhinoceros, you."
Anywho, I surprisingly didn't gain much weight during my pregnancy. So when my svelte form waddled to the hospital to deliver Little Miss Stella, I was sure I'd walk out of there the supermodel I was always meant to be.
Yeah right. I somehow managed to GAIN weight after my little princess was born. It might have had something to do with all the French vanilla ice cream I ate (here, it's just called vanilla).
But about a month before I returned to work and squeezed into my pre-baby office attire, I cranked it into high gear. Out came the Wii and the Zumba belt. All I can say is, thank god we don't have downstairs neighbors in our apartment because I sounded like a drunken rhinoceros as I
Coordinated, I am not. Cheered on by my baby, I am. Talk like Yoda, I do. |
To get the full story of my Return to Zumba, check out my article on Mamalode. And feel free to leave a comment. I'll even give you a sample: "You'll always look like a supermodel to me! Keep on rockin' it, you crazy rhinoceros, you."
Tuesday, October 7, 2014
Seven Letters From Paris
Despite having married Monsieur Perfect, I don't often gush about the romantic side of Paris. It would cut into my complaining time too much. But sometimes it's nice to unwind - with a glass or three of wine, of course - over a romantic story.
Enter Samantha Vérant's Seven Letters from Paris. It's not your typical love story. Yeah, she met a Frenchie that set her pulse racing, but she left him in the dust and didn't resume their relationship until 20 years later. Talk about a heartbreaker! And talk about a story I couldn't wait to hear the rest of.
Samantha is here with me today to answer a few questions about her life and her memoir.
Enter Samantha Vérant's Seven Letters from Paris. It's not your typical love story. Yeah, she met a Frenchie that set her pulse racing, but she left him in the dust and didn't resume their relationship until 20 years later. Talk about a heartbreaker! And talk about a story I couldn't wait to hear the rest of.
Samantha is here with me today to answer a few questions about her life and her memoir.