For in the early 80s I had a brush with fame. Yes, I was beltin’ out the tunes and dancin’ up a storm. I was hitting the high notes and smacking the low ones, much to my voice instructor’s chagrin. Continue reading
When Omar Sharif died earlier this summer, so did the fantasies of a 13-year-old girl who fell in love with him long ago, in the darkness of a movie theater, while downing chocolate malted-milk balls and buttered popcorn. Continue reading
I’ve often imagined myself walking through the streets of Manhattan, a la Holly Golightly in “Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” with a cup of coffee in my hand and the refrain of “Moon River” playing over me. Or I was more like Mary Tyler Moore, tossing my Tam o’ Shanter cap in the air to the tune of, “You’re going to make it after all.” Continue reading
Four syllables I never thought I’d utter. They sound ridiculous, don’t they? But then, there you go. It wasn’t me who made them up.
So here’s the deal: Crazy old me has decided to take part in NaBloPoMo, more sensibly known as National Blog Posting Month. For some wild reason, November was selected by someone who shall remain nameless, as the month to post EVERYDAY. Which is absolutely absurd, if you ask me, because this couldn’t be a more stressful time of year! Continue reading
From an ant infestation on Sunday to Sir Paul McCartney eight days later, my birthday week ended with a bang and a whole lotta cashola spent.
Why a “Birthday Week” and not just a day, you might ask?
Because one day won’t do, no sir! You gotta have an entire week to celebrate with mirth and merriment! Here’s how the eight days went down:
Sunday: Attack of the ants. Continue reading