Christy The Writer

I just spent the afternoon? With my niece, Alexandria? Alex is eleven? And that means? That her voice goes up? At the end of every phrase? And Aunt Christy had forgotten? Just how annoying that is?

I hate having to do stuff for my car. I hate having to stop and get gas, I hate having to get new tires, I hate having to go somewhere and have the oil changed. I gotta get myself a pit crew.

How to guarantee that people will just park wherever the hell they want:

I hate it when my friends one-up me. Yesterday I was complaining to Nikki about a red wine headache I had from a Christmas get-together the night before. Her succinct response: “I slept on the bathroom floor last night.”

I was just eating a Weight Watchers chocolate bar and there was all this caramel stuck on the inside of the wrapper. Not one to waste caramel, I started literally chewing it off, getting caramel all over my chin, slobbering, all “mmmong mmmong mmmong” all over the wrapper. I didn’t realize how much of a wild [...]

Did you see the news articles about the two men who escaped from a jail here in New Jersey? (Where else?) They mounded up pillows under their blankets so the guards would think they were still in bed. And it worked. Man, those old Brady Bunch tricks are still the best in the book.

I know better than to hurry Guy out of bed in the morning. He’s not too coherent for at least 30  minutes after I wake him. I know this. But this morning I was in a rush so I rousted him out of bed too quickly and he staggered into the bathroom with his socks and [...]

I’ve discovered a few more things Harry Potter-Kass and I have in common. We both hate loud noises, we both like to sleep where it’s very warm, and neither of us is above licking a blob of peanut butter off the table. Of course, only one of us has the dignity to look around first [...]

My sister-in-law took me and her four kids to an afternoon performance of “A Christmas Carol” in a local theater today. The matinee was specifically aimed at children, which was a good idea in theory – until the ghost of Jacob Marley came out wailing and rattling his chains and all the kids in the place [...]

Note to self: Do not listen to Melissa Etheridge’s “I Run for Life” when pre-menstrual. Or “Merry Christmas, Darling” by the Carpenters. Or diaper commercials. Or any scene from St. Elmo’s Fire.