I pee really fast. I mean, it's not like I have prostate problems, standing there with my hand against the public restroom wall, waiting all day to dribble something that wouldn't fill a shot glass. I'm sure many of you are already chomping at the bit wondering what my secret is. Well, at Nanny Goats in Panties, we "aim" to please. Let me share with you some handy tips on how to git 'er done. (read the rest...)

It was midnight in Los Angeles. Time to hit the hay. Man, was I sleepy. I was just about to descend the stairs when I realized I was eye-level with Franz Kafka's main character in The Metamorphosis clinging to the stairwell ceiling. It was a monster, I tell you! My first thought was OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD HE'S A MONSTER!!!!!

I’m guessing that if you have to look Death in the face at the age of six or seven, your life doesn’t exactly flash before your eyes. You might be aware that you’re in some kind of trouble, and that you got yourself into it, and boy are you going to get a whuppin’ when you get home, but you’re not going to think about what a good life you’ve had so far and thank God for it or anything. 

I spend a great deal of my leisure time ignoring my husband while playing on the computer, talking to YOU people. He'll bounce into my office at home, asking me if I want to go to Starbucks, or go to Tiffany's so I can "pick something out", or tell me that his alien abduction is scheduled for 10pm and not to wait up, and I invariably reply: "Did you say something?" And yet, he still supports my blogging. And burps my computer when it's gassy. I came back from L.A. recently and he had designed and ordered these for me:

Do kids run away any more? I'm talking about the silly seven-year-old kind. Not the teenage, steal your mom's cookie money, hop on a bus to Laughlin, Nevada, turn a few thousand tricks and come back home pregnant and tweaking. Not that kind. Ick. (read the rest...)