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Mercury Retrograde Runneth Over

January 9, 2016 in Astro Matters, Book Matters, Cat Lady Matters, Snapshot, Style Matters

I’m fairly certain my birthday present to myself this year will be combat boots and it has me giggling. I keep remembering that old ’70s insult: Your momma wears combat boots. Nowadays, that’s a badge of cool, like flaunting your tattoos while picking the kids up at soccer. Not that I’d ever get a tattoo since a. It doesn’t adhere to my chief rule of style, WWAD (What Would Audrey Do), and b. I can’t imagine such a commitment to anything besides a cat. For that matter, not that I’d ever have kids. (I have, however, been known to fetch godchildren at sporting events. For those weirdos I’d do anything.)

Overall, I was glad for the giggle because I’ve not been laughing much lately. Mercury is retrograding something fierce so far. Yesterday I was all set to appear on HuffPost Live to give my two cents on the Golden Globes, but an hour beforehand—just before I started fiddling with my hair—a producer called to say that not only had our segment been cancelled but HuffPost Live itself had been cancelled. That’s some serious M.R. mishegos: the dissolution of an entire communication channel. Continue Reading →

A Goddaughter Speaks: Delia’s Poem

January 5, 2016 in Cat Lady Matters, Snapshot, Spirit Matters

By far, my favorite Christmas present this year came from Delia, my 13-year-old goddaughter. A week before the holiday, she called from Boston (yes, a tween used a phone!) to ask a bunch of questions about my shared childhood with her mother for a school project. Then, on Christmas day, she sent me this poem, which she said was the real motivation for all her questions. I was so impressed with both her delivery system and the poem itself that I felt inspired to share it here. I’d think she was a wonderful writer even if I didn’t love her so much. Continue Reading →

Oy, Christmas Tree

January 2, 2016 in Cat Lady Matters, Essays, Spirit Matters, Weather Matters

I’m still sick and it’s maddening. I’m aware that whining about a holiday malaise betrays my Ninth Rule of Order but I waited a full day before announcing my frustration, and rationalize that this post may grant someone the comfort of solidarity.

I ducked out this morning to do errands and grossed everyone out the minute I heaved my sorry ass onto the sidewalk. I came home to realize even permakitten Grace was put off by her roommate, which, on general principle, annoyed me: I clean her shit, for heaven’s sake. I may be on the mend but am stuck in that deeply irritating stage in which you feel better but sound and look far, far worse. With my rattling cough and mucus-laden speech, I am 2016’s Typhoid Mary, and am super not into it. Send Calgon and comics from where ever you are. Kisses if you can spare them.

In other news, I hated my Christmas tree this year. It had charm, don’t get me wrong. Stubby and lumpy, it was a real Charlie Brownstone, and the price was on point. I almost bought it from the corner deli on the way home from Christmas Eve services but the dudes were still asking 45 clams, so I waited until that 70-degree Christmas morning, when they agreed to deliver it up to my third-floor walk-up for twenty bucks. They even threw in the stand for free. Continue Reading →

"All, everything I understand, I understand only because I love."
― Leo Tolstoy