Tag: Why Girls Are Weird
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How Roller Derby Prepares You For Motherhood (The Crossover)
Dear Pregnant Derby Girl: Much like roller derby, you probably approached motherhood as something you’d seen before, mostly on TV or the movies, and you felt like you’d be pretty good at it. It does look like fun. But then you went and did it and just like during your first week of roller derby,…
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Hey, Pamie: “How do I best jump-start my stalled novel and then what do I do with it?”
Today’s weekly procrastination is making me have to use the tl;dr shorthand, which I only recently looked up as I’d never had to learn it before, because I don’t believe in its philosophy. (What if it was good, and you would’ve been so happy to have read all those words? Why so much judging on…
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Some Things About Myself That I Need To Work On
* When I’m in a public restroom and a lady comes out of the stall, I really want to stop saying “Thank you” to her when I pass her on my way in. And I mean, I really thank her in a genuine way, every time. There is no need for this thank you. It’s…
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Notes from a “lump” of Houston Sheraton Town & Country Stationery, circa 1990 or 91
Just so you know, I got an email from 200-page boy, who got an email from one of you asking, “ARE YOU 200-PAGE LETTER DOUGLAS THAT PAMIE’S WRITING ABOUT?!?” Small, small world. He was writing to let me know that he does, indeed, still have that letter. My first book! (Speaking of books, the galleys…
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no great genius
I just found an Internet review of my first novel, Why Girls Are Weird, that may be my favorite blurb of all time: “it’s a simply written book of no great genius, but i lost count how many times i was laughing out loud. very entertaining.” My work here is done!
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A thin line.
“Good morning, America!” He says this to me every morning, usually as I’m passing him on my way out the door, while he unloads the power tools I’m trying to escape. “Good morning, Evidio.” “All this noise I’m making. I’m going to have to take you out to dinner to repay you.” He raises both…
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gentlemen, pay attention.
I found Jenny this morning quite giggly and wiggly, bright and early for the morning picket. She was munching an apple. “Hey!” she said. “Why are you so happy?” “Oh!” she smiled, gloating. “That guy just asked me if I was in SAG!”
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Why Why Moms Are Weird
Within 24 hours of posting information about my new book, someone was already complaining on Amazon. This person was nice enough to repeatedly state she was a fan of my writing, but found the title to be disappointing, and wildly lacking in imagination. I’d been planning to tell the story of how Why Moms Are…
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they walk alike, they talk alike, sometimes they even… (nevermind.)
When my friend Rebecca and I are out in public, we are sometimes mistaken for sisters. In fact, when Dan, his brother Adam, Rebecca and I are sitting at a restaurant together, we look like an East Side version of the Bobbsey Twins: the boys in their ringer t-shirts, Rebecca and I in blue hoodies…