We all know we're supposed to keep challenging our brains, but some days just figuring out dinner is harder than the Sunday Times' crossword with a side of mind-crunching Sudoku.
The other day I received a postcard advertising an infant center/preschool.
Let me say for the record that I don't have an open marriage. But if my husband Wade ever meets Eliza Dushku, I'm letting him make out with her.
When I hit the gym, I hit it hard. That's the point in my mind. But not in Betty Bringdown's: apparently she goes to the gym not to run laps but to yap yap yap. And she's ruining my 90 minutes of me-time.
Usually, the thought of a chalk outline on the ground is upsetting. But nothing would make me happier than to discover a chalk outline on my sidewalk filled, ironically, with sidewalk chalk. I don't know if there is a toy I hate more than this life-sucking abomination.
Guest blogger Karyn Bryant: A couple of weeks ago I fulfilled a lifelong fantasy ... I joined a rock band and started sleeping with the drummer.
We know kids get self-conscious, but we got to wondering if some kids are in fact born with an innate understanding of how to be the hippest kid in the room.