Book Signings in 2016

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Saturday, December 21, 2013

Coming in the Fall 2014

 Slo Ride

            It’s a real jolt to your ego when you get up one day and realize you’re not young, and not really old, think like you’re thirty and act like you’re thirty. Then one day you go to a bar, thinking you look good, see a hot guy sitting there, toss what you think is a flirty grin, only to find out it’s not cause you’re not thirty…. you’re fucking fifty…and he’s not fifty… he’s thirty, and he’s wondering why his mother is flirting with him? Cleary I wasn’t flirting with my son, but you get the picture. I need someone to explain where my youth went?
             Scratch that, I know where it went; car pools, soccer games, homework assignments, and late nights waiting for your so-called husband, to get home from the office. Or more to the point, waiting for him to get home from fucking his most recent thirty something bimbo with the fake boobs, that never sag, cause she didn’t bother to get married and have kids, stretching her once hard body into a chubby mass of stretch marks that will never, I mean EVER fit a size 8 again…or 10 or oh, god, even a 12.
 I sacrificed my body for the greater good…. my beautiful, wonderful, drive me to the brink of drinking, kids. I wouldn’t change a thing about them…but I’d seriously have to consider a surrogate if I’d known then, what I know now. Unlike a rubber band, our bodies do not snap back once you push those round, pink, bundles of joy out. Considering 80% of the female population went the same route as me, stretching their bodies out for the greater good, and their loving, cheating husbands…I was not alone in this.
But I was alone in life. I was fifty, starting over, and to put the icing on the “over the hill” cake, I color my hair every six weeks to hide the gray. Jesus, when did I become my mother?    
 Kids raised, no grandchildren yet, thank god. Nothing says your youth is over like being called Nana or Grammy or god forbid, Grandma…. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll love my grandkids when I have them, I’m just not settled enough in my realization of being old…or older, to jump for joy at being a grandmother.