Sunday, March 21, 2010
Chicken Virginia Chardonnay
Non-practicing alcoholic and domestic violence escapee who lives with her lovely young boyfriend, snarky teenage son, ex-husband (the nice one of course), 2 large neurotic dogs and 2 indifferent kitties. Trying to get my sh*t together for the umpteenth time. Pretty sure it's never gonna happen, but hey, no f@#ks given, right?
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Spring into Spring Blog-a-bration!

Non-practicing alcoholic and domestic violence escapee who lives with her lovely young boyfriend, snarky teenage son, ex-husband (the nice one of course), 2 large neurotic dogs and 2 indifferent kitties. Trying to get my sh*t together for the umpteenth time. Pretty sure it's never gonna happen, but hey, no f@#ks given, right?
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Let's Hear It for the Girl!
Non-practicing alcoholic and domestic violence escapee who lives with her lovely young boyfriend, snarky teenage son, ex-husband (the nice one of course), 2 large neurotic dogs and 2 indifferent kitties. Trying to get my sh*t together for the umpteenth time. Pretty sure it's never gonna happen, but hey, no f@#ks given, right?
Monday, March 1, 2010
Cover Girl!
Edited by Emmy Ellis, AWH magazine is a collection of wit, wisdom and short fiction from professional authors.
Yours truly has landed a monthly feature. Is Diary of a Reluctant Housewife a tale of domestic bliss? No way! Domestic hilarity? For sure. Check out March's issue...and yep, that's you-know-who on the cover.
Diary of a Reluctant Housewife--March
Jamie Gets a Pet, excerpt:
A prayer escapes my lips as I approach Thunderdome—the foyer closet so named because it's infamous for swallowing footwear—two shoes enter, one shoe leaves. But this will not be the case today because I know I put both of my sneakers in there yesterday after I made the same trip to pick up Jamie. I find the first bright pink cross-trainer easily. Now the dig begins through two giant black boots that belong to Mica and several pairs of boys' Sketchers, most of which Jamie has outgrown. I fling out a pair of red stiletto heels from the last time I stumbled home in a stupor from girls' night out. How long ago was that? Before me lies every shoe on the planet that I don't need and I can't find the one freaking shoe I do need. True, I could wear the heels to the bus stop, but I already feel like passersby look at me funny while I wait all alone on the corner. No need to give them further reason to believe I'm a prostitute. Where is my goddamn shoe?
Non-practicing alcoholic and domestic violence escapee who lives with her lovely young boyfriend, snarky teenage son, ex-husband (the nice one of course), 2 large neurotic dogs and 2 indifferent kitties. Trying to get my sh*t together for the umpteenth time. Pretty sure it's never gonna happen, but hey, no f@#ks given, right?


