Diary of a Diva
When a friend of mine, who is a few years younger than I am (on the earlier side of her 30s), announced that she was getting a divorce, I was dumbfounded. So soon? I thought ...
“So? David didn’t get me flowers either,” I said. “Is it at all possible that you’re looking for ways to vilify the guy because that would somehow make kissing his wife an acceptable thing to do?”
I sighed and then held up my phone so David could see the image of the castle I’d been ogling. “I love that Stephanie is posting pics of all her adventures,” I said. Steph, my …
I stretched my arm out across the bed, but when my hand felt only fabric, a pang of panic gripped me. I cast about in the darkness, a sense of desperation rising in my chest, …
I sifted through the messy pile of papers on my desk, growing more agitated by the moment. “I know I wrote down the confirmation number,” I said to David, who was standing beside me, waiting. …
The nervousness I felt was rote — anxiety is my body’s automatic response when I’m awaiting test results of any kind, be they medical or scholastic. This one was called a “personality assessment.” It was …
“Ooh, I know!” Terri’s face lit up so suddenly and brightly, I pictured a little cartoon bulb over her head. “What about mimes? I even have the perfect outfit to wear.” “No mimes,” David said …
“Gah!” I grumbled at my computer screen. “What?” Of course David had to ask. You can’t sit four feet away from someone who’s grumbling at her computer screen and not ask. “Remember those funny cards …
“Can you talk for a minute? Something horrible happened to me yesterday.” Jane didn’t bother to identify herself; she didn’t need to. My bleary eyes had easily made out the familiar image of her face …
“Oh, my God,” Molly whispered to us. “That’s Mel Brooks.” She started to laugh nervously and, soon after, Heather joined in the muffled tittering. The name sounded familiar.
“You have four left, right? Let me try it on one, I’ll show you.” Reluctantly, David tore a page from the near-empty spine and handed it to me. I closed my hand around the page.
"That weekend, there were Bellagio-fountain-worthy waterworks, women traipsing naked in hotel hallways, bitchy pool encounters, and just enough scandalous activity to keep me interested."
"Hey, do you know a guy named Max McEvil? He dropped your name, said he might be doing some work with you.” I raised my brows as I re-read the name, which I didn’t recognize. …
My friend and creative cohort Terri likes to joke about how manipulative she thinks I am. “I’m not manipulating you,” I’ll say, to which Terri will respond, “How do I know that your saying that …
One of the most troubling aspects of “living in the fast lane” is that there is no exit. There is no slowing down. The only way to stop is to crash. In the real world, …
My sister Jane — a bold, don’t-take-no-for-an-answer saleswoman — lives by the adage, “It doesn’t hurt to ask.” Even when she knows a request is unlikely to be granted, she still throws it out there …