It's been a hundred and fifty years since my 5-year-old son's school year ended a few weeks ago and my nerves are not what they used to be. Over the summer my child started practicing a form of meditation that involves the daily repetition of the several mantras over and over again.
Admit it. You love the Internet, but you hate what it does to you. Kind of like the other addictions we have in our lives -- Coffee, alcohol, Colombo reruns, etc. Unlike those things, the Internet has a way of sucking you in and keeping you hung upside down in its web.
Last week I got to spend time at one of Los Angeles' busiest hot spots: Los Angeles Superior Court's Stanley Mosk Courthouse. This is the court for anyone getting divorced within Los Angeles County. Los Angeles County divorce court is such a long name, let's just call it HELL for short.
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Here's something I realized after I had a four-year break between infants: there's a lot about babies that really sucks. And the novelty of being woken up multiple times per night wears off just a little bit quicker with each kid.
It always happens when you least expect it. It can happen in broad daylight. It can happen in the darkness of night, which always makes it scarier. But the excruciating pain is always the same. Each and every freaking time.
Kate Hudson gave me her hand-me-downs. Or so it seems. My closet contains a half-dozen tops--size fours --though I haven't worn that size in a decade. One day I will wear it all, after I find my gym membership card.
I had an important realization about my divorce recently. I was naked from the waist down and waiting for a woman with a hot stick to singe my nether regions with melted wax when it hit me.
It appears to this writer with a lot of time on his hands and with a lot chimeras in his head that it would be neat to figure out -- if they had to pick a one-word logo -- what names the candidates would pick to run under, or run from.
Here's an imaginary application specifically designed to invade a woman's privacy while at the same time shaming her and making her feel as guilty as possible about her choices.
Fashion is fickle and comes in waves, rushing up onto the shores of consciousness, soaking the landscape so it becomes more than a trend, before receding to be re-invented, a decade or two later.
So what's the deal with the bridal shower? Today, bridal showers are totally superfluous and 'mostly joyless' (a recent description from my good friend who attended one the other day) events. It's not about the love -- it's just about getting more 'stuff'. It's defunct and it's totally lame.
Sometimes I feel like I'm doing a pretty good job as a parent. Relationships are good, all those consequences we've put into our Family Playbook--a list of infractions and their expected consequences--are well understood, the house is in almost perfect order.
Around here, Mom gets a bum rap. Dad is the fun one, doing all the tickling and wrestling and ball-throwing in the house. I'm that shadow in the background sweeping up the shards of the vase they just knocked over.
Why is coming out of the closet not an issue anymore?