My origins? Your guess is as good as mine. I was originally told that I was left by the newspaper fairy. My dad went to the front porch one morning to pick up his News-Dispatch and found a curious smell emanating from the little bundle that was left in its place. Years later — shortly after Santa Claus diddled the tooth fairy and I suspended my belief in both of them — my mom confessed that I appeared about nine months after she sat on a contaminated toilet seat. I found this story even less believable, however. My mother never sits; she hovers. But it’s her story, she’s old and if I don’t respect it she’ll disinherit me.
We moved from our one-family-shy-of-lily-white suburb to a more liberal Jewish community on the other side of town after a fight during which I suggested — in what I thought was the nicest possible way — that the neighbor girl should kiss my little black butt. My mom probably would have been less embarrassed if I hadn’t pulled my drawers down in the middle of the street and waggled it at the girl. And I should probably have left out the double-middle-fingered point I gave to make sure she knew exactly where to plant her lips. Of course, I don’t remember all this, however my mother recounts the tale every Thanksgiving. I think she needs something to balance the Passover story of the Exodus.
The city was quieter — and far less colorful — once I was shipped several hundred miles away to Purdue University (an agricultural and engineering school isolated smack dab in the middle of the Indiana
hemp corn fields) where I majored in partying with a double minor in sleeping and soap operas. I honestly haven’t a clue how all that went down — the 70’s are even now a little hazy –but one husband, two daughters and seven majors later (somehow a business degree magna cum laude fell into my lap as well) I ended up in Southern California.
Nowadays I hang out in Simi Valley — a small town much like the one from which I was banished after high school, except that it has palm trees — and no snow. I will admit to being a should-be-committed workaholic. I run my own accounting firm and volunteer with a number of local charities (please visit my CARING tab).
Oh, and I write novels.
I love to cook — I’ve trained in Paris at Le Cordon Bleu and Alain Ducasse cooking schools. I entertain often because I’m a major attention whore. My other hobbies include traveling, reading, playing poker and spoiling my dachshunds rotten. I love Parisian ceilings and doors, black and white photography and the acoustic guitar.
I’m also very passionate about meddling in the lives of my adult daughters. Speaking of which, I have to go. It’s Sunday night on a holiday weekend. I’m certain I have activities to interrupt. Now where’d I put my cell phone?
Thanks for dropping by. Hope we meet again soon. In the meantime, please feel free to drop me a line at email@example.com. I’d love to hear from you!