What am I to do about too many advisors? I began preparing for the 2-minute pitch of my memoir 60 days in advance, an average of 1 day for every 3 seconds.
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All this fed into my recurring imaginings of how to celebrate my death, and whether to do so after or before it occurs . . .
Does this rah rah for winter months raise questions about my worrywart creds? Should I worry that my upbeat tendencies will discred my worrywart brand?
“Susan Orlins is America’s funniest neurotic since Woody Allen. Just be careful you don’t crack a rib reading her memoir, Confessions of a Worrywart.”
When your daughter is in Colombia and hasn’t tweeted all day, is it every mother’s tweetmare that her kid is locked in the trunk of a sedan?
With President Obama on the verge of crossing the half-century line, age-wise, I recall my own (embarrassinglynarcissistic) 50th birthday party on Home Goes Strong. I thought I’d share with you the invitation I’d sent. Author’s note: I no longer pee a droplet whenever I sneeze. YOU’RE INVITED (TO MY FIFTIETH) I’m changing …
(Whether you are my age or pre-memory loss, please share this with parents and friends who’ve crossed the line.) What was I was just thinking to write about? Oh yeah, memory loss. That sounds like a bad joke, but it’s what I actually said to myself when I opened this …
At dress rehearsal with its stomach-turning surprises, like having to dance onto stage, I asked myself What was I thinking when I agreed to this? At first it sounded like fun to be one of nine storytellers in a Valentine’s Day show, “Sucker for Love.” But I had not signed up …