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I am form-avoidant. I have no good reason for this aversion. I can read. My typing is fast. I adore pens and paper. I’m a professional writer: need a speech, a white paper, a press release, an article, a 50,000 word manuscript, an op-ed, a newspaper blurb, a witty Facebook status? I’m your woman. Just don’t make me answer questions on a line as big as a staple.  

I grow tired of the irrelevance. Does it matter if I’m a Mr. or Mrs.? Why do I need to write my address again? It’s on the form you mailed me! It is stored on every computer of every marketer in the free world! Get it from them!

When your children get to the tween/teen stage, they will tell you exactly what is wrong with you. They will also beg to not be seen with you. You may think you’re not bad-looking for a 40-something, and you’ll fancy yourself as fairly cool because you’ve seen the Stones in concert a few years back but this fails to impress them. They will search “Mick Jagger age” and point out that he is 69.

Tip: accept this as an adolescent phase of development.

In the span of a recent two days, I counted seven instances of critique. First, my texting abilities. “Mom, you are the only person who texts in complete sentences, using capitals and periods and perfect spelling.”

     So Brangelina* is getting married.

     This is about as exciting to me as a root canal.

     (Next, we will be subjected to pictures of Brangelina’s root canal. Hopefully for the men in the audience, she will stick out her Oscar leg as she is getting the root canal.)

     It’s not that I’m anti-Brad Pitt/Angelina Jolie, though I am solidly in Jen’s camp.  It’s not just a nice-girls-always-lose thing, it’s just that when I picture inspirational parents, they do not strut on the red carpet of my mind. Yes, I know they’ve adopted from foreign countries but, uh, so have my friends. And before I start getting hate mail on this, let me say that yes, I know they’re caring people and give away millions. So does Jen. (And if I had a several-million-dollars-a-picture salary, nannies, trainers, hairstylists, a launderer, a chauffeur, a body guard, a librarian, tutors an

Once in a while something crosses my desk that I must share with my 70 million readers to save them from any grave parenting dangers. (Oops! Did I say 70 million? I meant seven. Sorry.) Recently, an urgent notice called to me. The FDA has issued a warning on 39 million Spinbrushes,* claiming broken brushes led to broken teeth and cut mouths. Apparently these toothbrush heads might- maybe- possibly- once- in- a- while pop off causing a choking hazard.

*In full disclosure, I have bought my children [apparently violent] Spinbrushes. We are currently not dead.

The recommendation suggests “checking the brush head is tightly connected to the brush handle. If it detaches, do not use.”

Really? Huh. So my kids shouldn’t use broken things? How many high-level government meetings did this

The guys at a little car repair place in Ohio had it right.

We were living there when my wonderful 58-year-old dad died.  Metastatic melanoma took him in six months, punctuated by the last two horrible weeks my mom, brothers and I spent at the hospital watching our best friend suffer a miserable death.  But who he was deserves more space: a man who believed in fun.  Laughter.  Family.  Friends. Cleveland teams. He was one of the good guys.

When the funeral crowd left my parents’ house in the Cleveland suburbs, food arrived at my house, from neighbors, friends, coworkers. (If you are going to die, consider dying in Ohio.  Your family will be well-cared for. The lasagnas keep coming; chicken casseroles arrive at all hours. Unsolicited fudge brownies visit. And the breads are—sorry-- to die for.)

When my editor said that this week’s topic was divorce, I started researching immediately. There was important TMZ celebrity divorce news to analyze, I figured! ( Did you know that Arnold and Maria were spotted buying furniture together? You know what that means, girlfriend.)

 Yet Hollywood marriages spill no secrets why people become, er, terminators. It’s what you find in the rest of America—or at least Beverly Hills: infidelity, addictions, hot tub abuse, “irreconcilable differences” after being together 55 hours, and of course the ever- present complaint “Honey, after they did my make-up and hair, they called 'action' and I had to be in a bed with this gorgeous naked actress. Don’t worry, there was a sheet, and she wasn’t nearly

One day you may find yourself playing the Relocation Game for a career. Perhaps it’s your job, or your spouse gets the news.  Advice? When they say, “moving costs are covered,” run away. However, if you plan to keep the job, play along.

We’ve moved several times where the employer used a relocation company to provide moving "benefits" so this can be a smooth transition. (At least that’s what their brochure may have said; unconfirmed, because I burned it in a s’more fire.)

Our latest move, during the collapsing housing market, was like getting a root canal without anesthesia from a Craigslist dentist.

There is a life-size laundry basket full of socks staring at me right now.

“Socks” have become an overwhelming issue in my house, right up there with “whom should we vote for?” The subject of socks—black and white, holy and unholy—has unseated health, dog, kid and marital issues as Public Enemy #1.

I have no sox appeal.

My Christmas cards are still in a basket on the counter. I adore them, lingering over our lifelong friends. I love the family pictures through the years, watching how the kids grow.

But the holiday letters where the kids have qualified for the Olympics while obtaining a 4.25 GPA and starring in a Broadway musical—while you rock climb at 100,000 feet like in the commercial? Those letters make the rest of us feel bad, if our accomplishments amounted to – getting dinner on the table every night.

Looking to lose weight in the New Year? I don't know how to help, except to tell you how I was able to lose .5 pounds last year: my freezer and stove broke and I couldn't eat for a week.  Worse, the warranty man said he couldn't cover it, causing me financial stabs to the heart. This took two weeks off my life, which I don't want to happen to you. So instead of helping you lose weight, I will help you with the secret code of warranties. Then you will be protected from emotional harm and be happier, causing you to safely lose weight.

That new treadmill or gadget you got? No worries, you say, I have a warranty. If it breaks, they will fix it for free!