It started with 50 Shades of Grey

I’ve been asked recently if I’d always wanted to write a book.

The simple answer is no. The long answer is a vast series of sleep-deprived, cartoon-crazed events and it all starts with E.L. James and a little story called 50 Shades of Grey.
When my son, who I’ll refer to as Salty, was a baby he drank copious amounts of milk. I was constantly giving him a bottle. Hence, I was in a chair staring into oblivion, like a good mom. My five-year-old daughter, Sweetie, liked to watch cartoons while I feed the hungry bear.
I’m sure this is no revelation to any parent out there, but if I had to listen to another episode of Yo Gabba Gabba or those sickeningly, adorable Backyardigans I was gonna stick erasers in my ears, damn the consequences.

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Coffee House Brawls & Writer Revelations

For the third time, I saw the same woman park in the parking space for the handicapped at my usual Starbucks. About 30, she had no visible physical ailments and no designation on her car.

The first time I told her she needed to move her car, she responded by saying she didn’t. I continued to argue and pointed to the white outline she drove over. Finally, she said there was nowhere else to park. I told her she was ridiculous, especially since I got a space 50 feet from the door. The second time I saw her leaving, I watched, unable to catch her in time to say anything.

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