I'm becoming a dude. I have a cold. I may be dying. It really is just sniffles, sore throat and aches. Standard cold stuff. My brain signals death is eminent. And then it hits me. In my old age, I'm becoming a dude. You might be too. Think about it. Ten, not to mention twenty,… Continue reading Becoming A Dude…
Tag: #phoenix
My Little Cub…
"What song do you want to dance to?" asks Oldest Chicken. He's referring to the mother-son tradition. His wedding is little more than a week away. We spend hours on the hunt. Feeling quite Goldilocks-ish. This one is too hard. This one is too soft. Seems finding the one that's "just right" should strike me… Continue reading My Little Cub…
She Just Keeps On Giving…
"Basically, my radiation ate your thyroid." It's the radiation oncologist. "Actually, it usually happens before now." Cancer...she just keeps on giving. Do I cheer mine lasted longer under the radiative onslaught that devours female thyroids? Can we get a hip-hip? Actually, I'm happy with the news. As all the cancer girls know, when something is… Continue reading She Just Keeps On Giving…
Eat Pizza and Annoy Men…
For some reason this little tidbit, circulating for a while, only just hit my desk. Biological chickens of the female variety have a private Instagram called, "Gals," in which we exchange interesting fare we find searching about when we're supposed to be working. Calm down bosses, it's brain food. Yesterday, Middle Chicken sends a photo… Continue reading Eat Pizza and Annoy Men…
What’s On Your Anti-Bucket?…
Oldest Chicken does something out of bounds each year on or near the anniversary of The Norwegian's death. Perhaps he thinks if he drives himself to the brink he'll be closer to his beloved father--who knows. What I do know is we have an agreement--tell me after. I've heard about being at the top of… Continue reading What’s On Your Anti-Bucket?…
Calling All Murderinos…
In eighth grade, my mother told my father I was obsessed with death. Perched in my spying spot just outside the kitchen, I was stung. But I shrugged. Smug with overinflated beliefs in my own brainpower, I knew where her concern lay. It was with the sonnet, Death Be Not Proud, the famous ditty by… Continue reading Calling All Murderinos…
What’s In Your Bag?…
Lunch with the ladies. "Does anyone have a tissue?" Handbag rooting ensues. Yes, indeed, there is a tissue. Few minutes later. "Does someone have an Advil?" Bag rooting ensues. Of course, there's an Advil. Third times a charm. "Does anyone have a safety pin?" Laughter, along with rooting, and safety pin for an errant bra… Continue reading What’s In Your Bag?…
What of Mademoiselle Choupette?
Tuesday, Karl Lagerfeld left this world. Chanel-ites drew the shades and lowered their veils. Though he may have been insanely creative and have the work ethic of ten men, his opinions catapulted the man over the top. He veered into hated territory when pronouncing Adele fat. Mademoiselle Choupette may tame your hatred. What will become… Continue reading What of Mademoiselle Choupette?
Why Are We Not Breakfasting?…
Why are we not breakfasting? As in breakfast dates. You know, of the romantic, get-to-know-you type? Don't get me wrong, Dolls. Nothing beats a candlelit dinner at your favorite restaurant--say the one that starts with Royal and ends with Palms--you know the one. Candlelight hides fine lines and creates the perfect glow reflecting from your… Continue reading Why Are We Not Breakfasting?…
New Year…New Books
Let's resolve to become smarter, savvier and deeper in-the-know with our very own Duchess Dolls Book Club. With a twist. Picks are chick authors we know, work with, or wish we knew. Like the old-fashioned French salon designed to make us even more saucy, non? First up-delving deeper into the death biz. Whaaaa? Turns out… Continue reading New Year…New Books
The Duchess Diaries 