On the Balls of Our A$$ets

Earlier this week when I was writing a story (I use this term loosely these days) about Jon Gosselin attempting to turn the beat around (literally) by embarking on a new career as a "celebrity disc jockey," (every bit of that sentence is true, btw) I couldn't help but wonder what might be on the henpecked ex-husband's playlist. Certainly anyone who's had the misfortune of catching even the smallest snippets of Jon & Kate Plus 8 imagines Bob Marley's No Woman No Cry  is probably a given. When my boys were a bit younger and would attempt to swing from our chandelier or see if they could climb out a second story window onto our porch roof and shimmy down our holly tree as if it were a fire pole, I'd often hear the lyrics from Les Misérables' I Dreamed a Dream in my head. It was this line in particular: "I had a dream my life would be so different from this hell I'm living." Surely that's not uncommon among Broadway-showtune-lovin

Perhaps victory, much like revenge, is a dish best served cold. After "winning" a Girls Night Out with  Chew co-host Carla Hall back in May, I was possibly going to collect my spoils in the form of a late lunch (?) last Tuesday, but the former Top Chef finalist canceled on me just hours before our long-awaited get-together. As I've mentioned (OK, whined about), this meeting has lost a bit of its original luster as it seems harder to put together than Mario Batali's Lasagne Bolgnese . I've grown weary of fielding questions and complaints from friends and family who are outraged on my behalf (not that I don't appreciate it!) that getting to actually dine with Carla has taken two-thirds of a year. At this rate, I'll be supping with the once-perky chef at her assisted living facility 20 years hence. But -- as I noted in my last entry, this should be all my troubles, right? On that note... I'll be honest, I wasn't devastated or even surprised when

Eight months after "winning" a Girls Night Out (GNO) with former Top Chef finalist Carla Hall on the ABC daytime talk show The Chew , I've finally heard from a producer about my "prize." But ... what was once billed as a fabulous night on the town has undergone a dramatic downsizing. Perhaps she was delirious from the euphoria of celebrating her 50th birthday? Or maybe the blaze of the cameras during the May taping proved disorienting? Either way, Miss Hootie Hoo seems to have forgotten her promise that the gal who impressed her most would join her for an amazing excursion that included mocktails and dancing followed by enough desserts to kill your average diabetic. What I'm now being offered might as well be a one-way ticket to the Baltimore Arby's where Carla got her first taste of horsey sauce, but I'll get to that in a moment. First, let's do a quick recap of the road that's led to my now-lackluster reward. Though the show aire

Have a seat, fair readers, and check out this strange story about two women with the same name who don't know each other and yet are tied together by multiple common threads including this narrator and the painful sting of rejection. Take a moment to grab a tissue or a fistful of Lexipro -- whatever will fortify you as you read this sad tale riddled with disappointment and odd coincidences. These women -- let's call them 'Jane' -- are both former colleagues of mine from my last job, but due to geography and timing, neither knows the other. It's a shame, too, because they'd be fast friends. Both are smart, funny, and exceedingly accomplished. (Plus, who doesn't like someone with the same moniker, am I right?) To begin, let's drift back in time to autumn when a spot opened up within my current organization and I reached out to the first Jane, who was laid off with me last January , and asked if she'd like to apply for this coveted spot. Her writi