Dear Diary: It’s 97 degrees here in L.A. today – record-setting heat. I’m not an overly religious person, but on days like this I hit my knees and thank God for inventing central air conditioning. (At least I would if I wasn’t recovering from knee surgery. What I actually did was lean against the arm of a sofa.)
Dear Diary, Tonight is the first day of Passover, the big holiday when Jews get together for a Seder, where we eat and share stories, discuss the history of our people and our love for one another. It’s different from all the other days of the year when we eat, tell stories, and gossip about the people we’re going to
Dear Diary: Turns out I was wrong. No scintillating Gruntfests. Like a groundhog, It briefly came out if Its dwelling today. It came into my room – not for a hug or a hello or an “I love you, Mom,” – but for a pair of headphones, which It found, and immediately went back in Its hole. Apparently It saw
Dear Diary: The good news: It came home from college on Spring Break this week. The bad news: because of this Coronavirus thing, Spring Break may last forever. Don’t get me wrong, I love It; It’s my son. And as much as I’ve missed It, I didn’t want It coming home under these circumstances. It’s less like Spring Break than
Dear Diary, Today’s the big day – I’m having knee surgery for a torn Anterior Cruciate Ligament. I tore it while skiing; it’s my own fault; I should’ve known that skiing while Snapchatting, wasn’t a good idea. My bad. My doctors tell me the recovery period is nine months. NINE months. I only know of one other thing that