Jane Green's Blog, page 150

What’s in your handbag?

Flicking through The Chestnut’s magazines, I stumbled upon this fantastic picture of the contents of Lily Allen’s handbag in InStyle.

Note how clean and immaculate everything is (not to mention designer).

I was stunned.

And ever so slightly disbelieving.

I don’t believe the contents of anyone’s handbag actually looks like this, unless they’re suffering from a severe case of OCD.

To prove a point, I present to you the contents of my own handbag.

I could have dusted the contents with an inch of cookie c

news from the Hot Tub

So we are flying home today, and someone left a message on Facebook re. the hot tub from hell, saying they film ‘adult’ films in hotel hot tubs.

I laughed a lot. I’m not sure they filmed any adult films in this particular hotel hot tub.

But perhaps I’m wrong.

Deep Throat Infections I caught in the Hot Tub might have been filmed here.

Or

Laughing my teeth out

I am taking the Eldest Son to the dentist today to have eight teeth pulled.

You heard me correctly. Eight teeth.

Last time he had a meltdown over the possibility of three teeth being pulled.

This time I have bribed him by telling him of the merits of laughing gas.

He is now excited and cannot wait.

I think I may be creating a drug addict.

I am a terrible mother.

(And I hope that tooth fairy remembers to go to the ATM…)

A small group of people

The other night I went to the Historic Commission’s meeting at Town Hall to get permission to tear down my teardown, and I have to tell you, whilst it was a veeeerrrrryyyyyy llllllooooooonnnnnnggggg evening, I learned a valuable lesson, and I’m so glad I went.

A young man showed up, who has bought land in one of the town’s historic districts, and is proposing building a number of houses. He had clearly had various meetings prior to this one, to ensure the house design would fit the neighborhood,

Facebook crush

Facebook keeps telling me two people have a crush on me.

I know it’s almost certainly rubbish, but there’s a teeny tiny part of me that hopes it’s true and is desperate to know.

I’d be that poor sap who’d get a phone call from the Jerry Springer show tellng me someone had a secret crush on me, and I’d show up, only to discover that in fact my real father is a transvestite small person covered in tattoos who has been in prison for the last ten years for dealing crack cocaine to pre-schoolers.

Or som

AC WHAT??

Mini-me spent a good part of this afternoon rocking out in the kitchen. This shouldn’t worry me. She does, after all, have some pretty smart moves, however her choice of music is not quite, well, how shall I say this…her choice of music is…NOT THE SAME AS MINE.

Put it like this. I had to listen to We Will Rock You by Queen five times in a row. Very, very loudly. She went for a sixth causing me to scream NO!, while pouring myself a large glass of wine.

It gets worse. On The Eldest Son’s blog (yes,

A Winter Uniform

I was reading a very sweet piece today in In Style (see, I wasn’t kidding about the magazines…) about a journalist who allows her husband to buy her clothes and dress her for a week. Surprisingly, she does not look like a hooker all week, but in fact is astonished, and delighted, by his choice of trendy, and yes, okay, a little bit sexy but flattering clothes. Clothes that everyone at work commented on, and loved.

Some of his clothes choices are as follows:
A cream silk Tibi top with a slouchy bow

Staking out the man with the van

Last weekend the doorbell rang on Sunday afternoon, and I opened the door to find a very nice man with a van selling what he said was organic meats and fish.

I like to think of myself as a savvy city chick, and I was about to say thanks but no thanks, but the van looked professional, and he was a great salesman, so when he said he was just on the way back from dropping off at the neighbors - he didn’t say which neighbors specifically - I said, okay. I’ll try it.

He also invoked the name of the loc