Advice from the Godmother Donna Corleone
Dear Madrone,
Help me, I am going crazy. For the life of me, I cannot remember names. Well, I can remember the name all right, I just never can attach it to the right face. Seriously. And people remember mine, no problem, maybe because I always wear a necklace that says who I am. I got it from my mother, may she rest. Why don’t all people do this? But they don’t. So what am I supposed to do when someone comes up to me and talks like they know me from way back, and is delighted to remember all the good times we shared, and how much we owe each other, and I don’t know them from Adam and they DON’T TELL ME WHO THEY ARE! I made the mistake, the other day, of saying, excuse me, but where do I know you from? to someone who ran up to me by the Vidalia onions at the CostCo (the price was unbelievable) and threw their arms around me, and hugged me like I was their long lost sister. Turns out, I was.
By Pamela Bongiorno Monk
Around the World with La Petite Rouge: Fire, Famine and Pestilence—The Musical
It isn’t often that theatregoers, that dwindling minority in the world of electronic entertainment, are allowed to wallow in sentimentality about the glory days. It’s actually impossible because the most ardent fans are either dead or weren’t born when things were really kicking. Even the dead would have a hard time thinking of nice things to say about what I call Fire, Famine and Pestilence, the show that makes the kindest, sweetest, ticket holder consider hostile acts with a potato masher. (Okay, it’s Little House, but Whoa Nellie would have been much funnier.)
This writer is neither kind nor sweet, and felt the only bit of excitement in the show was when an actor pulled out a bullwhip. Oh, yes, thought this theatregoer. Let’s get cracking. Alas, it was a tease. The show was meant to be heartwarming and idyllic, which sucked the fun right out of the enterprise.
By Pamela Miller
Valentine's Day Survival Tips for Singles
Valentine's Day caught you unattached again? Concerned about repeating last year's little incident involving a half-naked strip tease in front of your ex's building? (or so the police report claims.) Don't despair.These simple tips are guaranteed to get you through this Hallmark holiday with your head held high!
1. DO call in sick. Avoid the sight of every other female in the office (including your gay assistant) receiving one colorful bouquet of roses after another. Instead, stay home and using an old credit card receipt, track down your ex's current delivery and, posing as his secretary, cancel or change it to a lovely garden mum. If the florist gives you a hard time, tell him you've just been informed that the intended suffers a severe allergic reaction to roses resulting in paralysis and sometimes death.
2. DO NOT order take out -- unless you're willing to suffer the pity of even the pimple-faced pizza delivery boy.
By Julie Hansen
January Horoscopes For All the Goddesses That We Are
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ATHENA - the Smart One Who Never Got The Guys Until She Got Contacts (March 21-April 19)
Athena especially hates the long cold slog to spring, unless of course she lives in LA in which case she’ll have about 10 days of light drizzle before the return of warmth, sunshine and giant sunglass-wearing celebrities. (By this we don’t mean that the celebrities are giants – in fact most are quite short and stand on boxes to act, except in action movies where they use Segways). But January brings the guilty pleasures of bad movies with their bad movie fonts that make them so easy to spot and then to attend with lowered expectations (Jennifer Aniston! This will be very average indeed!), or to avoid, since everybody knows that when a studio chooses the Helvetica font to advertise their movie, they’ve already given up. .(...) FULL STORY>>
By Debra Victoroff
How to Get Out of a Date
Aren't there just so many reasons not to go on that date, ladies? He's not your type -- in fact, whose type would he be on this particular planet? He's too old (but he's never too young, like we had to mention it). He's just what your mother ordered. He whistles when he could hum, and he hums when he could shut up.
Since there is simply no excuse for wasting an evening on the man of your nightmares, grab a drinkie poo, kick up your feet, and arm yourself with Happy Woman's sure-fire arsenal of date detonators!
By Kate Heidel
January Bride Dish with Mags and Dags
DEAR MAGS/DAGS: I have been waiting my entire life for my wedding day. I never thought it would happen for me, but finally, it’s here! The problem is that my bridesmaids are making it more about them. Here’s an example: I wanted to give out silver picture frames as wedding favors, right? Until my maid of honor Georgeanne mocked me. She said people throw favors in the trash, and there’s no point in giving out anything that isn’t edible! Plus the girls want me to dip into my wedding fund and splurge for a party bus! This thing is out of control! (...) FULL STORY>>>
By Christina Delia
LAST ISSUE:
December Horoscopes For All the Goddesses That We Are
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ATHENA - the Smart One Who Never Got The Guys Until She Got Contacts (March 21-April 19)
All this talk about Nutcrackers and Sugarplums has you visualizing a bad porno movie wherein Santa Claus has an enormous “gift” that he and his “elves” want to “give” you. His “elves” are like the short guys that inevitably ask you for your number at Speed Dating events, only the elves’ green suits fit better and they have better bodies. This is a vision brought on by too much Christmas mall-music, and not one you ever wanted to hold in your head, having grown up with the idea that Santa was a genderless old man (sort of the way you look at your gyno). Perhaps use this vision to “release” some of that “holiday tension”, in the privacy of your bedroom of course. .(...) FULL STORY>>
By Debra Victoroff
Fun Holiday Games For the Whole Family
As sure as you spike that egg nog, someone from your family tree will appear at the door unannounced over the holidays. If only our birth control were so reliable!
Given this seasonal inevitability, we've thought up some simple holiday games you can play when you run out of ideas for entertaining. Meanwhile, don't fret: December comes but once a year -- that's our Happy Woman guarantee!
By Kate Heidel
December Bride Dish with Mags and Dags
DEAR MAGS/DAGS: My bridesmaids are busying themselves with my upcoming nuptial preparations. I honestly could not have done it without them! These lovely ladies-in-waiting have already completed the Bathroom Baskets, complete with tissues that are monogrammed and pink-packaged tampons. Only the best for my female guests! My question is: do we provide sewing kits for any of my missies in the event of mishaps? I would hate to think my guests may have button boo-boos or zany zippers!
Sweet Charlene the Bridal Queen
By Christina Delia
December--Advice from the Godmother Donna Corleone
Dear Readers,
It’s the holidays. If you have any money left over after you pay your bills,and whatever protection money outstanding, you might be wracking your brains thinking of what to get whoever. And many of you write me, Madrone, tell us what to do about all these thigamajigs that everyone has to have. Phones take pictures and our hair dryers are also good for making bread. What’s going on, the world is going crazy. How can we buy something for anyone when we don’t know what the thing is called let alone what it’s good for. Plus who has money to waste these days? Help us we implore you Madrone, take pity on us!! We’re begging you.
By Pamela Bongiorno Monk
Around the World with La Petite Rouge: Vacation Fake Out
You know what you heard. Someone offered to take you to Saint Petersburg. An hour later, you receive clarification. They would love to take you to Saint Petersburg. But that's not the same thing as actually offering to take you anywhere, anytime, for any amount of money. In fact, the person is surprised you were so easily confused, and uses this as yet another example of all the times your little heart was filled with false hope.
Here is a sampling of such fake-outs that left this writer filled with a minor case of rage.
By Pamela Miller
