Dear Keanu,

I spotted your secret signal to me in last week's Wall Street Journal, and I knew that you wanted to meet:



I'm sorry that I blew you off, but I've been thinking about us a lot lately. Especially because this Friday is my and Manager Dad's ninth anniversary. It seems like this "starter marriage" of mine might actually stick.

And so, because of my love for MD and our Spawn, I think that it's time that you and I FINALLY put an end to our relationship.

I remember when we first met; we were so young, and dumb, and carefree.



I always appreciated the fact that you supported my career choices.

I'll miss the wild times we've had together, but it's getting hard for me to keep up with your Hollywood lifestyle.



But our affair wasn't ALWAYS about partying and fetishwear; some of my favorite times were the quiet, simple things that we did together.


I want to reiterate that I'm doing this for Manager Dad. This has absolutely nothing to do with my recent tweets about wanting to bear children for either of these fine young gentlemen:



So that's it. Our twenty years together have been lovely, but all good things must come to an end.

But I hope you take comfort in knowing that I'll always carry a little reminder of you in my heart, and my home:



I will love you desperately forever and am being forced to do this against my will

Fondly,

Manager Mom

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I Had The Time Of My Life

Day three of our vacation. Wish you were here?

It has been raining. Every. Single. Day. With no break in sight.

Being cooped up and forced to endure relentless family togetherness has sparked escalated levels of intra-Spawn violence, which, while irritating, at least gets them good and tired. So last night, exhaustion mixed with pathological boredom caused them to pass out early, opening up a rare opportunity for us to make progress towards meeting our recommended annual quota of marital orgasms.

But we needed to stall for a bit to make sure the early bedtime was going to stick. The house we're renting has a DVD player and a random assortment of movies, so I asked MD to pick one that might put us in the mood. But I guess I need to work on my communcation skills because he picked Escape From New York. While this may not be quite as erotic as my FAVORITE porn-ish film, I CAN say that a young Kurt Russell manhandling a massive penis substitute gun and sporting an oddly hot mullet and vintage 1980s fetishwear DEFINITELY gave me a few ideas in the fantasy role-playing area:

ROMANCE FORECAST: Partly aroused, with a 50% chance of intercourse

Things were looking promising when The Girl had a nightmare and woke up in hysterics. Two slices of toast and a chapter of “Diary of A Wimpy Kid” later, we finally got her settled down. But MD and I needed something to get us back on the road to freakin', so I put on a movie that I hadn't seen for twenty years, but that I remembered as being the SEXIEST MOVIE OF ALL TIME. And all I have to say is that nobody puts Baby in a corner and anyone with half of an ovary will know that I am talking, of course, about Dirty Dancing.

Unfortunately, watching this again WITHOUT the benefit of raging seventeen-year-old hormones, it is painfully evident that this movie completely blows. I was trying to delude myself into thinking that MD didn't notice when he turned toward me, gazed deeply into my eyes, and murmured throatily, “I don’t think I’ve evern in my life watched a bigger steaming pile of crap,” and I could actually SEE his testestosterone level dropping.

ROMANCE FORECAST: Mostly emasculated, with sub-zero temperatures.

But then we opened a bottle of wine, and had a few good laughs about our idiotic teenage years, and well, since my own favorite movies usually end on an ambiguous note (think Blade Runner or The Matrix), I'll just end this right now and let you invent the ending that you find most satisfying.

Overall Probability of Vacation Sex: Undisclosed

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