Around the same time Def Leppard was packing stadiums, me and my corkscrew perm were flunking statistics at the University of North Carolina, Charlotte. And just like that, my journalism career was born. (English majors rule!) My first byline was in my college newspaper; a review of the Bill Murray film “Scrooged.” It was all up hill from there. At the Los Angeles Times, I started as a lowly beat reporter who somehow managed to draw the ire of the Nation of Islam (they later apologized) and the tear gas of the LAPD (they did not. bastards.). As a feature writer, covering Hollywood for a decade, I witnessed the Botox Trial of the Century, caught a red wine buzz with John Malkovich, split an appetizer with Angelina Jolie and survived three very intimate days with Metallica’s life coach. Still haven’t met Bill Murray.
After I became a mom, I decided to write a mother-daughter memoir which was kind of like having a nervous breakdown but without the good meds. Turns out elbowing your way through Hollywood hipsters to cover alternative comedy is a great antidote to unrelenting self-pity. Walking the red carpet of the Oscars in an off-the-rack gown you couldn't afford to get hemmed, however, is not. Though, I didn't sell my manuscript, I saved a bundle on therapy! #silverlining
In 2016, my husband, daughter, two dogs and three cats moved to Nashville. Not long after, at our daughter's parent-teacher night, Jack White moseyed in. He's just another dad here. That's about when I realized we're living happily ever after.