Stephanie Klein Greek Tragedy

I have, in the spirit of fun (admittedly tinged with meanness), poked fun at myself and at the Oscars. At the sweet Tony Danza once, and the amazing Selma Hayek. I could say everyone does it, but then I’m back…

I’ve never separated "who I am" from my body.
I hadn’t thought to think of my body as storage. For a heart, some lungs, and a spleen. It lugs things, gets calloused, and goose bumps. And colds. My body has…

Sabotage. It’s the title of the second chapter of Moose, only in the book, it’s written in Spanish. Three years ago I wrote the following on this blog:
I’m getting worried.  I’m too used to being alone.  I like taking…

My Book About Me. It’s the title of the book I was handed when I was still begging my parents to take me to "Toys Is Us." Back when I was promising to be a good big sister, to feed…

It’s so vague. I mean, if you’re going to give wisdom like that, you’d better give specifics. What does knowing yourself even accomplish? If anything it makes you rigid, building up a perception of who you are, as something fixed.…

Needy is a five letter word, for the record–not four.  I’ve spent so much energy steering myself away from it as an "aware" adult that I feel calloused.  What’s so wrong with having needs and wanting?  In all my lovely…

I’m rarely hormonal.  I can be stressed, for certain, but that’s stress, not hormones. Every now and then someone in my family can sense that I have my spot.  My telltales aren’t acne or cramps, but it’s pretty easy to…

Promise to post on Las Vegas eventually.  But right now (well, not this second, but in general), running around, buying ingredients and general loveliness, off with the little ones, taking them to a play group date.  Once things settle down,…