Eden M. Kennedy

mission accomplished, pal

Eden M. Kennedy is the co-author (with Alice Bradley) of the book Let's Panic About Babies! (St. Martin's Press, 2011).

A former college-radio DJ, Mrs. Kennedy has driven cross-country six times in a 1973 Volkswagen Bug and enjoys standing on her head.

Currently she works a straight job and is just about finished writing her first novel.

1. My boss took pity...

1. My boss took pity and invited me to do laundry at his house while I worked 2. My first load of jeans, towels, tennis shoes, bricks, and ball bearings broke the washer*

Jack had a gig down at the House of Blues in West Hollywood last night with Alastair. Their dressing room was a bus in the parking lot, where they found four guys they didn't know drinking beer. Jack decided to go down early and spend the night so he wouldn't have to do the big drive back up to Santa Barbara late at night, and he assured me that he wouldn't invite any strippers up to his room, because they always go through his stuff. I booked him into the West Hollywood Hyatt, which is known as the Riot House and is famous for getting trashed by rock stars. He called and told me he thought could see Dave Navarro's house from his room.

Also, you can now officially spraypaint DIE YUPPIE SCUM on our front door because we have the most fantastic new espresso machine you can buy for roughly two hundred of your hard-earned American dollars. So long, hairy-armpitted cute pink-haired tattoo'd baristas of Saturday morning strolls down State Street! I can now out-crema you with all your eyebrow piercings tied behind my head.

And one more thing: if you take an almost-two-year-old to see his first movie in the theater, you'll find that after a tub of popcorn, half a box of Raisinets, a Sierra Mist, and twenty minutes of previews his attention span has just about reached its limit and he will want to run up and down the aisle screaming once the movie actually starts, and you will have to wait six months until the DVD comes out to find out if Nemo is ever actually found.

Happy Birthday Sarah B.!

*Oh ho ho, back to the laundromat we go. It just isn't any fun if Jackson doesn't vanish and then reappear (a) behind the counter, having ransacked the free candy stash, cheeks triumphantly stuffed full of Smarties, or (b) on the other side of the plate-glass window, standing in the middle of a busy parking lot waving and yelling, "Hi, Mommy!"