CheekySkirt Blog

Welcome to the CheekySkirt Blog archives (and sometimes newer musings). I started CheekySkirt a few years ago as a blog about the chaos that is my brain and life. When CheekySkirt turned into CheekySkirt Media, my personal blogging time diminished. However, from time to time, inspiration hits and I take to the blog. I hope you enjoy. Thoughts are my own, grammar is, well… I blog as I think and, apparently, I think like a sailor.

 

  • Kiki. That’s what they’d call me. Who? My massive tribe of foster kids. Big kids. Teenagers. Attitudes up the wazoo. Pains in the tushes. Obnoxiously selfish. Teenagers. Mine, all mine. Utopia 2.0. At 44, I’ve figured it out. Shit, it took me a long time but I know. I know
  • I live in two very different worlds and quite frankly my arms are sore. And oh yeah, I blame the media. My mornings consist of coffee with Rachel Maddow (DVR people) and Fox & Friends, followed by breakfast with Mika and Joe. Afternoons consist of various lunchtime romps with Megyn
  • I bet you didn’t know that I used to be a model; had a pretty regular gig, too. My showbiz mom would get the call, drop everything, brutally yank me from playtime with my friends* and rush me down for my fitting. I didn’t mess around either; most days they
  • Mom, do you still love me? Yes, but not as much as I did yesterday. I’d accepted that. I needed to earn back the love I had so brutally destroyed moments earlier. She was easy – I’d have it back, with interest, by noon. So, what was my wicked act
  • I remember the first time I met her. I had just started dating my now husband and had driven down to Charleston to see him. I wasn’t halfway through the front door when she asked me to play Freddi Fish on her computer. She was seven; his daughter. She grabbed
  • February is a crazy month for me…you know, at my real job. We have our annual conference mid-month and then my friends and I take a week to relax, restore, refresh, rewine. The few weeks working up to the conference is chaos…those days when 5pm comes and you think…do I
  • Watching TV the other night there was a group of women who came together to support each other and welcome a new mom-to-be into their club (Parenthood – Amber’s baby shower in the hospital). I watched as these six women bonded—laughed, cried, empathized and truly enjoyed being with each other
  • I made it 42 years without ever stepping into a police station. And let me tell you, there are many who just read that and are searching through their mental rolodexes to disprove me. Now…there was an ill-fated night at 16 when I spent the better half of an evening
  • The other night I was in Crazy Kate mode. For those of you who don’t know—and my husband knows all too well—what that is…it’s when I have a meltdown over something so embarrassingly ridiculous, that 30 years from now, I’ll still shudder every time I recall it. While the temper
  • True story: I had dinner at a revolving rooftop restaurant last night called Spinners. I didn’t know it was a revolving restaurant…and no, the name did not give it away…not in Kate’s world. I just thought it was a restaurant with a great view. When we arrived I could see
  • I have no idea what’s going on in the world. I’ve sat, what seems in exile, for the past two weeks trying to “re-create” CheekySkirt. My husband and the girls have patiently supported me in this endeavor: he, more the supportive role; the girls, more apathetic I guess. At this
  • I haven’t really posted in the past two months and there is good reason. I’m working on something…something that I hope to have published. The thing is…it’s consuming me. I didn’t want to write about it. Ever. But I have to and have finally conceded to it. It’s a story—about
  • I have saggy knee caps. It’s true. I saw them this morning. They almost fold over the knees, like an elephant’s trunk. I’d like them to stop sagging. I think if they moved up a couple inches—back to where they belong—it may ease up on the bathroom scale a little,
  • I said goodbye to my grandmother seven years ago today. Actually, I said goodbye to her the night before at the nursing home—knowing she may not make it through the night—and then I woke up to the phone ringing early the next morning. My mom and I had made the
  • This morning, I fed cucumbers to my dogs. They—the cukes—were getting soft and I wasn’t going to use them but I hate to throw away veggies. So, my canine garbage disposals volunteered to take one (two?) for the team. Well, the girls are messy. I have a somewhat high level
  • I shaved my legs yesterday… above the knees. You know what that means. Yep, clean sheets. I was counting down the seconds until my husband made the bed. Life. After 40. Immediately… immediately following the fresh shave of the first leg, I couldn’t remember which leg I had done. Basically, what
  • Coffee. Hot. Black. Naked. Overflowing. I’ve been known to include a word or two, maybe a dissertation or three about coffee in my writings. So, my apologies, but today of all days I would be remiss if I didn’t at least do a small, teeny little ode to my favorite
  • See that girl~Watch that scene~Diggin’ the dancing queen. That’s me, every day, in the shower. Too much information? Then turn back my friend, cuz shit’s about to get real. And let me tell you, I am dancing—hands in the air, rump-shaking, head bopping—dancing. Oh yeah; I sing, too. Loud. It
  • You know that scene in Pretty Woman…the one where Julia Roberts is really fidgety and nervous because she’s a prostitute dating a really rich guy and they’re at an event with all of his uppity friends? She stands out like…a prostitute dating a really rich guy at an uppity event.
  • Misguided. Stupid. Ignorant. Clueless. Uneducated. Thoughts that cross my mind when I think about this new breed of people; the “anti-feminists.” After taking a look at the Women Against Feminism tumblr page, I realized not one of these anti-feminists has ever taken the time to look up the definition of feminism.
  • Every inhale sends my heart into pitter-patter mode. Every breath, involuntarily, my eyes close as the scent of Adirondack rain courses through me and I can’t help but smile. My lids linger, closed but soft, until I get to breathe it in, again. This… is home. Rain is different in
  • I’d been here several times… 57, if you count the walk-bys with friends who had no idea why I’d diverted them from the usual route. New York City, 1970. October, early. There are still warm days. A gentle breeze disrupts my ponytail and instinctively I tuck the loose strands behind my
  • I, so badly, wanna take that midnight train goin’ anywhere. I think I’d go alone. And I’d bring a Walkman. Not an iPod – a Walkman. When I want to hear that certain song, I have to work for it – be patient through the fast forward. Be happily forced
  • I miss my friends. I miss my life. I miss the simplicity of that life, back then, when I didn’t know that I would miss my friends. I miss naivety. I miss curfews. I miss innocence. I miss that night when he and I were watching Heathers and he kissed
  • I love to write. Writing, for me, is better than that first Christmas morning as a child, when you finally understand who Santa Claus is and you wake up wide-eyed at 5 a.m., run to the tree in all its gift-glory and rip through 20 presents so fast you get