Christie Mellor
Welcome to a judgment free vent zone. Christie Mellor is the author of The Three Martini Playdate and The Three Martini Family Vacation. She has received enthusiastic reviews from dozens of media outlets, including Newsweek, People, US Weekly and Playboy. Christie lives in Los Angeles with her husband, her two boys and a couple of high-strung ducks. She likes her martinis extremely well chilled.

Mommy, Does This Make Me Look Fat?

I have sons, which shields me from some of the oddities of the young female set. Not to say that boys don’t have their own sets of peculiarities. But as the mother of boys, there are a few things I just don’t have to deal with. I know, I’m a girl, but there are some things I’m glad I don’t have to deal with. For instance, boys generally don’t have to change into new outfits several times a day. more

Martini Metamorphosis for HBO.

Well, we turned in the first draft of the pilot script for the half-hour HBO comedy, The Three- Martini Playdate.

The “we” to whom I refer is Wendy Goldman, a friend I’ve mentioned in a previous column. She was the one who originally thought my book would make such a good TV show, and happily, her agent agreed with her. And eventually, HBO thought so too.


The Situation.

Okay. We’ve recently had a situation. In our house. A situation, involving friends, their children, and hurt feelings. So, it’s my husband’s birthday, and he simply wants to watch a really bad monster movie – a movie he somehow had inexplicably never seen, a movie that had somehow flown under the monster movie radar – a must-see movie, called “The Giant Claw.” This may not be on anyone else’s “must-see” list, but now, we must see it. more

Were You Raised By Wolves?

It's not just because you enjoy my column or liked my first two books that I would encourage you to run out immediately and buy my new book, Were You Raised By Wolves: Clues to the Mysteries of Adulthood. more

Honey, I'm Home.

I’ve been a little remiss in my Mommy Track’d writing lately. Let me explain. A major change has recently occurred in my household, namely, my husband got a job. I mean, a job. A real job, where he, like, goes to an office. He’s a freelance copywriter and his work has stepped up lately, especially from one particular company. So they offered him a job. At an age when many men are looking ahead to their retirements, he’s joining the workforce. I am still reeling.


Chardonnay Swilling Whore.

Why do I hear so many mommies talk wistfully about loving motherhood yet “mourning” the person they used to be? Why do they have to mourn that person? Why aren’t they that person anymore? Has the simple addition of a child caused them to miraculously change from Chardonnay Swilling Whore to Beatific Saint Mommy? more

Obama Mama.

Okay, here’s my big push the night before Super Duper Tuesday. I am departing from the usual parenting blah-dee-dah to give a plug for my candidate. But I’m actually not departing too far from the parenting thing, because after all, this is about my kids and their future as much as anything.


Free-Range Children.

My oldest son Edison, who is now sixteen, was invited to stay for a few days with a friend, whose parents live on a vineyard in Napa Valley.  We live in Los Angeles.  So I checked Amtrak, and found a not-too-circuitous route involving an Amtrak bus, a train, and another bus. It seemed like just the right kind of adventure for a 16 year-old. more

Now Go Away.

After our usual New Year’s Eve caviar dinner (It’s our decadent little tradition. Swanky, but domestic Great Lakes sturgeon for the boys, paddlefish for me and the husband) and our annual singing of Auld Lang Syne into several friends’ telephone answering machines (ukulele accompaniment, some fine guitar picking by our neighbor Doug, two-part harmony) while drinking copious amounts of Drusian Prosecco; after the blowing of horns, the toasting to health and happiness; after doing the first dishes and sleeping the first sleep of 2008, I woke up to make a pile of breakfast and a pot of coffee to ready my three boys for their road trip north. more

The Gift of Giving.

Our free pre-holiday time is spent in either fighting the hordes at our local mall or getting stressed out over the fact that we haven’t yet jumped headlong into the panicked fray of rabid consumers. Giving gifts at Christmas has become less about giving and more about meeting obligations; we are essentially tithing. But of course, we must buy the obligatory gifts for the usual suspects. more

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