When I was born, my mother wrote a poem about my birth (titled, appropriately enough, "Natasha"). Said poem was published in the first ever issue of Ms. Magazine and is now on a list of "recommended readings" for the naming ceremonies of Jewish baby girls.
I have never liked the name "Natasha," but I have happily accumulated a host of nicknames, including, but not limited to Tash, Tashi, TK, T, Tush, Tushi, Topashopa, Squash, Tango, Sparky, Natty, Kinsky, Friend, and Smiley.
The first riddle I ever wrote, age 3: Q: "Why is a riddle happy?" A: "Because it lives in a boot."
My first crush was John Travolta, after I saw the movie "Grease." I can still sing every song from that soundtrack, and I'm not embarrassed about it.
I spent many days of my kindergarten career dressed as Tinkerbell.
When I was young I never had a Barbie, but I had many baby dolls, all of whom I named Suzie (pronounced “Soooooooooozie.”).
I grew up in a house with no TV and no junk food. I spent most of my time at other people's houses, watching General Hospital and eating Oreos.
I still have every note ever passed to me in junior high, sitting in a box in my closet.
The first time I got drunk was on half a Purple Passion wine cooler.
I don't eat anything creamy or cheesy except for ice cream and mozzarella.
I have wanted to be a writer ever since I read Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret.
I cry at weddings—all weddings—even if I don’t know the bride and groom.
I played rugby in college and was given the award, “Most Likely to Tackle You and Still Smile.”
I was once paid $300 to be in a Buns-of-Steel Infomercial.
I do not have—nor have I ever had—buns of steel.
The strangest compliment I’ve ever received was from a guy who told me that if he could choose anyone to cannibalize it would be me because I have “the ideal blend of fat and muscle.”
Dream job: owning and running a summer camp in Maine.
Irrational fear: bathing suits.
Food I couldn’t live without: chocolate.
Random skill: no-handed cartwheel.
Spiritual age: 13.
I met my husband on a blind date. That night, I called my mom to say, "I just met the man I'm going to marry."
Becoming a mother has been, bar none, the proudest accomplishment of my life.
I read to my kids every day, without fail.
If I could only hear four words for the rest of my life, they would be, “I love you, Mommy.”