I’ve become that weird single lady who uses a special pillow for her buttocks. As I sit here decluttering a corner of my house, I’ve had some important Saturday realizations. First off, I don’t know about you, but over the past two years, I’ve done more sitting than a Las Vegas poker player constipated from the hotel buffet.Read More I’ve become that weird single lady who uses a special pillow for her buttocks
From time to time I have dreams of Peyton Manning pulling me into a power hug while in a confined space such as a small kitchen or an elevator in a second-tier Las Vegas resort. And in that moment, when my head is pressed firmly into his larger-than-life, Superbowl-winning, Hall-Of-Fame, most-seasons-with-at-least-4000-passing-yards, chest cavity, I feel all my worries completely disappear.Read More Woman Seeking Torso
I mean, what could it hurt for me to have an innocent conversation about one of the most controversial religions in modern history? If I could endure a lecture on Pastafarianism and Worshippers of the Flying Spaghetti Monster for a free plate of Bolognese, I could weather a few minutes of hearing about Xenu, The Dictator of the Galactic Confederacy. This guy was (most likely) handsome, and clearly eager to make new converts. I mean, converts. Wait, what I meant to say was, converts. Dammit, autocorrect, I mean, converts.
Friends. He was eager to make friends.Read More I Would Do Anything For Love But I Won’t Do That
This is not a story about covid. This is a story about when I decided to adopt a dog while recovering from covid. You get to decide which has been more stressful. I thought a dog would mean unconditional love and cuddling and yes, an occasional poop in the living room. And also sometimes he would go to the bathroom in the house. But I think I actually got catfished by the dog formerly known as, “Inmate Number 799.”Read More The Smell Of Farts And Desperation
By day three in quarantine I started to develop some odd symptoms. I initially chalked it up to your run-of-the-mill anxiety attack: racing heart, sweaty palms, brain fog. Then by day four, I was hit with such extraordinary fatigue, I thought I’d been kicked by a horse, dragged behind it for twenty miles (or 32 kilometers if you’re un-American), left to barbecue out in the middle of the desert, doused in someone else’s cold sweat, barbecued some more, then electrocuted by the horse’s owner who was mad at me for stealing his horse, then forced to wear a child’s-sized helmet for the next thirty-two days straight. All while being chased by a mob of angry land sharks.Read More Who Wants Muffins?