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?
You know how people say when someone starts day-drinking, it’s a red flag for depression. My version of that has been, day watching. Lately, you can find me mid-day, binge-watching old episodes of Star Trek while eating burnt home-made cookies.Read More Aim For The Middle
After driving in half an hour of traffic we arrived at what looked like an abandoned vet clinic and/or mineshaft. Two giant stone doors opened to reveal an enclosed cement “play area”. This would end up being the location of eighty percent of our camp activities. City camp, it turns out is really just like waiting in line at the DMV. Everyone around you is stuck being there, so you inevitably bond, but no one really wants to be there longer than they have to.Read More Camp Fun N’ Stuff
Like a sleep-deprived game show contestant on a timer, I thought buying a box of grape Kool-Aid seemed like a good idea. So did buying a two-pound bag of Twizzlers. The earthquake probably wouldn’t kill me, but diabetes might.Read More In Case Of Emergency
For the past thirty minutes, I have been sitting at an overrated hipster cafe in the heart of the trendiest and shabbiest part of Los Angeles trying to log on to a painfully slow wireless connection. I’m parked alone at a table on a secluded back patio covered in big, leafy trees gently rustling in the spring air. I feel both casually frustrated and aggressively serene. In the past half hour, an arbitrary internet thingie has captured my Facebook profile, my Instagram handle, my favorite type of donut and my shoe size. Now, this six-dollar cup of watered down chai tea that tastes more like mouthwash is probably going to cost me my identity and my Costco membership.Read More Birds In My Box
Last week I got cold-cocked by my freezer door. In that moment of blinding pain and disorientation, clutching my head, I remembered thinking, how mad I was at both my inability to duck oncoming vegetables, and how grateful I was for the sold ground beneath me, which soon came to be my best friend for the better part of half an hour.Read More Win By Knockout
I just got out of my yoga class. Damn, that was a lot of sweaty boobies. Hold on to your sandwich, there’s more…Read More Sweat Hog (Part 1)