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I’ve become that weird single lady who uses a special pillow for her buttocks

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.

I Would Do Anything For Love But I Won’t Do That

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.

All I know about Chanukkah, I learned from Charleton Heston

When I find myself in a conversation trying to draw upon any Jewish history, my first thoughts always take me to an old movie I saw as a little girl, the 1950’s epic saga, The Ten Commandments. I was probably six or seven at the time. I had been allowed to stay up past my bedtime to watch it while next door my parents rocked out to Barry Manilow. I credit the entirety of my musical style to having heard the somber, celebratory, and terribly confusing mashup of, “The Lord’s Prayer” and “Copa Cabana”.

Gimme All Your Presents

I guess there just aren’t that many things I crave these days. Perhaps I need to watch more commercials to be reminded of all the stuff I didn’t realize I needed so desperately.

more than a turkey

Today I am grateful for my thumbs. When language escapes me, my thumbs are there to pick up the slack. I am grateful for disposable contacts that allow me to see every day. Without them, I’d be left wandering around with my thumbs in the air.

Sundays Are For Suckers

Hey! This was a fun Sunday. My house got flooded, my car air conditioning went out in 112 degrees and I got broken up with, via email. There is a giant gaping hole in the middle of my living room floor and I’m beginning to think that the depths of Hell are calling me. I keep sending them to voicemail but the calls are becoming more and more frequent.

The $800 Donut

I had the optimism you only get when you’ve decided to give up everything to follow a dream and a suntan. I packed only the essentials: a suitcase of shoes, an electric piano and 3 days worth of trail mix. California here I come.

Everything Hurts

As a child I used to like to brag about how many injuries I had acquired. Each open wound, scar, allergy, and bump signified notches on my ladder of life accomplishments. As my injury count rose, so did my tier of badassery.

Hair For Your Enjoyment

Women who play with their hair drive me just a little bit crazy. I am aware this can be a nervous tic, but ladies, you’re lovely just the way you are. But after a recent experience of being down wind from a woman and her shedding ponytail, I felt I needed to get a little bit off my, not yet hairy, chest.