Playing Underpants Chicken, Losing.

I remember looking at the clock on the dashboard, and seeing that it was exactly 9:38 in the morning. And I was proud. I’d made it 33 minutes into the trip without wanting to pill-up. My two best friends here in town have my daughter over for sleepovers and play dates often. I seldom reciprocate, because…

Potato Salad People

Someone once said “Always surround yourself with people who are better than you.” Well congratulations to me, I’ve done that. I am the ghetto-beauty hood rat of everyone I know. And I love it. But.  As I’ve mentioned, I have the smallest house, the least money, an utter indifference to the condition of my body,…

Oh you’re just gonna hate me

  Oh you won’t believe this. Oh you’re gonna hate me. I’m getting paid to Pinterest. Paid. To do something I was doing compulsively for fun anyway. Sometimes I still just sit back and cackle because it just shouldn’t be. Paid to Pinterest. If you don’t Pinterest you probably think it sounds astonishingly boring and…

Woman! presses out the wrinkles.

I have a friend who is hobbled by her well-meaning mother. Her mother, we’ll call her Maude, is a woman used to being listened to and respected. She raised her children impoverished and single-handedly, and they become doctors and professors. I once complimented her ex-husband on how much I liked his daughter and he told…

transplanted monkey liver

  I am a Girl Scout co-leader this year. I didn’t want to be. I’m brutally lazy. I like to lay down at meetings. My body rejects order and organization like a transplanted monkey liver. But there was what Gus calls, “a power vacuum,” and I was the only one to fill it. Then he…

Back into the butthole

  My therapist has a great butthole analogy. (Ha! Anal-ogy…just noticed that. Ah…butts are fun). She uses it to help clients understand why they cling on to the bad habits in their lives. Why they stay doughy and sick, why they don’t try for a better job, why they hang around people they don’t like.…

Phantom limb

  *Originally written for Mother’s Day, 2013 My mom tended to make things up. Not lie. Fill in gaps. Pad. Fabricate.People said more passionate, endearing things in her memory. I was near enough to hear her meet a boy she used to help as a school-aid 20 years ago. She was tired, they only talked…