When Dirty Uncle Bob called me up in my mother’s dorm saying that he was in Jersey and how about swinging by and picking me up for a road trip, I said yes.
Her power to burst my bubble transcends space and time.
I will spare you the gruesome details but let’s just say it was fucking gross. When I pulled out my phone BEFORE THE PROCEDURE my vet said, “You aren’t going to video this are you?!?”
People ask if we are going out of town while the boys are at camp but I much prefer a staycation.
We went to a newish place down the street that people raved about – the fried chicken! the handheld pies! I have always been suspicious about this place or any place that smirkingly serves serves pretentious poverty food.
The Renaissance Festival is walking into the equivalent of a strip club for kids and LARPers. If you ain’t throwing down the bills you ain’t having fun.
The ACLU has just uncovered evidence of our federal officials physically, sexually, and verbally abusing immigrant children at the U.S. border. This is unconscionably cruel – and we need to stop it.
I felt the pervasive loneliness of my youth, desperation for love and barring that, pretty much any kind of companionship.
I feel like tattoo artists should have some kind of moral obligation to require people with really bad tattoo ideas to sleep on it.
I promise it won’t be a 24-Hour Pity Party, just the usual stuff on my mind, most of which is stupid but makes me happy to put into words.