Eight, I counted. Eight blog posts in 2020. All the time in the world with nowhere safe to go, an endless barrage of topics, and I have never written less. Maybe I was traumatized by the pandemic or the litany of lies we tell ourselves as a nation. Maybe I struggled to get over surviving…
Broken girls become warriors. That was the quote on Pinterest. I’ve seen it before. I don’t know who wrote it. I’m sure several incarnations have been written dozens of times but reading it this morning set me off. Why the hell do we keep doing this? It seems the space between complicated issue and bumper…
Helen, Gertrude, Millie, and Alice. Those are good names. They smoke, no filter, and smush out their charred nubs in a beanbag ashtray before reaching for another Entenmann’s cookie. They are all in housedresses, and they get their hair done at the same beauty parlor. I picture the remaining eggs in my body as these…
It is difficult to find juicy limes. They’re not like lemons, or maybe they are, but it seems like anytime I buy a lime it is dry. They look decent and green on the outside, but inside limes don’t flow. Lemons, on the other hand, are always brimming with juice. In fact, I can not…
Apparently traditional tampons contain chemicals. Sorry male readers, you might want to skip this post or use it as an opportunity to get over the whole, “eww tampons” business. I’m sure the females in your life will appreciate the effort. Back on topic, tampons, as in the materials that make up the things, have chemicals…
I have been looking for the perfect bra since the little training ones no longer did the trick. Shopping for bras is such an awkward process no matter the cup. One minute articles or actresses chastise the media for not embracing the female form. The mantra-of-the-moment is that my breasts should be celebrated and happy in…
I went to my junior prom with the son of my mom’s friend from work. Now that’s a mouthful and a pretty decent title for a sad, angsty coming of age movie. But I did go to the prom with, Jon or John, I’m not sure how he spelled it because after spending one incredibly…
You are the air I breathe. Romance is often figurative. It’s not the hearty literal verb of living or loving, even. It is soft and tender. I like words and images, so romance works for me. I’m a song, story, poem, sweeping anything kind of person. I am weak knees at a whisper. And I don’t think…
Women should be more like heirloom tomatoes. I suppose men should too, but they have more flexibility, so I’m not discussing them right now. We have this beautiful heirloom tomato sitting on our counter. It’s bright orange and red swirly. It’s a little misshapen, kind of funky in the front, but really cool to look at.…