If I were a man, I wouldn’t lie. I might let little ones slip here and there, but not the big ones. The big lies change everything; they cause irreparable damage. I’d know that. As a man, I would take responsibility for my actions, even if, along the way, I had become someone who mocked…
When I was sixteen, I went to Tower Records and asked if I could have this giant promo poster for the new Smiths album once the store took it down to make way for the next new releases. That was a thing back then. They gave them away on a first-ask basis. Anyway, I got…
As a child, I imagined my body as a construction site. I am not sure where this originated, but I believed tiny workers in hardhats were throughout my body and in charge of my significant systems. If I had a stomach ache, I would say, “The guys in my tummy are working hard today.” Weird?…
If I were eleven, I would smell like sweat and sunscreen. I would live in a neighborhood with a windy road and a hill so I could ride my bike, the blue one with the peeling sticker, and never get bored. My bike would have a broken kickstand. I’d have to lay it near the…
The fruit in my kitchen looks nothing like a Cézanne. It’s different. Bruised a bit, with a couple of rogue produce stickers and a suspicious soft spot on the bottom lemon. My avocados are too ripe or hard as rocks, but the apples and bananas are delicious. It’s just fruit. Cézanne’s peaches are always stunning.…
I am 1985 Allison Reynolds lost on the set of Mean Girls. Let’s preface this rant with the truth that I love my apartment. It houses my favorite office and is located in a gorgeous spot. I have no complaints. But if, as my kids like to say, someone grabbed me by the throat and…
My mom moved us from New York to Arizona the summer I turned eleven. When the plane landed, and 105 degrees of hell hit my face, I vowed to leave the state as soon as I was an adult and could make my own life. I left for college at eighteen and lived in Arizona…
If I were a painter, I would wear a twist of string tied to my ankle long ago by a lover who never promised and left before I ever asked. I would live and work in an echoing flat with iron floor-to-ceiling windows and colorful but cracked tile in the tiny toilet. The window near…
We moved to Venice, CA, when we left the desert. On our second day in our new city, I saw a woman on a bike in the middle lane of traffic. She was probably in her sixties. One pant leg rolled to reveal blue and white striped knee socks, her curly gray hair secured in…
