I don't like most people. And have been jealous of Bud for ages. With reason.

Nothing has ever happened that didn't make perfect sense. 

Nothing yet anyway.

101.  A Christmas morning fight with mom. / 103.  The space shuttle exploding over and over on the TV in the school cafeteria. / 104.  My yellow v-neck sweater with key-shaped lapel pin which read JESUS.

Now here I am. The same fucking predicament all over. The universe testing to see what I'll do.

Love Story (1970, dir. Arthur Hiller)

It’s comical that the rich kid with a building at Harvard... more

Sitting in the Montreal bus terminal I make a decision. To eat the last of my weed candies. 

We wiped down, scraped, rearranged, shook out, swept, mopped, vacuumed, stripped, waxed, sealed.

If you are flammable and have legs, you are never blocking a fire exit.

It must've been the late nineties. I was collecting welfare at the time. I couldn't have been more then 17.... more

It is not the anniversary of her death that wrecks me but a day some weeks before it. It is the anniversary of the day I sat on my porch, barefoot, polyester graduation trappings in hand, and thought to call her but then did not because I was too busy. 

I was birthed alongside a digested McMuffin evacuated from a parallel pipe—my mother’s last pre-labor meal. She opted for a natural birth, taking only an aspirin, never uttering a complaint.

The summer I dated a painter I did not love, I modeled sometimes for a retired professor's drawing class. 

I lift my knees to walk in flippers, grab a glass of water in the kitchen before high-stepping my way back to the living room where Joe and I have dinner in front of the television.

It’s getting harder and harder to shave my pussy, let alone the tight star of my asshole.

1.

I cut through the small park. Come out the other side. As soon as I do I feel eyes on me. I look up from the... more

You would be forgiven for thinking Vegas is not the place for you. 

The first thing you need to know about being a Disney is that you should avoid letting anyone know that you are one.

You gather one brush, one can of paint, one room, and one hand tethered to attention.

I began my life in a trailer. A black and white shaky construction plunked on a corner some farmer had carved out of an old cow pasture. One silver maple with a rotten core clung to life. I watched the world outside through drafty windows and remember the shade slapping the sash when the wind picked up. 

Of course the laundromat goes quiet. I glance around. We're all shocked. I catch the eyes of a little girl. Hair in pigtails. She looks scared.

I used to think my father was a baseball card.

In the afternoons, I stripped off my boyish clothing and watched back to back episodes of Saved by the Bell, feeding my unhealthy obsession for Kelly KAPOWski. The perky brunette with her slim ankles and come-hither hair tosses was the ultimate teenage bombshell. 

When we first met in the early ‘90s, we had stage names. She went by Kali and I went by Olivia. 

For the third time in as many months, I received an automated email from ebay, stating, “An item you’ve been watching has been relisted.” 

What can be said about this game that hasn’t already been said about Christmas morning? Better than that. The first day of a summer break. Better than that. Evening fireworks on the 4th of July. That, too. Better than all. A graduation, an engagement, a marriage, a festival, a celebration. An outdoor fete to anything.