At that point her father filled the rooms with firearms. Instead of a house tour Lizzie liked to give friends the glock safari.

“He copied and pasted your text and sent it to me.” I rephrased it.

They always share their worst secrets with me and look to me for female forgiveness.

On the television, Paul Hollywood is doling out handshakes - I'd settle for eye contact from my husband-

If you grew up here, an old man, maybe your uncle, would inform you many times that the sand in Ocean City was not real sand, but synthetic sand made in a factory.

I still had to sneak out of my house to go out at night. Mom and Dad liked to pretend I was a little angel virgin who didn’t know the lecherous ways of men. Too bad for them. They’d raised me with a

That date where he asked if we could have a threesome and I said no and so we had sex on his roof instead

In my earliest memories, I am building tall towers out of indigo blue picture books

I think art is interesting to write about because it’s bound in a certain idealism but scenes can get competitive and toxic.

“If you desire something,” she said, “ask for it with honesty and clear communication. Then accept the answer you receive, whatever it may be.”

are in!! 

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The ladybug nymphs were hatching in the hoop house.

Otters float in pools of blood, swans tangle in rivers of entrails. Heads of leopards wear fringed shawls, their fangs piercing shallow trenches.

Because cigarettes are one thing, 
but my baby won’t have me smelling of shame.

He told me he knew someone on death row. That dreamcatchers weaken over time. He said Oktoberfest was the Promised Land.

Before the third time I lost my virginity, I recorded myself eating an orange with nothing but my mouth.

The wanting requires an immense amount of theater.

We landed on Court TV but didn’t watch it. We talked for five hours.

We cracked the Nyquil bottle’s safety seals and interlaced our arms like two pirate bridesmaids as we counted down our chugging

I’ve never told anyone this story before because it is a little embarrassing. Plus legally I’m not really supposed to talk about it but…here we go. 

I had my first sexual experience when I was

I did not raise my glass in toast to the passing of Gene Hackman.

There is inherent loneliness in the mountains.

Catholic guilt burned a hole in my palm and hidden in a bag, inside another bag, I lowered it into a dumpster like burying evidence of dead nuns. 

I felt his absence slowly growing and absorbing me like a black hole. 

The freedom is almost overwhelming.

You were compiling something and the itch for alcohol had blocked all business until you’d gotten up, checked the stove, and left.