I was 36 years old, a divorced mother of two boys. I worked full time in a law office and was putting myself though college to finish a degree that I couldn’t afford (but couldn’t afford not to get.) I was depressed, obese, and had cut my hair short to look like Halle Barry’s. It … More Kryptonite
It’s nice, all these sweet posts about the holidays. This isn’t one of them. Heads Up: Foul Language Ahead. It’s the holidays, I’m broke (and my husband’s bitching at me about staying on a budget), and I have a virus. So while all the nice people are taking the time to give gratitude and share … More It’s Christmas, And We’re All in Misery
I look around, and it seems strange to me that people are still going about their normal business. Others seem nonplussed about the news, but surely, like me, they must be reeling on the inside. Yes, it was weeks ago, but my shattered life is still in pieces and I’m trying to hold my shit together … More The Zodiac Killer
To Wesley Dean and Henry Patrick, While you are too young to know how this world works, or how it doesn’t, I want to give you these words for someday when you can understand. I want to let you know about words that, although I know your mom and your other nana will also teach … More An Open Letter to Wesley and Henry
Originally posted on Not a Day Over 45:
Kate of my dreaming Unruly spirals of strawberry silk Eyes as blue as his Your chubby hand touches my face and I am awake. I don’t think a March 13 will ever begin with anything but tears for me. As I was lying in bed this night before,…
I grew up with quite a patchwork of church experience. My grandpa was a “preacher” (I always want to add “man” on to the end of that, just so I can say my dad was a son of a preacher man…) who spoke in tongues and led us to many “tent revivals”. The best way … More The First Church of Don’t Be A**hole
Shopping in your forties is the exact opposite of shopping in your twenties. In 1990, I found all sorts of awesome clothes (read: peg legged Hammer pants, acrylic jacquard sweaters, little black dresses) that fit my rockin’ pre-baby, pre-Martha-Stewart-Living, pre-peri-menopausal body; I could afford to buy exactly none of them. Now, I have the means … More Mirror, Mirror; Or…Why I Bought A Dress I Thought I Shouldn’t Wear
I remember the day Elvis Presley died. I was 8, and my mother was uncharacteristically beside herself. I didn’t get the drama – I didn’t like his music and I just thought it was weird that so many women found him attractive, fat guy in a white jumpsuit and all. Funny how that day has … More It wore a raspberry puree. And it was delicious.
I casually referred to Donald Trump as “Satan” yesterday. Yeah, like the Church Lady. It isn’t unusual for me to resort to hyperbole. “Ugh – this guy in the Saturn is the slowest human being on earth.” “Oh, my, God, the lady in front of me at Kroger had two million coupons.” Or “I just … More Trump, Church Lady, and Namaste.
I got the wrong drink at McDonald’s today. It’s not that the person behind the counter gave me the wrong drink; I was given a cup and sent to the do-it-yourself drink bar to make that mistake all by myself. Sidenote: I am irritated that the service industry has stopped serving me my drinks. What’s … More Drinks and Other Major Life Decisions