So I fucked up the other day. Continue reading
I’ve called a lot of women Mom in my life, but none of them gave birth to me. Continue reading
Despite the name of my blog, I apparently rarely post about knitting. And I’m not sure why I don’t, except that it seems self-indulgent and self-conscious and self… aggrandizing? Sin of Pride, or whatever.
And it seems pointless, too, in a world where we’re ramping up to civil (or not) war. Why bother with the yarn and the sticks? Continue reading
Like all things I blame on the dog, it was my fault: I taught puppy-her never to go downstairs at night. Eight years later, it’s less cute that she needs someone to watch her pee at 1:00 am.
Faint light bled up the stairs.
Lucky me, I thought, The Boy is on the computer.
With him downstairs, all I had to do was shoo the dog down. He could let her out. One problem: she knew I wasn’t downstairs. I swung my leg over the lip of the step, faking her out.
I blame the dog, I told the doctor.
Microprose isn’t just for micro weeks. This week Christine double-dog-dared me to write about a fall in 100 words. I made it… exactly.
WARNING: TROPES AHEAD. And spoilers for things that happened years ago in media you probably didn’t care about.
I’m a Batfan from way back. I have the toys, the comics, the posters, the shirts, including the Gotham Rogues limited edition hoodie that Underarmour was selling. ALL OF IT. If you want me to buy something, just stick a fucking bat on it and take my money. I will fight you if you think Tony Stark is the superior billionaire superhero. Continue reading
“This is going to be harder for kids who were ‘good at art,'” Phil Sylvester said. It was the first day of class. There was already charcoal on his sleeve, and he moved his hands when he talked like he was pushing the words into the air between us. “Art is always harder if you’re already good at it.” Continue reading
Nan was the first person I heard say “fuck” in a professional capacity, and I don’t think I’ve been as impressed by the word since, except maybe the first day of Contracts when Professor Leslie slid into the room in an outfit far too California-subtextually-gay for the Midwest and screamed it at the top of his lungs before saying in a much calmer voice “I just got tenure, I can say whatever I want now.” Continue reading