Our first few holidays and birthdays together, I gave Crankenstein a wide berth when it came to gift-giving. She had more important things to do with her time than shop, and I’d rather select offerings for others than unwrap them myself anyway. But I’d be lying if I said her indifference wasn’t eventually insulting. If […]
It was 4 am when I heard the first beep. I’d already been staring at the ceiling of our darkened bedroom for what felt like an eternity, unable to sleep as Crankenstein performed her usual overnight routine beside me. Her movement and murmurs provided just enough distraction that I wasn’t entirely sure if the noise
Watching the Detectors* Read More »
There are only a handful of birthdays I get sentimental about, none of them my own. My mom and her siblings treat theirs like national holidays, which always strikes me as absurd, particularly an uncle’s custom of taking an entire week off work to commemorate his birth. (Is there really that much to celebrate?!) In
This should’ve been mentioned in yesterday’s post, but I forgot to share the results of my recent marital poll. “Stay together for Muriel” was the winner, followed by “Remain married and pursue Martha Stewart together.” We’ll take it under advisement, but here’s the thing about dragging someone else into our relationship: I don’t want to
Break out the kazoos and confetti, the basement’s starting to resemble a basement again! Our project’s timely completion is a blow to anyone who hoped it might run long, thus affording me time to explore an array of uncomfortably personal topics here later this week: the deafening roar of my biological clock as my 41st
For the last few weeks, I’ve woken up overnight with Nancy Sinatra’s “Let Me Kiss You” in my head. Her cover of Morrissey’s original was in my iTunes library for a long time — I’d purchased the self-titled album containing the track in 2004 — but I couldn’t find the MP3 on my tablet, and
Beauties, Beasts and Odds & Ends Read More »
Freda Payne’s “Band of Gold,” one of my favorite songs of the ’70s, is about a woman’s pain and disappointment after marrying a closeted homosexual. The true meaning of its lyrics escaped some listeners in 1970, and if you heard it on the radio without knowing the artist, you might momently confuse it for a
After yesterday’s post about repetition and therapy, it seems only natural to tackle one of the more obvious questions any reader of this site might ask, which is “Why are you so fucked up about your ex?” Some of the answers are already here, if you know where to look. As I previously wrote about
Smoke Gets in Your Eyes Read More »
Visions of Bill Murray danced through my head this morning as the resumption of now-familiar drilling and clanging noises kicked off day three of pier-digging.* If things are less cacophonous tomorrow, I might be able to finish my next movie review, but since there was no peace in the valley today this is the best
After the fourth or fifth time I woke up coughing and gagging last night, still too congested to breathe, I glanced at my watch. It was only 11 pm and Crankenstein hadn’t yet stirred, but I didn’t want to risk disturbing her overnight when she had clinic in the morning. Gathering my pillow, water and