It’s Saturday night — or “Saturrrdaaaaay night,” as one might croon in Frank Sinatra mode — and as Crankenstein showers post-workout and Muriel diligently bathes herself in the living room, pausing occasionally to stare at me, I’m on the couch trying to distract myself from bodily frustrations. For whatever reason, the levodopa hasn’t worked well […]
Same Old Saturday Night Read More »
The great birthday flap of 2024 was resolved in Crankenstein’s favor last night, following another of her Houdini-like marital escapes. She returned home at the end of a long and trying day bearing a self-deprecating card, a cake, and a sestina previously written for me. Even for a committed grouch such as myself, it’s hard
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 »