yes miss month of may. i’m talking to you. you and your skimpy, three lettered, query-conveying, pert name. may? yes. you may. always one of my favorite months {don’t i say that every thirty days though?} and not because tis me birth month—and on...
the lavender, head-banging, mosh pit style, told me first. the murmuring whoosh of the chimney echo confirmed the unruly backyard scene. i can find omens in the disciplined, bold font of my coffee cup: DEFCON 1. prepare with maximun readiness, girl. like a mountain...
Chuck Palahniuk, Diary major funk, party of one please. this week has been one lackluster, empty, cold basin of inspiration for me. usually i’m chin high, sky-scraping on my relevéd heels with ideas and plans for my classes. but this week my abracadabra lacks...
my pants would burst into flames if i said your generosity stunned me. two nights ago i dreamt i called the police on myself for airbrushing my passport photo. lying isn’t a shot i swig down handily. so what i’m trying to say is, yes, you ARE too old for...
perhaps it’s this whole mercury in retrograde rumpus that’s making me all hands-in-the-air, strung high; my brain popcorn-like and zany. perhaps it’s the handful of vitamins i swallowed on saturday afternoon, that i SWEAR, 3 days later, i can STILL...
thursday happy to you m’loves. here’s my concoction for a well-rounded, kick-in-the-pants, one more day until friday, 24 hours. one part thrill. splashes of beauty. two parts game. a dose of repose. 3 parts sing-song. the god’s honest truth. and...