Parking in San Francisco is an endeavor best undertaken with a sherpa and a fresh loaf of nutritious bread. If someone is lucky enough to have their own spot, woe betide the fiend who poaches it.
I’m generally a nice person. I give money to charity, avoid pushing old ladies, and quietly wait until everyone has [...]
Gifts, grouped by species:
Festive Christmas moose. Scarf, holly, spindly legs and all. Please note the acorn-bedecked shoes.
Moose slippers. Complete with tufty hair, inquisitive expressions, and noses that click on the floor when I walk.
Moose masseuse. You toss it in the microwave and drape it over your shoulders. I’m holding out hope that when I toss [...]
I am bedecked in festive holiday burns, courtesy of hours of cookie baking yesterday. Due to the state of my bank account, I’m not indulging in my normal frantic consumerism for Christmas this year. Everyone gets cookies, a state of affairs I may have belabored by announcing, whenever someone mentions Christmas, gifts, or the amount [...]
The last thing you want to hear when someone walks in the house is, “Hey!…Um, where’s your car?”
Pause.
Eyes blinking.
Pause.
Crickets chirping.
Pause.
Dog hair drifting lazily in the sun before falling to coat the carpet.
Pause.
“What do you mean, ‘Where’s my car?’”
We stared at each other, me envisioning spending the next three hours filing police reports and trying to [...]
We seem to have acquired a new pet. Entirely by accident. And possibly by stupidity.
Our next door neighbors have a three-legged black cat named Batman. Batman is apparently displeased by their habits (which presumably include jobs, a word unheard of in this household) and has decided to adopt us instead. So every morning, Batman hops [...]
I love Christmas. I’m embarrassed to admit how much, because you would edge warily away, afraid I might wrestle you to the floor and shove your protesting head into a sequined Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer sweater. Rest easy, because I am fresh out of festive holiday apparel. I might ply you with fresh gingerbread cookies [...]
My always keen avoidance techniques are acquiring a new sheen. Not unlike a classic Porsche owned by a 55-year-old man who breathes on the rear fender before buffing it with a clean diaper. I’m avoiding like mad, y’all. I have designated this post in the Broken Vagina series the emotional one. But I’m not very [...]
I like my purses roomy. When I leave the house for more than ten minutes, I want to be sure I have a full range of entertainment and snacking options. When I went to Italy in May, my purse held guide books (yes, plural), maps, notebooks, various documentation, a camera, water, the aforementioned snacks – [...]
While having a diagnosis (vulvodynia, for those of you who enjoy details) and a treatment plan is vastly preferable to floundering about in the choppy waters of an HMO that could institutionally care less, now get out of the way of the guy with a broken leg, the one with an actual problem, you’re blocking [...]
(Part I is here, part II is here.)
When I finally pried my left hand off my forehead and my right hand off the cookie dough to visit my HMO, the nurse spent five whole minutes with me before shuffling me out the door with a cheery, “Use more lube and it will go away on [...]
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