American Idol. I repent.
My favorite roadside Jesus Freak is back.
I’m glad. I thought maybe the skinny black man had given up on Lawrenceville,
My favorite roadside Jesus Freak is back.
I’m glad. I thought maybe the skinny black man had given up on Lawrenceville,
I listen to NPR. I love almost everything on NPR. I support NPR and now one of my pieces is up.
There was a list on the side of the fridge of all the things she’d planned to do this summer: go camping,
Things we do for love.
I have caught barf in my hands, told a sick snotty nosed kid with a bruised face she was beautiful and sat through tortuous hours of dance recitals all for love.
I was in the front seat of the Chrysler 300M when my husband smashed into the back of a slick gold domestic rental car.
My husband has been bugging me for months to go see this traveling exhibit of skinless bodies plasticized and propped up for the general public’s viewing pleasure.
A quick note on coprophagia –which sounds like a lovely Northern Italian dish to be served piping hot with a cold glass of Pinot Grigio.