Snippets

I've been thinking a lot about my own personal property, lately; my stuff. I own a lot of stuff. I have space for all of my stuff. I have so much space for my stuff, that I can't see all of my stuff by simply turning my head from side to side. I have multiple floors, multiple rooms, multiple closets and cabinets and corners. I have a lot of furniture. I have a lot of space. I have stuff and space. Most of my stuff is worth very little; much of it is entirely unnecessary. I don't need the big Kitchenaid stand mixer, with four attachments; I can get away with a bowl and wooden spoon. I don't need all this stemware and a dozen Tervis tumblers; I need a single plastic cup, to hand wash between uses. Do I need television? Not at all. I don't need a laptop. I don't need a cell phone. I don't need a microwave. I don't need a "fancy" bedroom set. I don't need crystal vases; I can slice the tops off empty plastic milk jugs, if I want to keep

If you ever hear me say "I don't remember," there is a 95% chance that I am lying.

Carole King is beautiful. She is majestic and brilliant and talented and legendary and she has great hair. I was still young and living in the city the first time I listened to “Tapestry” all the way through. I had already heard every song a thousand times, except “Beautiful”; this was the first. It is positive, upbeat, motivational; it’s fake it ‘til you make it; it’s see it and be it. It was the worst song I could have listened to back then. New York City will always be glamorous and exciting to anyone who has never lived there. Everyone needs to see it, at least once. Every Long Island kid needs to live there, for a least a year. In short, New York City is necessary. It also sucks; it is depressing and it sucks. Consider the city from the perspective of someone who can just barely afford to live there. Your small studio apartment is nothing more than a box; it is a small box within a large box. (I never actually did the shoebox studio, but work with me on this one.) You wa

This is the way my mind works – repetition, repetition, repetition – this is how I remember things. Movies, television, happy things, yucky things; nothing useful. I will watch movies in my head over and over again, on a continuous loop; usually three or four or even five at a time. Movies that are in no way related to each other, scenes interspersed, answering one another; over and over and over again. It’s not done on purpose. It’s only vaguely irritating. For every exchange I have with another person, every exchange I overhear, every thought I have, a movie or t.v. quote will instantly pop into my head as a response to whatever is being said. I know I can’t possibly be the only person whose mind works this way, but I’ve yet to meet anyone who can relate and I feel so very alone in the world because of it. Or…I would, if there had never been a television series based upon this type of thought process. This is the fun part. This is a very exciting time for me, because I just gav

Let’s just take a step back for a moment or two and consider the pause of the menses persuasion. Let’s, at least, consider my own experience in the past year (or two, or three, or however long it’s been going on for). I got my first period in October or November of 1988, when I was 12 years old. I was pissed. All I could see were decades ahead of pain, discomfort, stickiness, messiness, inconvenience etc. I couldn’t wait for menopause. End this misery! Are we up to speed? Great. Now, let’s jump ahead 29 or 30 years and backtrack a couple more, to when the real fun started.  (Warning: Some people might consider the details that I am about to put forth, to be “TMI.” Those people would be wrong. I am offering the exact amount of “I” required. Swallow it.) It was late September or early October of 2015 when my lady parts began to feel a bit wonky. (Just jump right in, the water’s fine.) Now, I’ve had my share of yeast infections over the years. What woman hasn’t? (If you just raised