63.2% of Statistics Are Completely Made Up

About John

On November 23 rd , 2018, the day after Thanksgiving, John Vincent Kaplan took his own life. He was 43 years old. I met John in September of 1993 when I was 17 and he was 18. We had been set up by a mutual friend, upon whom he had a massive crush. Said friend basically just wanted to get him off her back. John was exactly what my silly adolescent mind considered to be perfect boyfriend material: he was beautiful (vaguely resembled Jim Morrison, his idol); he had the soul of a tortured poet; great singing voice, with a rock star swagger to match; we had the same taste in music, movies and books; we shared the same sick, inappropriate sense of humor. Needless to say, my dumb ass was smitten. We were doomed. It took more than two years for me to realize that I had to end our relationship, and another year and a half before I mustered up the courage to actually end it. By then I was 22 and not the same person I was when I was 17. At 23, John hadn’t changed since the day I met him. I...

Menopause, Mammograms and Biopsies

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 ra...

Time Piece

I was given my first watch when I was 5 or 6 years old. The face featured a little girl with blond braids (Swiss Miss-like). The band was a kind of sea foam green shiny plastic; the kind of plastic that begs to be gnawed on, which I did. I loved having the watch because it made me feel grown up. I hated the watch itself because it was babyish. (I remember my brother, Andrew, trying to sell me on how cool and classy it was, once when I was lamenting over it. I wasn't impressed with his argument.) I'm not sure when it disappeared, or to where it disappeared, but I was missing it by the time I was ready to start college. I had only applied to one school. Bradford College was located in Haverhill, Ma, about 90 minutes north of Boston. A small liberal arts college, Bradford was founded in 1803 and closed its doors in 1998, the year I would have graduated, had I not made some poor choices. Haverhill wasn't exactly a happeni...

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