Saturday was Annie’s first birthday. My mom served her a ribeye steak to celebrate.
Posts under ‘Ties that bind...and gag’
Braced for the barrage of chain emails
I see this ad every time I log in to my Yahoo! email account.
I know the face that boy’s making.
How to make (but not necessarily keep) New Year’s resolutions
As far back as I can remember, my mom’s eyes have drooped long before the ball dropped in Times Square. Forget live music or noisemakers. She ushers in the new year by pulling out a fresh 3×5 index card and recording 10 resolutions.
“Some should be things you know you can definitely cross out,” she advised me at my initiation. “You probably won’t get to all of them.”
In high school then, I might have sarcastically asked, “Can I put breathing? How about buying a new shirt?”
My Very Own Special Christmas
A few months ago, I realized that I wanted to do something I hadn’t done before, something that sounded so pleasurable it made me feel bad.
I didn’t want to go home for Christmas.
The bad gift that keeps on giving
If it truly is the thought that counts, then I guess some people who have given me gifts over the past 26 years were cognitively challenged.
‘Tis time for my third video post wherein I discuss bad presents past.
Warning: May involve something related to puberty.
Her bark is worse than her bullet
I got my paws on more pictures of Annie in her Halloween costume.
Save your hide
Some of our worst problems sneak up on us. They’re freaky little failings no one anticipates. Tiny developments we miss a million times.
My first appointment of 2010 - and the first New Year’s resolution I’ll complete - is a skin cancer screening. I’ll be dressed in a robe and checked from scalp to sole for any suspicious spots.
I’ve needed to do this for awhile. I’m blue-eyed, fair-skinned, and have a family history of skin cancer. I grew up in Texas.
In the last few years, I’ve watched my dad undergo biopsies and chemotherapy to treat his skin cancer. He’s had chunks of his face removed. Pieces of his arms, his nose, his neck.
Tell me about your childhood
My friend Nate, the recovering canned fruit addict, is one of those tall, quiet types to watch out for.
When we went to see R. Crumb awhile back, we talked about our impressions of each other. I had mine of him, some of which he shot down. But his impressions of me were dead-on.
I’ve really enjoyed getting to know Nate. Next stop: psychoanalysis.
This sad sort of understanding
Two days ago, I found out that someone I grew up with died.
This boy was a classmate of mine for years, the son of my theater arts teacher. He always got first place at the science fair, and I got second.
He was the only boy who asked me to dance at the first dance in sixth grade. This was when he briefly liked me, before he began a passionate romance with a girl named Sabrina who was taller than him. I went to the other dances the rest of the year, never got asked to dance, and then stopped attending.
Writers play hide and seek
I’ve been surprised by how much the characters and situations I’m writing about in fiction class are based on my experiences in Texas.
I write about people, places, and feelings from NYC, too. So past and present mix to yield interesting results.
Playwright Neil LaBute puts it beautifully in the preface to his play Reasons to Be Pretty:
