It all started with a grab of the pussy. It was in second grade, on the playground. A dare gone wrong and I was the target. “I’ll give you a dollar if you touch Jennifer’s privates” and he did. Walked right up to me with a grin on his face, he grabbed my pussy and ran away with a buck. You know what? I forgot. … Continue reading My Disposable Body, Part One: The Beginning
In high school, Shelly’s dad kept anal beads inside of a jar of Vaseline tucked under the couch he slept on in the living room. The first real porno I ever saw was at a sleep over at her house during my freshman year of high school. It was a VHS tape her dad rented featuring hardcore anal sex. At the end of the scene- … Continue reading Friendship
Todays marks my 3 week anniversary of not working. (if you stay with me, after i have waxed poetic about being jobless, you will be treated to a listicle of what the hell i do with my time. also, every time i say the work listicle I dry heave.) When people find out I quit my job, I get a variety of responses ranging from “Where are … Continue reading On Not Working
Dedicated to Stephanie on her 35th birthday. 25 years of friendship and every time we have ever spoke she has encouraged me to write. Today, as I was coming out of a meditation session, a few shocking words came to me. Wait. Who am I trying to kid? It was a masturbation session. Whatever, same difference. One is a heck of a lot more fun, … Continue reading Failure
I quit my job two weeks ago today. I gave an 8-week notice because I was the manager and I felt guilty. I left 3 days before my 8 weeks was up. I just walked out. Well, I gave them “my two cents” aka “a piece of my mushy, underdeveloped mind” which sounded something like a garbled “Na-na-na-boo-boo-stick-your-head-in-doo-doo-i-hate-myself-leave-me-alone-im-sorry-goodbye” before I walked out (i.e. hobbled out … Continue reading Labor Day Weekend Barista Apocalypse Fantasy For Your Reading Pleasure
I set my alarm to wake up at 4:30am this morning so I could meditate and take a bunch of mushrooms at 5:03am so I could heal under the new moon of September while high as fuck on psilocybin and start autumn-leaf-pumpkin-spice- LeBron James-return-to-Cleveland-fresh. (What I’m saying is, I wanted to forgive my Prodigal son self and welcome her back, but really it’s not for … Continue reading Identity is a hell of a drug.