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Twenty-five opening sentences of blog entries I’ve started in the past two months
1) Have you ever barely stopped yourself from vomiting while busily in the process of cleaning someone else’s kitchen? 2) I’ve never run out of gas before, and my mother promised me that if I ever did she wouldn’t come and pick me up. 3) Monster-in-Law: what’s the most number of times YOU’VE ever watched…
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Why Why Moms Are Weird
Within 24 hours of posting information about my new book, someone was already complaining on Amazon. This person was nice enough to repeatedly state she was a fan of my writing, but found the title to be disappointing, and wildly lacking in imagination. I’d been planning to tell the story of how Why Moms Are…
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Cal-ifornia Love
I think Cal has decided his time with us is over. About three weeks ago, I came home late and watched The Sopranos on the couch with stee. Afterwards, as I was falling asleep, stee asked, “Where’s Cal?” It wasn’t like him not to be on stee’s legs, or in front of the television, or…
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Me…ow, naturally.
In my family, we employ a strange conversational device that is unfamiliar — and, I imagine, frequently intolerable — to those in the outside world. That is: we lack the ability to perceive the concept of the “rhetorical question.” As follows is a typical conversation between my brother and me that has been occurring since…
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updating without a story, just facts
This is an entry purely because you have been emailing frequently (and wonderfully, thank you) to inquire about Taylor and other things that have been going on. Taylor is sacked out next to me looking quite happy. We won’t test him again for another month — the vet wants to see if the DM special…
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regulating
I don’t think I can accurately describe how much cat puke I just picked up. It’s one in the morning. I’m currently staring at Taylor, watching him drink water, waiting to make sure he’s not about to go into some kind of seizure. At my last job there were many new parents, the kind who…
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The Eighth Annual Valentine’s Day Poems
Don’t be afraid to love them. Dear Hipster Valentine o’ Mine. Your t-shirts aren’t funny. And I hate your blog. I’m dumping your emo ass, But I’m keeping the dog.