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Hello, PetCo? I’d Like to Cancel My Line of Credit
When I met him, my husband was a naturalist. Raise your hand if your first thought, after reading that sentence, went a little something like “Jocelyn’s husband was a nudist????” Now put your hand down, Tinkerbell. You’re all alone in front of your computer, after all, which means it’s kind of queer to keep
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A Guest Post from My Pal Jim Who Grew Up in Wisconsin, Spent Many Years in Minnesota, and Now Lives in Palm Springs
So, yes, the post below is the latest pinch hitting by my friend, Jim; in past times, he’s also written about performing in GREASE and seeing Elizabeth Taylor. In this latest, he considers his move to California a couple of years back. Enjoy his musings, as I jet off to Colorado this weekend to help
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You Want to Come to Their Potluck
I noted in my last post that my body is descended from a long line of human couches. I like to think our cushions are covered in the softest of plush upholsteries and that those allowed to fluff our throw pillows are both deserving and grateful. Below is a literal line-up of my genetic line:
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Skeletal Superiority
I married up, genetically. Whereas I had lost three grandparents by the age of eight, my husband is nearly thirty-nine and still has three. My last-surviving grandparent died when I was thirty-one; his first-to-pass grandparent died when he was thirty-seven. What’s more, I come from a long line of smooshy, well-hipped, prodigiously-hootered women. Our body
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Goodbye, Fifteen
Thanks to Frank and Moon Unit Zappa and their “Valley Girl” hit of the ‘80s, I was equipped with adequate attitude and language, at age 15, to convey my scorn for the aged yee-haws who surrounded me: “Oh my God, I am, like, so sure I will ever be 40. Having all those wrinkles would
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The True Harvest of My Life Is Intangible
“The true harvest of my life is intangible – a little star dust caught, a portion of the rainbow I have clutched” –Thoreau For its rich colors, its slanting light, the way the axis of the world exerts its tilt, the feeling of delicious melancholy, the accordion pleating of previous warmth with impending cold, the
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Forgive Me, Viewer: It Has Been Two Days Since My Last Shower
…which is the norm, actually, so I don’t know why I’m acting all proud here. At any rate, occasionally I am less greasy than in this video. Let’s just pretend I’ve smeared myself in bacon grease. Howzabout for the 4th of July, I run around a park, and y’all try to catch me? UPDATE: Tonight,
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At Our House, You Don’t Have to Hide Your Brussels Sprouts in Your Napkin. Hell–That’s Funny–Like You’d Be Given a Napkin at Our House
Here are my dominant memories of first grade: 1) I got chicken pox and stayed home from school for a week. It got a little long, that week of lolling around, scratching myself, but then my mom set a Mason jar of buttons next to me (which her mom had collected for decades), and suddenly
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Sometimes I Get So Distracted, I Forget to Wipe
Groom just disappeared for three minutes. When I came upstairs to, er, use the amenities, I saw what he’d been up to. It’s gotten so fun around here that I find myself drinking 467 ounces of water a day, just to earn repeat trips to the bathroom. Question: if a Pyramid Man breaks his
