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The Wreck of the Edmund FitzJocelyn
I live next to the largest body of fresh water in the world in terms of surface area. Because I have a long bendy straw, and I am very good at leaning out my window, I am never thirsty. And because I am always careful to suck up my requisite sixty-four ounces per day, the
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There’s a Kind of a Hush All Over the World Tonight
They’re out. Gone. Vamoosed. Praise the long-armed reach of absentee landlords (take that, Ireland!): the bohunk renters across the alley have been evicted. After my earlier post about these five college lads’ disruptive partying tendencies, things got worse. They hit a new high the night that Phat Boy Renter and his Li’l Blondie girl sat
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If These Photos Represent a Mere Ten Seconds of My Day, How Could I Possibly Find More Hours For Blogging?
I don’t mean to post all the time about mein Wee Niblet, but, hand to heaven, he continually provides a mind-boggling amount of fodder. For example, we have a deal in the household, when the kids are due for haircuts, that they can go sit in a stylist’s chair somewhere and be enveloped by a
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Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want: This Key
I wasn’t kidding. This story is a continuation of the previous one. I know you’re all, “Well, even though I didn’t read her last post, I’m not about to go back now and waste my precious time on it. No, I’m NOT. I’m just going to read this one here and piece it all together.
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Like Finding a Grain of Broken Rice in a Particularly-Soggy Bowl of Shredded Wheat
Blissy. That’s an apt word for how I felt during my run on the Superior Hiking Trail last week. Maybe Glimmery. Possibly Elysian. Having my feet off asphalt, dodging rocks and roots, listening to the creek burbling nearby, I very nearly wanted to whip up a quick fire and cremate myself right there and then,
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Free Launch
At some point in my twenties, my desire to have children became incontrovertible. Uh-HUH. I wanted kids. Fo’ sho’. This certainty necessitated a messy break-up with my 46-year-old vasectomized boyfriend of six years. I’m sorry, Jack. You had not the sperm I needed. Plus, you were kind of emotionally shattered and full of scary landmines.
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She Couldn’t Pour Water Out of a Boot If The Instructions Were on the Heel
A few weeks ago, I was driving a van load of kids towards sweet treats. In addition to massaging the New York Times crossword puzzle, pushing back my cuticles, and pouring Malbec down my gullet, this is what I do. I drive the small people. Towards the ice cream. Right around the Lake Street
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Jesu, Joy of Jocelyn’s Retiring
On the surface, Johann Sebastian Bach was just another poncy wig-wearing composer. But beneath the wig lurked something more menacing: the ability to derail promising futures. And perhaps lice. If he’d been born even a year sooner or later, I might actually have a high school degree today, and a high school degree, as popular
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Wherein Jamie Lynn Spears Breaks My Bank
Every time they want an increase in their allowance, the kids pull this kind of emotional blackmail. Niblet’s all, “But I’m scawwed at night and need someone to sleep wif me.” Damn that Zoey 101 episode the kids watched, where the dorm was haunted by a malicious and creeping slimy green mist. Niblet knew
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The Chicken/Egg Conundrum, Mammarily Speaking
For me, the underlying question is this: Was it Bristol Palin’s massive Double Whammies that first attracted the Hockey Hunk who knocked her up? Or did her sideboard of melons develop later, as a result of said knock-upage? If so, and she was pancakeish in the chestal region pre-baby-baking, does this lack imply she
