Me, Me, Me, Me, Me


May
12
2011

A Thousand Words About The Sniffles

I’ve been traveling quite a bit recently, which is probably how I came to have three colds in three months. It’s infuriating to me, this having three colds in three months, because I’m not a particularly “sick” person. I can go years without so much as a sniffle and then suddenly bam, bam, bam, three colds in three months and before you know it I’ve bought stock in Nyquil and turned into one of those people who carries around their own tissues, and I’m not talking about a discreet little packet of tissues, I’m talking about a box.

Continue Reading

Apr
07
2011

You Guys, I Think I Have Basically Just Explained The Meaning Of Life

So I have this theory about buckets. Wait, wait, don't walk away just yet: it's not really about buckets, it's about life. But it involves buckets. I mean, sort of. Peripherally. Just listen.

I feel like everyone, in their life, has a set of buckets. We mostly all have the same buckets, although they change as we age and our lives expland and contract. My own buckets, at least at the moment, are these: my marriage, my job, my house, my friendships, my family, and my general appearance and well-being.

Continue Reading

Feb
14
2011

You May Be Sensing A Theme Here

Behold the newest addition to my kitchen! Isn't it lovely? This gigantic map was a birthday present from Sean last week and on Saturday we affixed it to the wall. Not, I might add, without playing a neverending round of "Can you find ____ on the map?", a game that will surely serve me well should I ever make it onto Jeopardy. The exact location of the South Sandwich Islands for $10,000, Alex! I'll take it!

Continue Reading

Jan
19
2011

Nothing To Write Home About

It was probably totally illegal. They’d call it bullying now, or harassment. Someone would write to the headmaster these days, someone would phone the school board, someone would no doubt call an urgent meeting, and all the banker fathers would show up in their Beemers, parking illegally, muttering concernedly, slinking late into the dining hall, and glancing guiltily at their watches as the talk of discrimination droned on. The term “hazing” would be bandied about, the word “victim.”

Continue Reading

Nov
08
2010

That's For The Future And The Future Is Now

When I was born, I had the cord wrapped around my neck five times. On New Year's Eve, eight months pregnant, my mother had been lying on the sofa, Blondie loud on the stereo on the last night of the seventies. As big as a watermelon, or maybe bigger, I was dancing around inside her, the outline of my tiny fists punctuating the skin of her stomach while my mother watched in wonder. At a crescendo, I jumped, flipping around violently like a porpoise getting tangled up in seaweed. Debbie Harry made me do it.

Continue Reading

Aug
29
2010

How We Met, Reconstructed

One of the nice things about marrying a person you've known for six hundred bajillion years is that there's a pretty good chance his parents still live in the town where you met. My parents used to live there too, of course, which makes any visit back an exercise in fitful nostalgia. There's your old house, says Sean as we drive past it, and I crane my neck to peer into the kitchen. That's where my brother and sister used to wait for the school bus. There's the store where we bought our bread and our milk.

Continue Reading