Sorry for the crappy cellphone pictures, but they don’t let you cart a big camera just anywhere in our fair city, you know. Upon the suggestion of my friend Ashley, we went to see Wicked at The Orpheum on Sunday. I’m sort of inexperienced when it comes to real live musicals (I saw Cats and A Doll’s House at TPAC, I think?, while in middle and high school) and — short of Tim Burton movies…
I have been laid low a few times in my life. Luckily (or perhaps sadly, depending on your perspective and how much you like to see me suffer), not too terribly many times. Nonetheless, this weekend I found myself on my floor in a heap, a demon of despair escaping from my lungs in great heaves. It was not pretty and it was not cathartic. It just felt like death. The death of all the…
Sometimes it’s 11 p.m. and the boy you’re smitten with emerges from the office, where he’s been studying, and says, “Want to go for a drive?” because he’s got to run some fancy magic juice through his gas tank so he can pass his emissions test in the morning. And that is how you will find yourself going east, east, east, and telling him to drive you past your very first Memphis apartment, which gives…
Things the BFKM suggested we do today: 1. Murder [name redacted] and [name redacted] and then run away to Mexico. 2. Burn a bunch of Bibles to taunt that preacher in Florida. 3. Fill up a kiddie pool with baby oil and wrestle naked.
A play [The Boyfriend Formerly Known as Manfred* enters room] Me, to BFKM while stroking Jack, who had come to sit next to me while BFKM was out of the room: We’re in love. BFKM: [Shocked face] Me: Mmm hmm. We’re getting married. Show him the ring you got me, kitty. [Whispers] It’s a milk top ring! BFKM: Well, fine. That’s okay because I have been having a torrid affair with Miss Kitty. Me: [Shocked…
Manfred, via text message: You’re all I think about unless I have to pee. Then I think about that.
Me: Want me to bring you a souvenir? Manfred: Yes. Bring me a replica of the space needle. Me: I’m going to Portland, not Seattle! Manfred: Same thing.
On the heels of a recent conversation about Southernisms and colloquialisms spurred by my usage of “gullywasher”… Manfred: I heard something like “gullywarsher” the other day: “Frog strangler.” Me: Oh yeah? Ha! That must be like a toad choker. Frog strangler, toad choker, gullywasher. Manfred: I have never heard of any of those. Me: What are some colloquialisms from where you’re from? I’m sure there are Jersey phrases we don’t use here. Manfred: I can’t…
This groovy leaf courtesy of the calla lily the fella brought me a month ago.
My dad is a snorer. A robust Olympian of a snorer. The kind of snorer who can shake walls and summon earthquakes with his tracheal vibrations. For years I suffered through family vacations spent sleeping in the same room as my parents. As soon as dad would nod off — which never took long, as damn near everyone in my family is more or less narcoleptic — I knew that was all the wrote, and…
You must be logged in to post a comment.