Coming out is a thing easier said than done. I mean, not for lack of trying or anything. After a bout of nervous farts and sweaty pits, I decided to attend a blogging convention. I’m talking endless fantasies of walking into some convention center with the words ANNE NAHM ironed
Mechanic Mike, this shortcut through the old cemetery is totally worth it. . . . . I dunno, Dora. My mustache has a bad feeling about this. . . Do you hear that? Like a fist, coming up through recently turned earth?! Which coincidentally, sounds a lot like holiday
Plans for Thanksgiving at my house snowballed last week, pretty much like snowballs do – fast and furious, going downhill quick. Then melted, much like they do in Hell. The nicest part about The Cool Thing is that I’m now afforded a certain grace for my introverted, socially awkward behavior.
Took the train to Santa Barbara for our 13th wedding anniversary. Went to the museum of modern art. Walked around town. Ate this giant goldfish. Drank four margaritas between the hours of 6 and 11 pm. My husband tried to take me for a romantic walk on the beach,
I’m coming out because of my dad. It took me a few days to see that, but I’ll cop to it now that I do. Of all the things he could be trying to teach me as an adult (Hey, lose some weight/treat your body better, or stay current on