People often ask about the dead bird on our wall. It’s a little brown sparrow, perched on driftwood, his head cocked. But there’s more in the shadowbox, and that’s when the explanation gets a little…complicated.
It is absolutely unsurprising that Chip and I met online. I mean, he does all his shopping there. And the way I saw it, the kind of guy I wanted to meet would know exactly what he wanted, what he didn’t want, and would be looking for something permanent. It sounded logical and efficient, and I detested “trying to meet guys.” Additionally, I was temporarily living back in my home town, and I already knew there was no one there that I wanted to date. That’s why I left in the first damn place.
When Chip and I started dating, he lived in one half of a duplex with Chris, who he’s known since little league. Around the time we decided to live together, the neighbors in the other half moved out, and Chip snapped it up. Now we live in one side, and Kori, another friend, moved in with Chris in the other. The houses are identical layout, about 550 square feet, two bedrooms, no closets.
Originally posted February 24, 2011
With all the anti-choice bills going on nationwide, I feel I need to tell my story. The anti-choice people are gaining too much ground, and we have to speak out or else we will lose all our rights. Women don’t have late-term abortions because they changed their mind about having a baby. They aren’t doing it because having a disabled child might be “inconvenient.” They do it out of love. WE do it out of love. My abortion was the most loving thing I did for my first son.
When I was working as The Princess, I was right across the street from Jimmy Kimmel Live. I went to see a few shows, which was neat, and went through a few autograph lines behind the building.
My journey from apathetic sort-of Christian to outspoken Atheist was pretty damn convoluted. No surprise there; I’ve never been good at taking the direct route. To anything. Ever.
I have been smoke free since February 2010, but oh my god, I want a cigarette so damn bad today. I dreamed about smoking last night. A pack of Sampoerna, all crisp and white with that bold red square in the middle; the white A stark and dignified over a gold basketweave pattern. Taking one of the slim, graceful tubes and lighting it, hearing the deep, slow crackle as I inhale. The slightly spicy smell of the smoke, the sweet taste left on my lips because they dip the filters in honey…
I used to fly cross-country all the time. At least once a year, Portland to Pittsburgh and back again. As an “unaccompanied child” in a pre-9/11 era, it was a blast. I looked forward to the flights. I loved going through security (back then, it was just the metal detector and the thing for your bags, and you could have a soda and nail clippers and nobody cared), loved lugging my big boxcar suitcase with the leash and the wheels. And the matching carry on bag. So grown up! Of course, I also was lugging my giant stuffed panda, so maybe not quite so grown up, but still.
I am very much hoping that, along with the return of my writing skills, I’ll find some reading skills. I haven’t been able to read anything longer than a Cracked article for years now. I’m keeping up on news and events and blogs and all that stuff, but recreational reading? Only if I’m rereading stuff I have pretty much memorized.