One morning, around the age of forty, I woke up, and my boyfriend of fourteen years said, "Honey, I have some bad news. I'm breaking up with you." So, I said, "Well, here's some more not-so-great news, you're fifty, and Bigfoot isn't real. Enjoy living with your parents." I met Jack in my twenties at a show we were both doing at a comedy club in Los Angeles. It was 1995, amid the OJ trial madness, which doesn't matter except that we saw Marsha Clark, the lead prosecutor, at a bar later that night which was weird. She has super curly hair, by the way. After that, we made out in my car until the wee hours of the morning, which lead to us spending the next decade and a half of our lives together. For the record, I don't usually make out with men I've just met. Okay, sure, a couple or three times, but a lady can't allow such behavior to become a habit. However, it could not be helped because he was charming, funny, and handsome with big...
My Bully’s Name is Stephanie In kindergarten I tried to change my name to Kelly and I became best friends with Stephanie who didn’t try to change her name but never told me I was weird and we laughed on the playground and played with our dolls and learned how to spell and dream. In second grade Stephanie decided to be friends with Brittany instead and no one ever told me but I figured it out when they laughed at me at recess and made excuses to keep me from playing with them and I tried so hard not to cry until I got home. In middle school they played sports together but I found solace in books because maybe books wouldn’t make me feel so empty inside. In high school Stephanie nearly starved herself to death and I wished we could have been friends again so she’d know that I spent half my day with my face in the toilet because I couldn’t control myself the way I assumed that she could and it never occurred to me that she hated existence just as much as I did. In college I tried to forge...
Best Damn Girl In The World The engine of my Harley Davidson roared through the streets of the secluded neighborhood as I moseyed on over to my second date of the week's house. I was 45 minutes late. My armpits were sweaty and I could feel my button down sticking to my skin. Curse the summer weather that we all say we adore, but can't stand by its end. My entire get up for the evening was sabotaged by mud puddle water that a garbage truck assaulted me with when I was picking up flowers at the shop. They were utterly destroyed. They were dead before, but even more dead after the tsunami hit. Perfect. Every girl loves it when her sweaty dirty date says “These are for you” and hands her a bouquet of death. That really screams “I want to get to know you” on a personal level. When I pulled up to her mansion, there she stood on the front steps waiting for me. Looking like a prize in her sundress smiling at me. Every girl smiled at me before I got to the starting line...
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