This is a Funny Post


I set out to write this blog post with my only criteria being that I must be funny. So I looked around to my husband to see if he was doing anything unusual or entertaining that I could glean inspiration from. He’s the silly, hilarious one in the relationship who is consistently entertaining. I’m more the reactive, witty one who accidentally says and does funny things and then stares back blankly trying to figure out what part of my comment was the part that made people laugh. Then it becomes one of those moments where a 3 year old repeats the word fuck because they said it once, everyone laughed hilariously, and they expect the same results over and over again. This is awkward because I’m not 3 and no one finds it cute when I say fuck.



Every time I take a shower, there’s a moment where I feel as if I’m in a scene from an indie movie. I’m not exactly sure what it is. Perhaps the total mundaneness of taking a shower. Perhaps it’s the poor lighting coupled with the unsexy ambient sound made by my water pressure and the ceiling fan that accrue into neither a dramatically compelling nor humorous moment. Or it’s my long gaze at my 1980s shower facet, which will need to be turned on and off by a screw driver at any moment now. Each time I look down at the thing, I wonder if this will be the day that the water will just continue to run, no matter how many times I turn that plastic dial around. Or perhaps it’s the reality of my body being the naked body in the shower. My imperfect, pale, hairy body being in shot. I mean, only some low-budget, poorly-lit film set would allow this chick to be naked and on screen and I don’t even mean that in a self-deprecating way. I like my body. It’s just not the kind of body that would show up in a Hollywood shower scene. Only a movie written by Lena Dunham or something, but I think she usually keeps the nude scenes for herself.

July 4


Today I celebrated America.

I shot face-wash into my eye, causing it to swell and then seal itself with puss. How ironic that the thing I use to clean my face of impurities turns out to blind me.

Happy Independence Day.

C. Dilemma


I am finding it hard to breath because the bones – that I cannot name – are out of line in the back, which I cannot see. I wonder if they would cooperate if I could simply call their names and expose the way they are restricting my living.


My hands hurt from all the productivity they have attempted. For trying to produce something that they can hold and give and see as theirs. They ache at being overworked and under-cared. Still, they want something to hold. They contemplate growing more fingers and palms and nails-that-could-be-painted simply to reach further, grab wider, and grip tighter. Instead, they drop what they were already holding and begin to shake out of both pain and desire. And they wonder – what are hands if they do not hold or push or grip or shape or write or caress.
Meanwhile, they die. They are no longer mine.

Toilet Truth

Today… I lifted up the toilet seat and found two flies sitting on top of it. I waved my hand in front of them to ensure that they were still alive and capable of flight. I sat down trying not to dwell on the unusual occasion of toilet seat flies.
There’s been a rumbling in the plumbing system of my apartment. An apocalyptic melody moving its way towards me. Water trying to escape from the guts of my kitchen sink.
Conclusion… Everywhere I look there are signs of non-human activity working behind the scenes in my life.