I wasn’t about to undergo another surgery without the bear, even though I was now forty-three and not an adorably clueless twenty-two-year-old.
In the pre-op room I was poked, prepped, and asked one very strange question.
When I Hear the Voices
The voices started out pretty faint and far away, like a soft echo dancing with the wind near some obscure, picturesque horizon. They were benevolent, not malicious. Encouraging even…
When Mirrors Strike Back
I HADN’T PLANNED on writing a sequel. I actually hadn’t planned on writing much after getting my memoir, Train Gone, out of my system. But something happened when a J-Dub I used to know got in touch with me…
Let’s Talk About Cults, Baby
When I unwittingly slid into “coach” status with this MLM, it was to get a chocolate protein shake at discount prices; at least that’s how it was sold to me initially…
It Didn’t Start With Me
Seventeen weeks post hysterectomy, sixty days sober. Lots of crazy shit has been running through my mind. I feel like I’m trying to cross a busy one-way street in Boston, at night, only I can’t find a break in the traffic pattern.
André, You’re Despicable. More, Please.
I was immediately both curious and excited about the contents of this bottle. It was sleek, slender, and gorgeous. The tiny beads of condensation teased and trickled their way down the neck of the bottle which held pink and bubbly liquid. The label looked classy. In a bold, shadowy, sexy font it read: André. Very classy indeed.
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