I’m pretty sure I’m a Hypochondriac. Which, I realize, is exactly the type of thing a Hypochondriac would say.
The day my mother died was the worst day I’ve ever known. But it ushered in what have since been my best years.
Because when you’ve been to more funerals than you have weddings, you think about this shit.
Also, ain’t no one allowed to play bullshit music at my funeral. Fact.
Dan Sartain, “Atheist Funeral” I want there to be no confusion as to this point: Dear family, when I die, please spend the money you would have spent on a minister on MORE FOOD AND BOOZE. Even though we’re all from the South and as such I know there will be plenty of both.
So, I named this blog “The Selfish Caregiver.” Now, I am finally going to explain why. Read the rest of this entry »
I, like many others from my generation, am fully guilty of being a shameless over-sharer. To be fair, it’s usually the consequence of two (or four) adult beverages swirling around in my belly, but still, I over-share nonetheless.
There’s one thing that I don’t talk to a lot of people about, though. Something that I find even more shameful than my Tinder addiction or weirdly excessive sweating. And much like the other subjects, it, too, only comes out after a few drinks:
Sometimes, I smoke. Read the rest of this entry »
I mean, I’ve never been a twiggy girl. I’m totally cool with that. Even at my smallest, I was made of hips and butt. I’m what a more gifted wordsmith than myself might call “thick.”
But another thing I am? An emotional eater. Read the rest of this entry »
People in their 20s love to talk about their sex lives. The good parts, the bad parts, the downright gross parts–all of it is up for discussion. I know more about my friends’ kinks, hang-ups, and pubic hair configurations than I could have ever imagined.
But in a brave new world built on over-sharing, there was always one part of my sex life that I was embarrassed to talk about, even with my closest friends:
My self-imposed three years without a sex life. Read the rest of this entry »
Nathan Joyce was my best friend. We met in high school in Richmond, Virginia and automatically hated each other. Years later, I would audition to be in his band and get in despite his protests. Eventually, we would both overcome our mutual lack of admiration to become quite fond of one another.
Nathan passed away in 2008 at the age of 26 as a result of melanoma. I miss him every day, especially when I need dating advice as he was the only person I’ve ever trusted to tell me exactly what was (inevitably) wrong with whoever I was seeing at the moment.
I’ll write more about Nathan later, but for now this video of him performing at Ipanema is a pretty good intro.