Last week I was fat. This week I’m just downright pregnant. Really, really pregnant. Swelling feet, bulbous belly, achy back, well greased tear ducts. I think it’s no coincidence that my hardcore attack of pregnancy should hit the same week that we are finally giving birth to the beginnings of our new life, in our new house. Now that the deed is done, the moving … Continue reading Pregnant Pause (22 weeks)
I feel I need to contextualize my rant of last week. Nine years ago, I finished my MFA. Two years later, I finished the book I had begun writing as part of my MFA. Five years after that I started this blog. Did you catch what I just said? Maybe you were distracted by the big number nine that I started with, but nine isn’t … Continue reading I’m not grumpy, I’m just a writer.
I like big thighs. Big bottoms too. And wide, firm hips, strong calves, and powerful cores. But mostly, right now, it’s the thighs that have me thinking. If you read this blog regularly, you probably know that I’ve got some hangups about my body, and some issues with what constitutes beautiful in this unique (though maybe not abnormal) culture of Los Angeles where I’ve spent … Continue reading I Like Big Thighs.
What I’m reading right now: Overwhelmed, Can’t and Won’t, When Things Fall Apart. I worry that the little pile of books by my bedside is trying to tell me something. Clearly I am in crisis. But despite these seemingly telling titles (and despite that oddly optimistic-cum-debbie-downer post of last week), I swear it’s not all that bad. Or at least I think I swear? For … Continue reading Ride On Ride On
Raver (noun): insult used to indicate a silly, frivolous, or stupid person; often associated with “trance” or “techno” music. Like so many of my generation who came of age in the nighties or even early aughts, I have come to use the term raver as a pejorative. It’s easy to trace the etymology of this. All those pacifiers, glow sticks, candy bracelets. All that hopping … Continue reading I am not a raver.
On Sundays I run. I run two or three (or on a really good week, four) other days a week, but those long Sunday runs are sacred – every time out is another extended attempt at peace, a slow, sweaty slog until I hit mile three or four or six when finally all of the energy, all of the motion creates quiet in my mind. … Continue reading I feel bad about my butt.
I have a problem with perfection. This isn’t news, of course, I’ve been perfecting my perfectionism for years – decades, in fact. Different manifestations, different modes of measure, but perfection nonetheless. I was the perfect Tween Theater Troupe Cinderella turned perfect Teen Greek Debutante turned perfect Rhodes Scholar in Training turned perfect, truly perfect, Fuck Everyone Late Blooming Rebel. Through all these various iterations of … Continue reading (Im)Perfect
Dear Friends, I am on vacation. Real vacation. As in, sitting at the beach, drinking beer before noon, baring my belly to the elements vacation. (While hacking away at my never-finished-masters-thesis in quiet moments, of course, but vacation nonetheless). So as much as I miss talking to you all, I’ve decided to take the week off. I’ve got lots of posts all bottled up in … Continue reading Packing Tips from Toddlers
I took some time off from work this week, with a three-pronged goal of preparing for my new job, finishing my (second) master’s thesis and enjoying some bit of relaxation and/or celebration as a (mostly) free birthday gift to myself . I had everything planned for the perfect week. My husband was leaving town Friday for a five day/four night shoot in Mt. Whitney, which meant … Continue reading Moms Don’t Get Vacations
One of the very first relationship conversations my husband and I had was not about future plans or past partners, not about when and whether we would declare our exclusivity or how we each felt about premarital cohabitation. It was about sports. Professional sports fandom is not a typical hobby among my friends – more often than not, our art school coolness precludes us from … Continue reading Don’t Cry, It’s Only Baseball