This screen in front of us makes an easy scapegoat for us to avoid the responsibility of showing up for each other. And who are we, really, when no one is looking?
When your friend decides to have a baby, you should profoundly care about that baby’s life – in so far as you care about all things that are important to your friend. That doesn’t mean you are suddenly obligated to become Uncle Joey from Full House.
Will I allow it to continue if our missionary style boinking is off rhythm to the extent that I feel we’ve become a human see-saw made by a confused drunk elephant? No.
I broke the news to my cousin at my birthday dinner as he eagerly dug into a meat-filled tortiere. Admittedly, I felt apologetic about my new lifestyle. I didn’t want to sound as if I belonged to a “movement”.
The origin of self-hatred starts with the map of stretch marks etched down the backs of my legs, carved like lace down my thighs, hugging my waist and tattooed deeply into my breasts.
Who would we embody? What would our stage name be? What kind of music would we use as we dropped our drawers?