As sometimes happens, I came to it — rockabilly — for the clothes. I started collecting vintage clothes from the 1940s through the early ’60s when I graduated from college and was entering the working world, because I wanted more than black pants and a sweater for business casual. I clicked away hours on my laptop, gleaning important bits of knowledge from old photos and bloggers everywhere from Australia to Austin. These stylish women were wonderfully put together for work and play, and danced to a soundtrack of music more powerful and raw than what I’d been listening to at the time. Keep reading »
From the time I learned what fingering was at age 11, it sounded not that great to me, and that didn’t really change for about 15 years.
Even the idea of fingering (or “fingerbanging,” yikes) sounded bad. It almost didn’t occur to me that fingering would be something I would actually want. I’d even tried it myself but it was just left me bored and with a cramp in my hand. Certainly it did not stand up to the newly discovered pleasures of the shower head. But it was still something I expected to happen to me at some point, a natural progression like moonrise following sunset or whatever. Keep reading »
Come the holiday season, I’m all abuzz with warm, fuzzy feelings. The world is all aglitter with Christmas lights, hot cocoa and cider sit warm in my belly, dogs wear absurd sweaters, and I can’t stop smiling. I practically piss eggnog. From the day after Thanksgiving through Boxing Day, I delve into a playlist of about 120 Christmas songs—and counting. That’s roughly six and a half hours of music. I have five recordings of “Jingle Bells” alone. There’s no cure for my holiday hysteria (and if there were, I’m certain it’d be shaped like a tiny candy cane). Keep reading »
I recently spent the weekend in bed with a terrible stomach bug. At the stroke of midnight on Friday, I began puking my brains out, and what didn’t come up as vomit came out the other end. The next day, I thought the worst of it — the diarrhea — was over, but I was still happy when my boyfriend Nick showed up with supplies to calm my still-upset stomach. We hung out in bed, watching cartoons, while I drank ginger tea and tried to stop passing gas. One particularly gross fart sputtered forth and I sat very still. Keep reading »