Last weekend, my friend Sharon Harrigan had an essay featured on The Rumpus titled “Stain.” In it, she describes a twisted encounter with a stranger during the innocuous act of walking her dog. At twelve years old, she was old enough to sense that something was off in his manner, his casual and cruel way […]Read more "The Knife Man, the Monster and the Pen Pal"
I have been camping in my house for a week. This sounds strange when I say it to people. They ask, to clarify, if I’ve moved back into my house. Like every question this year, the answer is complicated, full of footnotes and asides and more questions—“did I tell you…?” “Did you know that…?” “Well, […]Read more "Camping"
Today I turned 30. It’s been a good day–I’ve eaten too much, spent too much, and it looks as though now I’m about to say too much. On top of the day’s excess sits a hefty amount of reflection. I spent some time combing through my external hard drive, hell-bent on finding a photo from […]Read more "In Defense of the Slutty Costume"
There are some things that happen around midnight nowadays that I’m not particularly proud of. Since I left Tucson for Portland two months ago, and I am still waiting for my husband to transfer back up here, there is loneliness. There is worry. There is anxiety. I turn in early because I feel exhausted, but […]Read more "Midnight Confessions: Kim Kardashian Hollywood Edition"
I watched the first episode of The Leftovers while I was on a bus. It was my first bus ride since I was in grade school, maybe freshman or sophomore year of high school. Before my best friend’s mom started giving me rides in her Rav 4, before I got my driver’s license and shuttled […]Read more "The Departed and The Leftover"
Dear Tucson, You’re probably wondering why I didn’t say goodbye. You’re probably upset, and I understand how you would feel that way. If you step back from your raw emotion, however, I think that you’ll start to see the rivets in our lives that led us here. We weren’t happy, Tucson. Not together. I know […]Read more "The Break-Up Letter"
Khaleesi Blankenbiller. The words roll off my tongue like TV static and fax machine sounds. To be fair, any name paired with Blankenbiller is an anti-poem. The hefty, blunt German moniker sounds like a tuba solo following a ballerina. I flirt with striking the last name from my record by flipping back to my dainty […]Read more "Khaleesi Blankenbiller"
Two weeks ago, I wandered from the orchids, palms and shark reefs of Las Vegas’s Mandalay Bay into the Luxor pyramid. In the center of the neon tomb, across from the Margarita by the Yard kiosk, were neighboring exhibits: Bodies and Titanic. Did anyone pause to consider whether stuffing a freak show of skinned, disemboweled, […]Read more "Some Shit from the Gift Shop"
You never watch alone. It’s impossible now to feel like a lone fan of your favorite show. Over the past decade, the TV-watching experience has transformed from a solitary respite with a typical shared audience being a living room full of family battling for the remote. We now, as a constantly connected world, watch together, […]Read more "You’ll Never Watch Alone: A Fan’s World Grows Smaller"
Take it back, universe. Take back my Icona Pop “I Love It” download. Take back the fro-yo addiction. Take back all of my Girls defenses on Twitter, on my blog, in bar conversations, the think pieces. Let me hurl them at the window like so many Glaciology textbooks. SPOILER ALERT The third season of Girls […]Read more "Sorry, Girls. I’m Done."