Hippie. Preppie. Popular. Loner. Freak. Geek. I was all of those things at one point during high school. Except popular… I just tagged along with the cool kids for a while. Which was fine, because in my high school, the cool kids tended to have the personalities and suntans of a Cheez-It. They looked like models for a JC Penney catalog. The guys drank cans of Busch and got wasted. They bullied , they date raped, they high-fived. The girls were even scarier. For more, just watch Season 1 of Veronica Mars and…That.
Let’s just say I never fit the mold. Continue reading
As a teenager in the suburbs, there’s not a ton to do. Most kids wind up committing to being jocks or scholars shooting for the Ivy League purely from lack of diverse choices alone. Others just float along and enjoy youth, aka, look for trouble.
The laminate on my driver’s license barely formed a seal before I sped to the gas station to buy a pack of cigarettes. I’d never smoked before – not even just pretending to inhale – but I was an unsupervised, restless teenager who wanted to breathe fire. And in the 90’s, carding for cigarettes really wasn’t a thing. After all, most of the people working at gas stations were classmates from my high school. Continue reading
I’ve never been a long-term thinker. I visibly cringe during job interviews when I get the clichéd and dreaded, “So…tell me…where do you see yourself in 5 years?”
I have no idea. There are just about one bazillion factors that could change where I see myself in 5 years. If I win the Powerball, I’ll probably be in some bungalow up in Seattle, looking out on the ocean and working with a pet rescue. If I get hit by a bus and have to learn how to walk again, I might be living with my parents, having been abandoned by a husband who was supposed to stick with me in sickness and in health. If life goes on status quo, I’ll probably be right here, glued to a computer screen and working 60 hours a week. Continue reading
The scream heard round the neighborhood.
“What happened?” I asked as I ran down the steps, hair still wet from the shower. “Why was there a little girl screaming outside a few minutes ago?”
My stepmom didn’t even look up from her cookbook to answer.
“It wasn’t a little girl,” she said. “It was your father.” Continue reading
Animals: real, stuffed, wild and domesticated. Love ’em all.
Growing up in my family, I became familiar with two types of critters: those that we feared and those that we adopted. One such critter, Madeline, happened to fall into both categories.
My family always had pets. The week I was born, my parents also took in a stray cat from the neighborhood. Continue reading