For as long as I’d known Heather, she was into her beauty treatments. Manicures, pedicures, makeovers, all that stuff. I don’t even know the words for half of them. Whatever they were, they helped her feel better. She’d always had body issues.
When we first started dating, I noticed she wore an inordinate amount of makeup. It wasn’t really my thing, but hell, if it made her happy then who was I to judge? She wasn’t a big fan of eating, either. Whenever we went out, she’d get a salad or a small piece of chicken or fish. Never anything good like burgers or steaks. It was obvious she didn’t want to put any weight on.
We dated for a few years, then I proposed. She said yes. Our wedding was gorgeous, and afterward, we settled into marital bliss.
For a while. Continue reading “Heather’s Phases”
As I sit here and hold my baby, I can’t help but think back about how difficult my life was before she was in it. But things are so much better now. She was worth everything. Every little bit.
When you’re expecting, the hardest part is the wait. You can’t tell anyone for the first few months, just in case something terrible happens. That’s a lot to worry about, you know? After 12 weeks, you can break the news. In my case, though, I didn’t. I was worried what people would think.
I wasn’t married. I didn’t have a job. I knew people would say that a baby would be irresponsible. But I wanted a baby. I needed one. The companionship would be so important – especially after Bobby left. The bastard. Continue reading “What To Expect When I’m Expecting”
Everyone loved Regina’s raspberry jam. No one could get enough of it, either. As fast as Regina could produce it, it’d get bought up and consumed within the first couple days. No matter what she did, demand always outpaced supply.
From the moment that one popular food blogger mentioned her jam, Regina was inundated with orders. Something about the jam was extraordinary. No one could quite put their finger on it, either. People even went so far as to investigate the suppliers of the raspberries to see if they were selling Regina something special, like a hybrid variety or something. Nope. Just regular, organic berries. They were high quality, but nothing you couldn’t find at a Whole Foods or another high-end retailer. Continue reading “Regina’s Raspberry Jam”
I’d completely forgotten about Myspace. Like, I’d forgotten it even existed. Never mind the fact I used it like a fiend at the peak of its popularity and I had countless photos and messages and connections still there, frozen in time, so anyone could see what a disaster I was in my early 20s. A couple weeks ago, I got an email warning me about some major hack that resulted in tons and tons of accounts being compromised; a compromise so severe that for some people, every shred – every bit – every datum – of their personal information could have been stolen. Then I remembered Myspace.
My early 20s were a bad time for me. I was dealing with a number of undiagnosed mental illnesses. Still, back then, I never thought anything was wrong with me at all; I just figured that’s how I was. I was a sad person. I was a volatile person. Not once did it cross my mind I had legitimate problems for which potential solutions existed. Instead, for years, I bathed in static and lassitude interrupted by bursts of rage and terror. Continue reading “Something horrible is happening to me on Myspace.”
April 2nd, 2017
Either I’m going to kill my husband for lying or whatever’s growing in his mouth will do it for me. God only knows what that slut gave him on the night he didn’t come home, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let him go to the doctor for it. The last thing our family needs is the nurses down at that clinic talking about how Jerry’s been fucking around on me again. I’ve got leftover penicillin from the infection he gave me two years ago. He can have that. Continue reading “Jerry’s Mouth”
Jan and I got there seconds after it happened. People were still shouting with surprise and dismay. The body lay in tatters on the tracks.
“Oh God,” Jan whispered. “That poor man.”
“What happened?” I asked the guy next to me.
“Suicide,” the guy said. “He hopped off the platform right when the train was coming by.”
“Christ,” I muttered. I wondered what our options were. There’d obviously be a delay while the police and paramedics attended to the scene. From the looks of it, Jan and I were going to be late for our friends’ wedding in New York that evening; people were already scooping up the remaining taxis to take to their destinations. It looked like we’d be stuck there for a while. Continue reading “The Incident at the Train Station”
It was just too awful. Too unbelievable. People would think I got scared and made something up because I was a kid at the time and that’s what kids do. Everyone knows he had a few too many beers while he and I were fishing. Everyone knows fell out of the boat and drowned when the weather got bad and the water got rough. Everyone knows I couldn’t pilot the thing by myself and it went into the rocks. That’s what I told the police and that’s what they believed. Didn’t matter that they never found the body. Fishermen go missing all the time. Their bodies don’t get found, either. The current around here sweeps everything away. Blood included. Continue reading “I never told the real story about how my uncle Liam died.”
So. Many. Penises. Since Eugene left me, I must have looked at a thousand of them. Cut, uncut, black, mocha, tan, pink, beige, thick, thin, long, hairy, shaved, trimmed, veiny, smooth, micro, macro, and even the elusive gargantuan. I’ll be honest with you, though: it’s not even like I was open to the idea of a hookup at that point. It was still too soon. The emotions were too raw. That said, I wasn’t going to be ashamed of myself for looking at pictures of dicks to help pass the time. I like dicks.
After a few weeks of browsing, I started involving myself in actual chats. You know, more than the basic “you show me yours and I’ll show you mine” type of stuff I’d been doing. Most guys didn’t really want to talk about much; they were more interested in meeting up and banging. I wasn’t ready for that, though. I was polite enough with my rejections, and most of them were cool with it. Not all, but most. Continue reading “Something horrible is happening to me on Grindr.”
I was out on a hike when I discovered a dog in the forest. She was in bad shape. She didn’t have a collar, but it looked like she’d had one in the past. The fur and skin around her neck was terribly calloused and infected. She was skittish and didn’t want to come near me, but when I gave her a chunk of jerky I’d been carrying, she changed her mind.
She loved the stuff, so I used that to lure her out of the woods. When she got out from under the trees and I could see her in the sunlight, it was obvious she’d been neglected a long, long time. Every rib was visible under her mangy coat. She had a couple sores near the remains of her tail. Her left ear was missing, too. It looked like the poor girl had had a very difficult life; I got the feeling that if I hadn’t come around, she wouldn’t have lasted much longer. Continue reading “Smokey, the Dog I Rescued”
As one might imagine, a degree in Film doesn’t immediately lead to job offers. At the age of 23, I was desperately looking for a job – any job, really – but if I could find one that used my talents and my passion, I’d be ecstatic. When I refreshed the job section of Craigslist and saw, “Cameraman Wanted” with an email address, I shot off an email as fast as I could and within an hour I heard back.
After a brief email exchange, the next day I ended up interviewing with a thin, well-dressed man in a beautiful midtown apartment. The man, who introduced himself as Andrew, was polite and straightforward. “Do you have any moral issues with homosexuality and filming homosexual acts?” he asked, studying me for a reaction.
Continue reading “Never accept a job without knowing what your work will be used for. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for being part of something like this.”