Let’s just suspend our good judgement here for two minutes and entertain the odd notion that a woman’s power resides in her hips. As if power could inhabit one segregated area of our physical bodies. Y’know, hypothetically. Just roll with me here.Read More
“Stop studying.” Those were the words that came out of my teacher’s mouth.
Choking on my coffee I squeaked out a, “…come again?” Pretending I heard him wrong, but knowing full well I heard him loud and clear.
“Uhh, yeah, this is really important for you. Stop studying. You already have all this natural content that wants to come out, but you’re blocking it up with other people’s stuff.”
I’m pretty sure the next thing I said was...Read More
The thing about being a writer is that, if you’re going to do it, like DO it, you have to actually write more than once every three months. In fact, you have to write every single goddamned day. Y’know… like, if you’re going to be a professional about it. If it’s going to be your job, as in, what you DO.
And herein lies my problem. Because, as it is currently, I have never even managed once-a-week status in my entire blogging career, so…Read More
The Wild Woman Does. She Does.
All the things. The things you thought she’d never. The stuff you only dream about.
The Wild Woman Does.
Some very erudite souls out there are wondering why it is you now have Natalie Cole’s voice playing in your brain radio. And I will tell you. It is because I’ve just lifted her glorious lyrics and placed them before you with the utmost nonchalance and stealthiness.
Natalie Cole, if you are not so inclined, was a gifted songstress in the late 80’s and early 90’s who birthed many lovely ballads including “Wild Women Do” and “Pink Cadillac.” They were played to extent at the Jazzercise classes that my mother taught when I was a wee lass clothed in Guess jeans and highly fluoresced accoutrement.
But even as a young child, the ideal of the Wild Woman piqued my interest, because as the song’s lyrics proclaim– Wild Women do what you think they’ll never. Wild Women show what they’re going through.Read More
As I write this it is 10:15pm which is a delicate hour in the parenting world. An hour wherein you are 1) so entirely exhausted that you may have mistaken the microwave as the receptacle in which you are to put your wineglass, or 2) you are asleep and have been so for nearly two hours. Which is why this is so odd. This, me, writing. Up at the ungodly hour of 10:15pm, writing.Read More