After years of waiting, I finally walked face first into a sliding glass door at a party. And you know what? It’s a crowd pleaser.
I finally have glasses, which is great because I needed one more thing to frantically search for every morning.
I’d be fine with a ghost in the house if every time a message in blood appeared on a wall it was something constructive like IS THAT WHAT YOU’RE WEARING?
My husband’s coming home from a trip, so I’m artfully placing dishes in the sink to look like I didn’t eat toast on a paper towel for 5 days.
I love writing because it combines my two favorite hobbies: sitting and self-doubt.
It’s 1:28 AM. You can’t sleep. Underneath your bed there’s a rustle as the clown tries to quietly unwrap and eat a Snickers bar.
Any time I see a couple jogging together, I try to figure out which one of them is unhappy about it.
I attempted a smoky eye for a Zoom pitch, but instead it looks like I survived a bar fight so I’m going with that story.
Trick-or-treating has been canceled, so this Halloween I will be giving out advice.
After 2 weeks of multiple health screens and asking everyone to quarantine, I surprised my closest inner circle with a trip to a private island where we could hunt people for sport.
I don’t understand people with bare desks. My desk looks like a barfight started next door, crashed through my office, and kept on moving.
I’m quiet and hate confrontation with neighbors, so I renamed our wifi “Some Of Us Think Your Rooster Should Be Kept Inside On Weekend Mornings.”
I opened the internet to read today’s news and quickly said “Oh, god, sorry” and closed it like I’d walked in on an unlocked bathroom stall.
Quarantine sucks in a house that’s haunted because a message suddenly appears in blood saying “YOU USUALLY LEAVE AT 7:45.”
“Take me with you,” I whisper, palms pressed to the windowpane, watching the trash truck drive away.