I hate taking showers. I can’t tell you why. I always feel good afterward. My hair looks better, my skin looks better, I smell better. There’s no logical reason behind it. Except that after the shower I have to dry off, then put lotion on, and then dry and style my hair. All of which can take upwards of 20 minutes. Not a long time in girly-girl maintenance time, but still a solid chunk. Some days (read: almost every other), I just grab a washcloth, do a quick little whore’s s

I’m not sure what it is about the dead that speaks to us. As living people. Or maybe it’s just me. And dead BFF. Cause, every so often I’ll be doing something random; like tonight when I was writing sprints with my peeps in SoCal Inkers. So, his song came on my Amazon Music playlist, by Bread. “Everything I own”. Not really a song I would ordinarily listen to. Well, unless you count having it in a playlist ‘ordinary listening’. Okay, fine, maybe I do listen to it. But one of

So, I work in a small office with five other women. “Work” being my day job because I’m not allowed to be a full-time writer yet. Something about paying the mortgage and money going in to the bank account instead of out. I don’t know. I let BW handle all that. Numbers hurt my brain. Anyway, there’s five other women in the office, making it six women total including me. (I can totally count to six, numbers that small don’t hurt my brain.) Three of the six women love country mu

I had lunch with BFF’s mom yesterday. I guess now she should be known as dead BFF. BFF, not the mom. So, I had lunch with dead BFF’s mom yesterday. We have to have lunch now, instead of dinner. Since the last time we had dinner together we ended up incredibly drunk and our respective husbands had to come pick us up. And, dead BFF”s mom was attempting to dance on the tables. Something that the little Mexican restaurant in Del Mar was not eager to have happen. Which is a shame,

I’ve had a hard time writing since she died. BFF. I miss her all the time. I can still write creatively, just not realistically. If that makes sense. It’s so much easier to sink into someone else’s creativity than my own. Writing is hard work. We are having a memorial for her this weekend. I have mixed feelings about it. R isn’t going, for personal reasons. And sometimes I’m still really mad at the husband for the way that he grieves. It’s not the same way that I grieve, so o