Lisa Auerbach’s Tract House project is full of badassery and makes me happy.
I have seen the face of compromised sanity and it looks like Santa.
If you take away my periodic PMS madness and my 92%-of-the-time short fuse, I’m a pretty fun gal.
Dock Ellis Pitches a No-No on LSD
By Jilly Dybka
From Elysian Fields Quarterly
The ball’s big — like lobbing a volleyball.
And the batter’s box is so far away.
Tiny ball, red ball, white ball, rainbow ball.
Wasn’t even supposed to play today.
The batters are whiffing in slow motion
Because their strike zone is five miles wide.
The catcher is wavy like the ocean,
Before my release, have to time the tide.
Straight bat, bendy bat, big bat, little bat.
Feels like I’m pitching inside of a dream.
I’m flying as high as an acrobat,
My fingers feel every stitch in the seam.
I wonder what all the fuss is about?
I’m just trying to get the guy out.
Boring to hear someone cry “wah wah wah” about a head cold, I know, but that’s what I’m doing anyway. Nearly ten days of illness is too damn much and while I’m doing my best to soldier on bravely, the brain it braineth not. So I will be true to my chromosomes and get all girly on you by getting all hyperventilate-y about shoes. Because … well … shoes! What’s not to love about shoes? Especially shoes cooked up in fevered dreams, kind of like the ones I’ve been having.
by guest blogger rachel cheetham douglas
i went bra shopping the other week. i have a small collection of racerback tops that just sit there in my closet, year after year, because i don’t have any racerback bras to wear underneath. well, that’s not true. i have two racerback bras, but i can’t wear them because they’re itchy and hateful and itchy and they ride up and did i mention they’re itchy? itchy is a funny word. say it. you almost feel a little japanese. or maybe i’m overcaffeinated today. whatever, the point is that goddamn i hate those bras.
The backbone of the backbone.