The Woodlands Biotch

she doesn’t know who she is. or maybe she does, but she doesn’t care to admit it. point is, i didn’t give her that name, which saddens me, because it’s just the kind of name i’d give a person like her.
clearly she dropped too much acid back in the sixties. that or she was just [...]

my mom has a friend. a male friend. a boyfriend, of sorts. it’s hard for me to contemplate that, i admit. when dad died of cancer, mom, who was much younger, realized quite suddenly (some would counter with “before she even knew she realized…”) that she was not one for being alone. i of course [...]

i won’t go into a lot of detail, but here’s the gist of it: he and i sat for a couple that prior to being entrusted with their toddler we had never met, and then we were subsequently subjected to said child’s complete distrust of us for the next four and a half hours all [...]

this was brilliantly observed by him as he sat in my passenger seat. which, incidentally, is not his favourite place to sit. not that he doesn’t like it. he even told me it’s not that bad, he gets to see more and look around more from over there, with far less regard for the road [...]

the building i work in strives to be very professional. the man and his amazonian daughter that run it would certainly love it if you would come and rent some of the clearly-overpriced, however emmaculately decorated, space that my employer vacated last winter when we morphed into this company that required a third of the [...]