I am talking about relationships with a friend in a dark restaurant. Rand has left the table for a moment, ostensibly to use the bathroom, though most likely to try to steal the bill. I have seen the two of them do this dance before, a race to see who can put down his credit…
Believe me when I tell you, as unlikely as it sounds, that we did it out of love. In the end, anyway. When it started, it wasn’t quite that. It wasn’t that we didn’t love Tim; we do, we did, we probably always will, for his genuine enthusiasm at everything, for the cadence of his laugh, for…
When we were in Ireland, it rained. Like, a lot. It rained as we wandered through the streets of Cork, and it rained as we explored Elizabeth Fort. After a while, we started feeling downtrodden and melodramatic, weighed down by the grey skies and our sopping wet clothing.
The thing about Ireland – and Europe in general, really – is that there are castles all over the damn place. They’re sort of like Red Lobster restaurants in America. Everyone’s hometown has one, and they’re usually in various states of disrepair and completely empty. Unless relatives are visiting from afar, you probably aren’t going to…
If you have a blog, and tend to pepper it with photos of yourself making out with your husband- AHEM. As I was saying, if you have a blog, and that blog serves as a thinly veiled excuse to post pictures in which you are mashing faces with your beloved, you may find that people…
There has been a lot of talk about mental illness lately. It comes up in the wake of any major shooting to explain the assailant’s actions. They were crazy, people say. Insane. Unsound. Even when there is clear evidence to the contrary. Even when the people are competent to stand trial. It is an approach…
Last week I visited Dallas for the first time, and the museum that now occupies the book infamous depository where Lee Harvey Oswald worked. It is on the sixth floor of this building, situated at the awkwardly sharp intersection of Elm and Houston, that Oswald fired on JFK’s motorcade, killing the president. November 22, 1963.…
Every now and then, it’s nice to be indulged. I don’t mean all the time – like my nightly requests that we have orange flavored Hostess cupcakes for dinner (“If we did that as often as you suggested it, we’d die.” – Rand). But once in a while, it’s pretty wonderful when everyone quietly…
I was in Oklahoma when the news of the attacks on Paris broke, but my heart and mind have been in the City of Light ever since.
Tales of Food, Feminism, and Fury
by Geraldine DeRuiter
Available Now!
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