Rand knows how much I hate change. He teases me about it, saying I’m the only die-hard liberal who gets angry when she has to alter her routine. “I don’t hate progress,” I explain. I am excited by advancements in feminism and LGBTQ rights and Harriet Tubman on the $20 bill. But I will rage…
Setting: Austin, Texas. The two of us are walking downtown. We are drunk on doughnuts. Everything is making us laugh. ————— Act I. Rand: Well, that’s just ridiculous. They obviously meant ‘Parking.’ Not ‘Cocktails.’
Our trip to Ireland occasionally ventured into the land of the cliche. We drank pints of Guinness, we ate lamb stew, and we wondered every now and then if all of this wasn’t simply a show put on for the amusement of tourists. Because, seriously: A potato specialist? In Ireland? (I nearly hyperventilated.)
Our friend Hannah warned us that around the town of Cork, Ireland, people became very possessive of their beaches. I thought I misheard her, naturally. “This bitch belongs to no man-” I said, waving my finger defiantly in the air. (“See? This is why you aren’t allowed to have a podcast.” – Rand)
Durham felt familiar somehow. Neither of us had ever been there before, but the streets weren’t foreign to us. When the light of the setting sun hit a row of brick buildings it felt like a memory, like a painting by Hopper I’d seen long ago and forgotten about. Rand made me run to catch the…
The prescription says “post coital.” It actually says that on the bottle. When the doctor told me my instructions for taking the antibiotic, I sincerely did not think that he would have the nerve to relay that information to the pharmacist. I figured he’d use some sort of vague jargon like, “as needed” which is…
I spend a lot of my waking hours feeling subtle pangs of regret for all the things I should have said but didn’t, for all the tiny little things that I really wish I had done but ultimately did not. I am haunted by the specters of unrealized acts and things unsaid. In my life,…
I don’t like horror movies. I think it’s because I don’t find violence or death to be that entertaining. I’m not trying to be holier-than-thou – I just really, really dislike being scared. It’s probably because I’m scared all the time, anyway (it’s a byproduct of my anxiety. Basically, any time I’m alone and anything…
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…
Tales of Food, Feminism, and Fury
by Geraldine DeRuiter
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