Holiday Shopping for poor folks.

Darlings, I gotcha covered.




#MeToo, three, four, seven, ten, twenty, fifty… here’s one — Love Intersections

I remember being accosted by two security guards in an open parking lot on Burnaby Mountain. My girlfriend and I were young, and, like many young couples in parking lots, we were doing what was only natural for young lovers to express. Deep into the night, the winter air kept at bay while our body […]

via #MeToo, three, four, seven, ten, twenty, fifty… here’s one — Love Intersections

Brain Constipation

Gah. Brain block. Brain constipation. Writer’s block. Ack.

I have a few precious hours all in a row to write and my brain refuses to cooperate. Thanks, asshole.

I need to get through the next few hours without flipping out or screaming or melting down. One thing at a time. One minute at a time. One word at a time. Why brain whyyyyy?

When you spend your weekends watching the clock or hiding in the bathroom or finding ridiculous errands to run with your kids just to escape your house/3rd employment location/jail, and you get a magically free couple of hours with no boss to answer to? Heaven.

Maybe I should just sit and watch the leaves fall. Or send that Dear John email. Or both.

Calling out passive-aggressive garbage


Someone who claimed to care deeply me did a thing which this person knew would upset me. This person did this thing on purpose.

It doesn’t matter what the action was.

What matters is that this person claimed I had no right to have negative emotions about this action.

You don’t get to do a thing that actively hurts a person emotionally, then claim ignorance, or worse, delegitimize that person’s emotions. Nope, nope, nope.

And you definitely don’t get to pretend you care about the hurt person, while actively, purposely hurting them.

That’s called behaving like a passive-aggressive shit. And also, like an immature, spoiled brat who has been calling all the shots in every relationship ever.

Inside information: I’ve been sitting on this post as a draft for about a month. The incident that precipitated this post has repeated itself with minor alterations every weekend since I drafted it. I must learn how to quit being this person’s Charlie Brown to their Lucy with the football.