pretty tall, for a lady

Here is a photo I took in February in Texas. I didn't get the job, but it did please me to see the name of my alma mater splashed all over the toilet paper.

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Cold drizzle today. But inside the house there are flannel sheets, and homemade biscuits and gravy, and hot coffee.

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This is an article about our reading series, which will be dismantled over the summer--but not before we hold one last blowout we're calling Cherry Prom.

I gots to find me a discount gently used prom dress.

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I want this shirt. In gray. Men's medium, if you're taking notes.

I realized the other day that I own three shirts with dinosaurs on them. I have spilled wine on all three.

I'm a grown-up!

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Recipe fail this weekend. I made New Mexico-style chili, which involved husking tomatillos and otherwise took about three hours, and when it was ready I didn't want it.

While the chili simmered, I tried for chocolate chip cream puffs, and they turned out floppy as silicone implants. They tasted about as good.

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I don't want to look for a  new job. I want to make sites like this and get paid for it. Lauded, too.

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Last night, while we were drinking a pint of The Poet, the guy next to me leaned over and asked me how tall I was, and I said, Pretty tall, for a lady.

It is exactly what an elderly man once said to me in the fall of 2009 while we were both waiting in line at a Panera in Green Bay, Wisconsin. Then we talked about soup, and lawns, and then we went our separate ways.