My 10-year-old cat, Bruce, is suddenly terrified of me. It’s making me really sad. Any ideas why this would happen?
I haven’t changed anything in terms of scent. I haven’t changed the way I look. I didn’t accidentally step on her tail or anything.
I used to be the only person she liked. And…
I think about him sometimes, in the middle of August. On a streetcar. On my way to nowhere in particular. Or on my home home from someone else’s bedroom. And it always starts small, like when you turn your heat on for the first time sometime in November. I can hear the furnace click, click, clicking in the basement; I’m seeing the way he laughed at his own jokes, am only half remembering the direction the hair on his arms grew; it’s still distant though, somewhere off in some faraway basement. It comes with that weird first-heat-of-the-season-smell. But as I start to recall the particular deodorant he used, the way his lips looked when he said my name, the way his hand looked in my lap, slipping down between my legs, I hear the furnace whooosh and roar to life. I’m suddenly too hot; too full of him. I feel like I have a fever. He’s staring at me while I drink too many vodkas. He’s watching me as I admire the shower in his hotel room. He’s touching me while I undo my pants but forget to untie my shoes and stand there awkwardly unsure if I should fix this problem or just go with it. He’s got his fingers in my mouth as I try to tell him about my day. He’s pulling my shirt over my head as I’m trying to determine what he looks like when he lies. He’s burning tongue in my mouth and scorching hands in my hair. He’s all warm thighs and hot cock. He’s all over me and I’m over-heating. I need to breathe, I can’t breathe, I’m rushing, tripping, falling, calling him.
“Oh. I uh, hey. I meant to call my parents, your numbers are almost the same. Weird, eh?” That’s not true at all. I told him I’d never lie to him, but does that even matter anymore? I feel myself vigorously nodding yes, but I ignore me.
"Yeah, really weird. Long time no talk. How are you?” He puts the emphasis on the word “are” and it sounds too genuine, exactly like the ladies at work who want to know about my weekends; “Tell us everything,” because they genuinely want to remember what it was like to be a pretty, young thing. He’s asking for the same reason Phyllis and Gladys ask: completely for their own benefit.
"Me? Oh, I am so great,” I look around the nearly empty streetcar, realize all I want in this moment is to let him know he didn’t break me as much as he believes and for him to somehow hear how hard I’m smiling. So I grin as wide as I can, show too much teeth, make my cheeks hurt, “But I have to go do this thing now, it’s really important and time-sensitive. You know how that is.”
He does know because he would always have deadlines to meet; always end our conversations too soon; always have to leave so early, before I was even out of bed; always got confused with the meaning of words like “forever” and “tomorrow”; as in I’ll call you tomorrow, I’ll love you forever. Time was something he understood, but at the same time had no concept of.
"Oh. Okay. Well it was great talking to you. Great to hear your voice. Talk to you soon, yeah?" He hangs up without waiting for me to respond, for me to say something that would embarrass us both, to start to cry, to mumble why did you leave me? to mention my sex life, to mention his cock, to mention my mouth around his cock. He knows me too well.
Or maybe he just heard how happy I was without him?
What about a Type A?
I started a fashion blog, if that’s your sort of thing. We accept submissions. From the About:
We started this blog because we believe fashion should be fun. It should make you feel amazing. We shouldn’t give a fuck what anyone thinks about what we do with our bodies and what we put on those bodies.
Full disclosure, we are not fashionistas, nor do we study fashion theory, or keep up with trends. If you’re interested in people talking critically and informatively about fashion and the industry, we suggest you check out Arabelle Sicardi and Julia Caron, two women writing about fashion in intelligent, thoughtful, critical ways. Also, if you know of more people who are doing this, please let us know so we can include them here!
This blog is just a bunch of people who genuinely like fashion; people who think it’s fun, an adventure, a ritual, a habit that they can’t quit.
All posts tagged “diet coke” are what we consider DAY WEAR or WORK WEAR. All posts tagged “slow jam” we consider NIGHT WEAR or FREAKUM WEAR.
To boldly go where all the space motif clothing is and then put it all on my body and then be the happiest woman in the Milky Way.
This is my new favourite outfit. My underwear was even a galaxy. I just need big space shoes to go with it and I’ll be set. Any suggestions?
Sweater: Pacific Mall (Markham, ON)
Leggings: Black Milk (from the beautiful Mary Taylor)
This is Katie West (but you wanna make it bigger)
Good news everyone!
So I had some internet troubles the past couple of days, but because of that I’m extending my print sale until the end of this month!
So, I’ll be selling 8x10 prints of photos I took of my amazing friend Katie West until July 31st. This photo and 24 others from our adventures in Oklahoma are available here for $40 per photo.
Enter the promo code OKLAHOMA to save 10% on your entire order!
I had to go outside today because my recycling bin was blowing onto the road. It was absolutely pouring rain, so I put on a bathing suit and shorts. I was outside for about 35 seconds before a passing car slowed down to catcall and honk at me. I gave them the finger and shouted, “FUCK OFF, THIS IS A SITUATION THAT MAKES COMPLETE SENSE, ASSHOLES. LET ME LIVE MY LIIIIIIFE!!!!!!” And then I chased them down and when they were stopped at the light at the top of my street, I threw the recycling bin at their car using my strong female muscles, and then jumped on the hood, dropped my shorts, and took a shit all over their misogynistic Toyota Camry.
Fuck, those guys.
Yesterday I had 100 patrons (which is so f-ing amazing) but then I lost one today! :(
They must’ve been an $8 a month patron too. Too bad because I just posted a hella scandalous video.
Want to be my 100th patron? My new and improved 100th patron?
If you like what I do, or what you’ve seen so far, consider becoming a patron of mine over at Patreon.
For $1 a month you can get access to a Patrons-Only blog where I post many images you won’t see here and also where I overshare and ramble a lot about on topics ranging from Instagram relationships to nanas to research methods to cats and Star Trek to sex.
For $8+ a month you get access to videos I post about once a month. (I have an upcoming video with Chad Michael Ward which you will see first if you are a patron.) You can also get prints and stuff.
There’s also the Beyonce-level of patronage ($200+ a month) that gets you a handwritten love letter and a video of me performing a choreographed dance to Beyonce. (Pretty sad no one’s done this yet. I’ve picked the Beyonce song and everything.)