Here are more things


Here is my face.

I have hands and feet and other parts too, but I prefer to keep some things private.

If it's helpful in imagining the rest of me, one time a guy I used to bone described me as "sort of like a hot Gumby."

I was offended by that description at the time but then a while back I had vagina surgery and I walked a lot like Gumby for a couple of weeks so maybe he was just seeing into the future? He was describing my body, though, not the way I walk, so I don't know. Possible I was wearing a lot of boot-cut jeans at the time.

For the record, the bottom part of my legs are shaped normally, regardless of the type of jeans I might be wearing. And I'm not green.

Not at all like Gumby, really, I don't know what that guy was talking about.

I'm sure you were hoping for more from this bio than how my body was once inaccurately described, but if I tell you everything in this one little box, I'm not sure why you'd read all the other great stuff on my blog.

Plus, there's a lot you can tell from this picture of my face.
  • I'm a white person, for one.
  • I'm also a female.
  • If you look closely, you can see some grey hair, which means I'm no spring chicken.
  • I'm smiling with my mouth closed - could be I have eff'd up teeth or possibly my neck muscles get all weird when the corners of my mouth go up too high. Maybe both.
  • I might live in a house with a blue door. (I don't.)
  • Finally, it appears that on the day this photo was taken, something interesting was happening to my right.

There. Now you know some stuff about me.


Cue Freakout

It’s really hard to be creative when you’re freaking the fuck out about the world ending.

I’m trying.

I’m also not trying at all.

Can’t stop reading the news, can’t stop watching that terrifying Pandemic show on Netflix, can’t stop yelling at the Hot Canadian for manhandling all the hard surfaces in sight and then aggressively rubbing his eyeballs and then touching my food - a “you gonna eat that?” routine that used to be charming, but now ends with me screaming “DO YOU WANT ME TO DIE?!” and then throwing my contaminated plate on the floor.

He’s one of those people who doesn’t read the news because it “brings bad energy” and, as such, knows almost nothing about what this thing is and how it spreads. And he’s still in his twenties, which means no harm can possibly come to him.

Skyped with Mom and Dad last night, who seem to think it’s all a bunch of silliness. They bought a car yesterday. And went out to dinner. Dad popped into the senior center to do the crossword and play dominos with all his friends.

Might as well be licking doorknobs.

Of course, it’s not all that surprising. My parents are Texans, for one. (Look closely at the state seal and you’ll see the words “exceptionalism” and “hubris” on either side of the burrito.) And because they have great health insurance and live in a whitewashed suburb with a fancy hospital, they believe doctors can fix anything.

I dunno, maybe I am making too much of it… as far as I can tell, the coronavirus doesn’t have anything to do with the vagina so it’s likely I will not be affected.

Still, I don’t know how to not be scared, because people are dying - not like movie dying; actually dying dying. My parents are old and not the healthiest and have already pushed their luck way beyond however far normal luck goes, and I’m over here in Scotland, where I can’t scream at them to wash their hands after they go bowling or whatever.


Update: I was crying to some of my online friends about all this and good ol' Rachel sent me this and now the world feels much more right:

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