The elephant in the room, and by “the room”, I mean “my britches”.

Okay, goddammit; let’s talk about my weight.

If you’ve tried, you have an idea of how little I like discussing it, so I’m just going to pull the virtual Band-Aid off instead due to something I would not feel comfortable saying to your face, but here it is:

This morning, I finished my cup of coffee after watching CBS Sunday Morning, walked over to the scale (which I only do once a week), looked, stepped off, stepped back on, looked, and repeated a few more times. Then I found my spouse, figuring I should probably tell someone.

I have lost one hundred pounds.

Before you fire off that congratulatory text (and I very much appreciate the sentiment, but hold up), I’m going to ask that you stop to think about what the previous sentence means for a person who speaks/types/screams it.

I’m even going to wait a day until I tell you why I think it’s important, too.


A lesson in humility, part 16,988.

Last night, around six p.m., I had about 25 people show up at my house, mostly costumed, all enthusiastic and ready to take on the world. They left a few hours later, and I sat awake between two and four this morning bawling my eyes out. This requires some explanation, obviously. Every once in a

When you get off, where exactly the fuck ARE you?

I diagnosed myself with what might be a new malady: Virtual Perception Dysmorphia. A good friend of mine was explaining to someone who may or may not have an anger management problem that perhaps expressing himself online as himself might not be the best path and perhaps inventing a separate angry identity might be helpful.

One good thing about music, when it hits you, you feel no pain.

Looking foolish does the spirit good. The need not to look foolish is one of youth’s many burdens; as we get older we are exempted from more and more, and float upward in our heedlessness, singing Gratia Dei sum quod sum. - John Updike. So, let’s be foolish. And tuneful. Here’s the link to the music

Bring Him Home

So, the new trailer for what will likely be an absolutely glorious version of the musical was released Monday. I cried, but see, I ALWAYS cry when it comes to most anything that has to do with Les Miserables, and it’s for this reason: When I was eleven, there was a two-part miniseries based on

Clean plates, cleaner consciences.

I know a change is gonna come.

Wax this. Sometimes you can spend entirely too much time waiting for the other metaphorical shoe to drop. It’s time to shrug off sadness, banish worry, hold your fucking nose and jump into the pool already. The only thing this gal’s gonna worry about dropping is that shiny, shiny ball that’ll land at the bottom