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Do You Worry the Asshat Will Perish Without You?
Suddenly we put on our white hat, brandish our battle saber and charge in on our noble steed to rescue the Asshats them from their very own Asshattery, abandoning ourselves in the process!
Suddenly we put on our white hat, brandish our battle saber and charge in on our noble steed to rescue the Asshats them from their very own Asshattery, abandoning ourselves in the process!
In making me feel smaller, The Greek God ensured that I’d never leave because, considering all of my flaws, I believed I was lucky to get him and should just put up with the times he treated me poorly.
It was still summer and the cock blockers were gone. I’d driven them at breakneck speed up to my mom’s in Santa Barbara. It was the first time they’d be away from home and we could have sex in every room of the house.
Here’s the funny thing about people. They tell you who they are. And they often tell you right away. Recently, I worked with an
He walked in the door of our house at 1 a.m., as if it were only 6 p.m. and he didn’t reek of Other Women.
When it comes to dating, do you keep choosing Asshats over and over and over again? I was an Asshat-magnet, right up until my
Ahh, that perennial relationship black hole of Calcutta, the Asshat. They don’t call when they say they will. They don’t show up when expected.
Look at That Handsome Face! I’m not sure what moon my cycle is in, or which lunar orbit is pivoting across the satellite of my
Guess what? Food is NOT the enemy! That is, unless you’re consuming Twinkies, pork rinds and Funyons on a regular basis. But what a relief
Are Henry and I the next Grey Gardens? The latest in my Husbands and Wives Series. Lately, Henry’s been cooking mushy, formless, tasteless chicken. “Can you please
I am frequently mistaken for a priest. People confess things to me. I don’t ask them to tell me their secrets, but I must
It was time. I could tell it was time because Henry — who usually traverses the house with the stealth of a Native American tracking
Asshats. We’ve all been in love with at least one. Haven’t we? If you haven’t, do me a service and lie. What defines an
Marriage advice from a Wife Dominatrix: Last weekend I wanted to eat my husband alive. His eyes were more cerulean than a ‘Sconset sky on a bike-ride
I just discovered Scandal on Netflix. Yes. I know. I’m coming (pun intended) to the Oliva Pope/President Fitzgerald party waaaaaay late. But I’ve come to
Here I am with my first prom date. It turns out I was the only girl he DIDN’T kiss. I’d had a crush on him from afar. He
I tried to open my bedroom window and it wouldn’t budge. Someone had locked it. I glanced confusedly at Albert. This is when we both heard my father’s Clint Eastwood-esque voice from the nearby porch, “Shannon,” he said, “you’ve slit your own throat.”
In bed, I’m soft. Demure. Enticing as Brigitte Bardot in And God Created Woman, with doe-like come-hither glances and marzipan hair. I’m as tremulous as
I drink wine. Every day. Usually two glasses and lately it’s red. Henry eats bread. Every day. Sometimes at two in the morning. And
“Henry. Henry, wake up! We have to consummate our marriage.” “No, we don’t!” “Yes, we do. Now come on.” “I can’t.” “If the musicians
I met my friend Mistress Justine for lunch on Friday. That’s not her real name, but it should be. She and her husband, Raoul (also a
He Had Me at his Handlebar Mustouche The other day a diminutive man who placed second in The World Beard & Moustache Championship (in
In honor of my little brother turning 40 today I’m reposting his love/life philosophies. The gift that keeps on giving. I love you, sweetheart!
Trader Joes. That bastion of affordable wasabi peas, almond milk and hemp oil. That innovator of quality ingredients for everyday low prices. That hire-er of
Sunday Night. Midnight. Me: Henry, can you get out of bed and set the house alarm? Him: You were the last one in bed, you
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