Monday, March 14, 2011


Remember fend-for-yourself nights? Yeah, like four nights a week. Rememeber shit-on-a-shingle? What? It was something mom used to make for dinner. It was steak cooked with mushrooms and peppers and thrown on toast.
Shit on a shingle. And pancakes. She made the best pancakes. But she would use the instant mix. But she would use the instant mix that required mixing, at least. Like, she added the egg and the water and stirred it and poured it into the pan. Crispy-edged pancakes. Syrup. For dinner.

Dreams about my professor being a disagreeable lover. He looks like the sister of my first ex boyfriend, but with a y chromosome and an eternal nineties grunge essence.

Some college in the country is establishing a men’s studies department to examine the ways feminism has created a culture of misandry. It’s sad that when I type misandry into Microsoft word it tells me it ain’t a word, and am I thinking of masonry? No!