I have a question for you. Have you ever been so astounded by the words spewing from someone’s mouth all you could do was stare?
I ask because I found an old shirt in my closet today, black, long-sleeved, low-cut, one I wore as a uniform when I used to deal cards. The shirt jogged a few memories. Namely, the last day I wore it, and my “friend” Mark told me I “dressed like a slut”.
And I want to talk about why that word pissed me off.
Maybe I’m a rarity, but I don’t care what people wear. Please…
Tori had come to play blackjack at my bar one night, plopping himself on the only free seat and tossing a $50 my way.
“Give me plenty of ones to tip you with,” he’d said with a wide smile.
“Sure thing,” I’d told him returning the grin because you know, it was my job.
Tori asked me a lot of questions throughout the game. He was a budding blackjack player who hadn’t realized counting cards takes years and years of practice and even then it’s a brutal career.
I didn’t have to talk to this kid, but I wanted to…
“We just had Taco Bell, I’m not into it. Besides, I want to see this.” I’d laughed because their lips on my ear tickled and I was a little annoyed. We’d been waiting months for the season premiere.
Then they said the dumbest shit I’ve heard in a minute before bouncing off to the bathroom really quick to beat it: “But you’re naked.”
They didn’t always say stupid things. But when they did, it left me kind of breathless. Or at least I thought it was stupid. …
From the moment this lady sat down, she was in a bad mood and I’d only made it worse.
I’ve never had a stranger so angry at me before. Honestly, it was kind of terrifying. She’d chose a seat at the blackjack table, handed me her twenty dollars, and everything went to hell the moment I told her without a thought, “sure, sweetie,” after she asked for her chips in ones.
“My name isn’t sweetie,” she’d snapped, giving a nod to the server as she took her Irish coffee. “It’s Joan.”
“Sorry, of course. Joan,” I’d replied as I counted…
Like many, I’m not a fan of good-byes, or “see you laters.” It’s a lot harder when you have to separate from your twin sister, who took me in after divorce and a string of bad choices left me in need of a serious overhaul.
In a few days, I’ll be gone, moved out on my own again, states away. And I need my twin to know a few things, to explain why I’m doing all of this instead of staying with her forever.
It’s true what everyone says — close calls happen so fast. A few weeks ago I was eating a sandwich at home — one of those bomb grilled cheeses from Panera with some tomato soup for dipping and I had nothing all day, so of course it was a recipe for disaster.
My mom who is an ER doctor (and thankfully was in the house), always told me to sit down and take my time when eating. I will say, on a normal day I am a lot less careless, but hunger got the better of my judgement.
The ad popped up on Facebook one evening the moment I’d opened it. I’m not sure why it did — the normal ads that showed up on my feed were pretty accurate, but this was strange. I’d never been into psychic anything — the universe aligning, horoscopes, all that. It’s all fascinating but I try to be a realist.
This time I was weak.
The drawing arrived about twenty-four hours after I paid for it. I made sure to buy the psychic reading of my soulmate that comes with the photo for a small fee. Even if you don’t believe…
Records show around only 0.6% of the world’s population is on the Bipolar Spectrum, but I wasn’t surprised when my doctor gave me the diagnosis. It was me who asked if maybe I could be before she said, “yup, you tick every box.”
I’m not sure what boxes the good doctor meant. All I did was answer her questions honestly. But I was happy, even if I didn’t quite understand. To diagnose Bipolar disorder, she performed a General Behavior Inventory (GBI) and led me through a Mood Disorder Questionnaire (MDQ) as part of a Structural Clinical Interview. Even with all…
I’m not sure why this story came to mind today. I’m also not sure what’s more embarrassing about it: the fact I had a crush on a guy who called himself “Coyote” or that there are people like him who decide when women orgasm.
I was twenty-three. Coyote looked a lot like a certain sexy and beloved pirate captain. I’m talking almost a perfect double. He made a good amount of money off the resemblance on Hollywood Blvd. where I hung out sometimes. He also bragged about his bedroom skills whenever he could. …
My twin sister, who I live with because she tells me she’ll die if I leave, is super understanding that I hate clothing. But there are a few rules. The outfit stays on until everyone in the house is asleep, then I can do what I want to do. Not a problem…usually.
That night I kind of messed up.
My sister had busted into my room through the bathroom that locks from the other side as I watched a mall Santa get stuck repelling from a ceiling for the tenth time sitting naked . It was whatever. My sister has…