Get your feet wet

Boxing Day

We’d been having this conversation (by which I mean Obnoxious Circular Argument) for about a year: to e-date, or not to e-date. According to Daron, the only men I would meet online were social pariahs whose fumbling interpersonal skills were only compounded by task-chair ass and disappointing junk.

A conversation to dread

For no clear reason, the whole Jamie Lynn Spears debacle has modestly consumed me the last few days. While one would imagine that simply observing sister Brit’s Cavalcade of Atrocious Judgement would be its own form of birth control, it seems the apple hasn’t fallen far from the other fucked-up apple. The New York Times…

The tyranny of DIY home improvement.

So this week I watched a show I categorically despise, for everything from its cloying premise to its shameless product placement to its twaterrific host — “Extreme Makeover: Home Edition.” To be precise, I TiVoed it. The reason: it featured a Kirkland family, one the local media had been covering since the megaphone-wielding ass appeared…


Since Mike and I joined a new gym in an effort to regain our pre-baby bodies, I find I’m using the membership exponentially more than I did at Ballard Health Club. And while I let him think it’s all about sweat and yoga and the human goddam spirit, the truth is more about two of…