An open letter to my Baby Sister (who is prettier than me); on this, your 21st Birthday.

Dearest Babysa,

Sometimes when my skin is really broken out and I’m premenstrually bloated such that my jeans pinch the skin beneath my belly button, imprinting deep purple grooves into my flesh, I think of you and wish you’d never been born. [ . . . ] Continue »

Strap on your merkins*; it’s time to talk about the ladies.

* Yes, a “merkin” is a pubic wig. Just marinate on that.

By the time the opening credits of “Sex And The City: The Movie” flickered across the screen, my eyes had rolled to the back of my head, and my body was limply twitching into submission to the beat of a new Fergie song that sounded a lot like that other song of hers about the glamour of dental hygiene. [ . . . ] Continue »