Delores my cleaning lady is now on “Big, Beautiful Women.” It’s a dating site. She found a match from Seacaucus.
I finally stained the back porch door. It’s only been three years.
When you order a “fresh pork” at the butchers and ask that they de-bone it and give you the skin, they look at you with respect and awe, like you’re a chef.
D and I are going into the city tonight, across the river, with dark sunglasses on and black clothes.
He bought me a little plaid schoolgirl skirt, but it doesn’t fit. Still, I like to imagine wearing it while sitting on his lap.
I am working on a blog for PBQ about “disintegrating culture.”
My ex-husband and his fiance are coming to Easter dinner on Sunday. They will meet my new boyfriend and actually eat at my table.
I dreamed about a guy who looked like Russell Brand and drove a red and white, 1956 Belair convertible. I was in some rundown suburb of Paris watching fireworks from a hilltop with him and a bunch of other seedy looking characters. I asked him to drive me to the Eiffel Tower and he did.
I’m still reading Lauren Grodstein’s book, “Reproduction is the Flaw of Love,” but I prefer “Spining Will,” by P.M. Woods
There is no more S.
I’ve signed up for my first graduate class. A Fiction workshop with Lauren Grodstein.