We lived in Silver Spring when the sniper was shooting people in gas stations. I remember putting gas in the car and looking around, wondering if the next one was going to be me or the guy pretending not to hunch down next to me. It reminded me of that movie, Little Murders (look it up, you know? Okay. Here's the trailer). But there was nothing funny about it. And as traumatic as it was, I can't feel good about the guy dying today. I can't feel too bad about it either.
Months of practice have finally paid off today: Baby told his mother he loved her.
I'm trying to take it easy. Trying to find reasons to be stressful, then kill them dead. Things have to change.
I shaved my beard. I do it every once in a while. I like to play games when I do that. First I turned it into a goatee. Then I kept on shaving and made it a douchy goatee (the shorter, straighter version), then I made it into a big bushy mustache. And then--am I alone there?--I turned it into a Hitler. Come on! Everyone Hitlerizes themselves when they shave, no?
Game Changer is a girl. Here's a secret: I was hoping it would be.
The Way The South Was Won (By A Yankee)
My friend Sally hails from a prominent southern family. In her father's Charleston home hangs a portrait of her relative fondly referred to as 'The Major.' ...