If this were the NFL, he’d be fined for the shit he pulls when he licks me in a match. He cackles with glee as dances about the living room chanting, “Uh huh! I’m awesome! You suck!” He gyrates those hips and pulls faces, all the while maintaining eye contact for the rub. It’s maddening.

I don’t know if it’s the oppressive Texas heat, mid-career malaise, or simply waiting, inexplicably, for something really wonderful to happen, but I can scarcely think straight these days, let alone think deep. For the first time in a long time, my life is, well, boring.
I understand what the Chinese meant when they cursed […]

Most adults were amused and bewildered by my precocious ways at only four years old, but by September 1st, 1981, my mother had enough of my constant questions and demands for explanations and decided it was high time I went to kindergarten so she could have a break. Trouble was, most schools required that children […]

I felt slightly like a traitor. Jesus, after all, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and buried, and I was throwing a tantrum over spending five minutes in a holy wading pool. But traitorous or not, I held my ground: Jesus did not have to suffer two weeks of amoxicillin.