Dining with a Cursed Bloodline

Lana del Rey’s new single “Looking for America,” brings me to tears on first listen. Like her, the America I once naively believed in was only a myth. Patriotism shattered…

I had one great love now gone. Who I thought would forever haunt me. This intensity of my love for Jasper waxes almost to eclipse her. Allows me compartmentalize. Block…

The moon waxes in Libra to full Strawberry moon. High summer. I remember vividly the 2016 Strawberry moon. Los Angeles. My boyfriend and I gobbled succulent Barbacoa quesadillas. I stayed…

“Fast away the New Year passes.” I hear sifting through profiles. Swiping my phone with sweaty hands. Interviewing every queer in Reno not frightened of me. It’s on like Donkey…

I am furious. I am ferocious. My rage could devour the world. It is not appropriate to express. Other than to my therapist. For one hour. Once a week. Perhaps…

1976: This cursed bloodline begat me. Cries at cold air. The beginnings of pain. 1979: Health freak mother teaches me that soda pop and the red cherries on top of…

Rewind to 2016. Breaking up from my Los Angeles boyfriend. An inch of white at scalp divides long dyed black tresses. I take a vow of celibacy until the gray…

Dolly Parton warbles sentimental carols. Triggers Yuletide parental invitation. Grandma is in her grave. Holiday hosting? The torch must be passed. So it is. Christmas Eve, we dine en famille…

A velvet patterned Thanksgiving dress drops over my bulletproof vest. Sports bra over black mesh restricts buckle bulges. The vest’s bulky belt further puffs flaring skirt. Meant to hold guns,…

October 1, 2018 is my forty-second birthday. A party seems unlikely. All I have to celebrate is still being alive. I never expected to make it this far. With my…

My domestic partner died in surprise suicide. Some things you never get over. I have this complex that it would be wrong to totally get over her. Play the merry…

Late one hot August night. Nude on speakerphone. With a far off grad school friend. From ten years ago. My teenage kitten affixes his sharp teeth to my nipple. He…

In a cherry harvest month of unabashed hedonism, I make and eat two cherry pies by myself. Dive in with a dessert fork. Not even bothering to cut them into…

How to perform food writing without talking about Anthony Bourdain? As a food writer I must pay homage to the master. On June 8, 2018, Bourdain hung himself in a…