If you aren't going to sleep anyways.
So I'm in San Francisco now.
Rolled into my brother and brother-in-law's place after 3am the other night.
MY BROTHER-IN-LAW: We have another guest, but you won't have to worry about him in the house. He lives in his van.
ME: Oooh, is he straight?
MY BROTHER-IN-LAW: No.
ME: Of course. *sigh*
(FYI: This is not my brothers' street.)
Previously, in LADY MOOD:
I bled, I fell in love, my ex died, my dude ghosted me, my mom died, my dude came back, my dude left again, my personified lady system rhymed its own version of Eminem's "Lose Yourself" in preparation of ovulation, and my uterus committed seppuku in the face of new, potential suitors.
Where are we now?
There's only one way to find out. . .
Craving the drama that rivals your soaps?
Get at me.
I've got 29 copies of this month's memoir; I can write your name on one in my menstrual blood.
Otherwise, pick up your copy at your local dive bar bathroom, the drive-thru menu at Dairy Queen, or the coffee shop that keeps removing my publications because WHAT CREATES LIFE isn't family friendly, apparently.
If you miss out on this cycle, you'll have to wait till next month. And next month marks six years since I've had a drink. Annnd it's Mother's Day.
So stay tuned!
Unless, of course, I don't bleed in May for some reason.
You never know.
Menstruation is short; soak it up while you can.
Are these the only places I'll be sharing far too much about my personal life with strangers?
There's always the open mics.
And the gas station.
Wednesday, April 25
In Case You Were Wondering . . .
Sometimes Ronnie D writes funny stuff. Sometimes she writes desperate teenage prose. Most times she just slams her feeble, little woman-hand onto the keyboard in an attempt to feel something, anything.