My Uncle Anthony was a music lover and a dancer. The Hustle King of East Flatbush Brooklyn, well, not officially, but he was to me. He loved his cologne and his scent would trail through our house and linger in the hallway for hours after he left for work. But far greater than his carefully curated cologne shelf, music collection, and his dance moves that made the ladies swoon; were his dresser drawers full of t-shirts.
Read MoreThe rate in 1989 to clean my grandmother's bedroom was $20. The $2 a week I made from my parents, doing nightly dishes and cleaning my room, was peanuts in comparison. In 1989, $20 could buy me 80 $0.25 bags of Wise, ridged, sour cream and onion potato chips. 80 bags! We never had chips in the house, so I mainly spent my $2 a week on a few bags and a pack or two of Double Mint gum to wash away the scent from my mouth. I always wanted to buy Doritos and Cheetos, but those were too risky.
Read MoreDear Apt B2, Thank you for your beautiful crown molding, sconces and archway. My first real kitchen to cook and eat in; a New York dream that most never experience. The first time I saw you, my jaw dropped at the possibilities of how I would decorate you and what could happen between you and I. You were big enough to hold real, adult furniture, plants and my creativity. Spacious. White walls that reflected the outside light; where golden hour tree shadows danced in front of me like lovers as I laid on my chaise lounge. And while heartache walked in and out of your front door, heartache that I myself was responsible for, you also brought me joy.
Read MoreHave you ever taken 3 hours to eat avocado toast and sip coffee, in public, while alone? If not, I suggest you try it. You might think avocado toast would get soggy and your coffee cold, but it was perfectly delightful. The bread held up with its weight of grains and seeds, and the coffee was not piping hot, but remained pleasantly sippable at room temperature; warm in my mouth and palatable. A 3 hour avocado toast and coffee is nothing like eating a dreadful bowl of soup after it has lost its heat.
Read MoreOn a late winter day in 1998 my mom and I began the quest to find me the perfect prom dress. We walked in and out of stores that accommodated my size, the walls of each shop lined with floral fabrics that were loud, shapeless and billowy. There was no doubt in my mind that these options would prove unflattering to my round shape. Formless fabric would drape on my body and age my plump, youthful face by years, possibly decades. I hated shopping. I timidly stepped into the fitting room with a series of A-line dresses that promised to narrow at my bust and widen as they went down my body; a form likened to a tent.
Read MoreThe rate in 1989 to clean my grandmother's bedroom was $20. The $2 a week I made from my parents, doing nightly dishes and cleaning my room, was peanuts in comparison. In 1989, $20 could buy me 80 $0.25 bags of Wise, ridged, sour cream and onion potato chips. 80 bags! We never had chips in the house, so I mainly spent my $2 a week on a few bags and a pack or two of Double Mint gum to wash away the scent from my mouth. I always wanted to buy Doritos and Cheetos, but those were too risky. They would leave my fingertips and fingernails stained with bright orange cheese powder evidence, and I’d need a lot more than Double Mint Gum to cover my naughty traces.
Read MoreHe told her that she was too dense to be a ghost, but she felt like a shadow of herself. Memories lingered around her and swirled in her mind as her leg crossed over his chest, his hands running up and down her calves in a motion similar to a pianist stroking ivory piano keys. She wanted to be his instrument. They talked, and she was there. She loved their conversations about life, consciousness and creativity. They could also laugh together, how long since she met someone that also made her laugh and who she could be funny in front of. She was more more present and herself with him than she had been with a man in years. She often morphed to be with a man, became more serious, subdued and she knew this was why things didn’t work out.
Read MoreJim and I met on a dating app mid–way through 2021 and after I had recovered from COVID and hospitalization. I was eager to date and resume my normal life of dressing to impress and drinking like a fish (but secretly feeling self-conscious - I also think Secretly Feeling Self Conscious should be the name of a unisex fragrance). One swipe on a balmy and beachy August day in Myrtle Beach, SC - because you know I was scrolling and trolling from South Carolina so I could line up a date when I got back to NY feeling more confident. Why more confident, you might wonder? Because tanned skin is toned skin.
Read MoreSometimes I get lost in thinking about all of the titles I would not call my memoir. One google search and I’ve realized there is no room for me in the genre of weight loss memoirs. Kim Rinheart poached titles such as Goodbye Fatty! Hello Skinny! and Fatass No More. I’ve never read either of her books. Some writers would care to read authors of the same genre, or anyone that would serve as competition, but I would like to think whatever I have to say will undoubtedly be funnier. Besides, I call myself a fat ass, in jest, but it wouldn’t go on the cover of my book. Insults would be hidden on page 53 where the running list of playground comments might live.
Read MoreDear Speculoos Cookie Butter, The night I ate a whole jar of you in 6 sittings wasn’t my proudest moment. I haven’t been able to look at you since. I sat on the couch covered in my blankets, jar in lap, spooning your sweet, soothing, crunchy goodness into my mouth. I paused. I put the jar away, retreated back to my blanket fort and Netflix.
After five minutes I walked back to the cabinet.
I did this 6 times.
Until you were gone.
Read MoreDear Doughnut, I love your soft, somewhat oily and slick smooth dough. I’ve eaten you in private, in public on the beach and in local flea markets when I couldn’t resist your round temptation staring back at me through smudged and perfectly fingerprinted plexiglass.
For years I told myself no, Tina. Then just a piece. Then the whole. Then a bite of another. Then another. Then another. I couldn’t be stopped because I knew you were a “treat” so I had to get as much of you as I could at one time. Devour. I was crazy for your sugary sweet goodness that made my gut expand with happiness.
Have I read one too many inspirational Instagram posts? Did I quit my job because I read one too many inspirational Instagram posts that told me, I’m, you, we - are capable of anything?
I probably did.
So, I quit my job about two years ago to start my own business but I really ended up giving myself the bootleg gift of many hours of freedom to analyze my life wherein I’ve found myself on a very sober, very jacked up Dr. Seuss like journey to figuring out who I am without the confines of a well paying corporate job. The only thing I know right now for sure is that I sort of hate the word journey and beaches make me smile. I’ve also developed heartburn. The only thing I miss about corporate work is a healthy direct deposit paycheck that was on a two week schedule.