Hot flashes are about the least funny thing I’ve ever experienced. Why do people make jokes about hot flashes? They’re fucking awful. One minute you’re nice and cool in your air-conditioned house, and the next you’re covered in sweat and can hardly breathe. Without even stepping out-side into the unholy Georgia heat.

Continue reading “Croning”

Its Jersey Devil Day, and though my body is in Georgia, my heart is in the pine barrens, drinking cranberry and vodka and making a toast to the the fierce protector of the barren pine.