Author: Stookla

There are and have been a lot of significant animals in my life. My fish Wesley, who is basically like a child to me, except that I often forget to change his water and feed him, but that is what the husbo is for. To remind me not to let Wesley die. But seriously, I…

As with most jobs that involve wiping down urinals, mine is not ideal. Sure, we do what we have to do. I don’t consider myself above…pretty much any job, and I have the dossier to prove it. But obviously some jobs are more enjoyable than others, right? Well. Let me rephrase. Some jobs (I’m talking mostly entry…

So I’m a married woman now, and that means living with a man, and it’s sort of weird. I’ve been adjusting to all sorts of things. Like his creepy toothbrush that looks like it hasn’t been replaced in six years, but it’s actually only about 60 days old. This leaves me wondering, sort of horrified,…

I just read over my previous post. I sound like a crazy person. While that assemblage of words was born from unadulterated rage, right now I am writing in a cool and collected mindset, provided to me by the temporary calm brought on by one of the middle stages of insomnia. I must take advantage…

Listen, sometimes I hate the internet. Just kidding, I don’t usually hate the internet, but I do hate forms. I hate filling out forms. There are so many forms. Why are there so many forms?! Why do I have to fill out the exact same thing over and over and over and over even (gasp!) within…

So there’s this big thing in the world where we are all like “oh let’s pretend we part of an alternate existence, that is usually ridiculous/boring but who cares, at least it’s not our lives”. I used to pretend like I was above all that. “oh my life is better” or “what? Reality shows and…

A few days ago, I was walking around and a chicken across the street was looking at me in a nefarious fashion. He was with some other chickens; I suspect they were a gang. I think I saw one of them wearing a bandana. What were they doing there, anyway? I guess it’s to be…

So there’s this cardigan. It’s my sister’s. It is black and long, and made of a cotton knit. It comes to about mid-thigh. And I guess I have some things to say about this cardigan. First of all, I need it to be mine. It’s like those cardigans in the movies, where the girl gets…