Unusual woman writing through midlife/mom life — I’m a personal essayist, parent, and op-ed writer. I often have unusual opinions — informed by my experiences as the mother of a special needs kid, a rare INTJ female, and a breadwinner with a house husband— and I write about them here. I also often do unusual things and…

It’s not the reason you think. — I’m particular about my bathing suits: long shorts, and shirts that cover the midriff and cleavage. You might find me poking through the men’s trunks at Target, or making special orders online when spring comes around. A relative once complimented me on a swim shirt. “Thanks,” I said. “I love…

Did you hear that aliens are real now? Because I almost didn’t. For context: I’m a (mostly) sane, middle-aged mom with two fancy degrees and zero tin foil hats. A few years ago, when the news published those Air Force videos of UAPs (the “we swear we’re not bonkers” rebranding…

What I learned when I finally joined one — Like a lot of people, when I hear the words “book club,” I picture pastel, wine-at-4pm suburban life. Charcuterie boards. Sweater sets. The glib chatter of women who think way too much about the color of their curtains and way too little about the book they were supposed to read…

In the middle of a writer’s strike, no less — There’s something about the way a screenplay takes up a page: the margins the size of my palm, that comically huge typewriter font, the ALL CAPS words thrusting their chests out on every line. It reminds me of being a 10th grader, fiddling with the settings on Word, thinking, “Maybe…

It’s not about beauty standards or even AI — Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you’ve heard about TikTok’s new “bold glamour” filter: a technologically impressive but ethically dubious tool that makes you look like you put on a lot of make-up and also gained a white great-grandma somewhere. …

Researchers call it the “end of history” illusion — A butterfly’s metamorphosis may be the yuckiest thing in nature. A caterpillar starts by sprouting a crusty brown skin. It’s so tough that the poor thing gets frozen wherever it is, like if you were sitting in a chair one day and your skin turned into granite. But that’s not…

I know I did, anyway — There’s a room in my parents’ house that my sister and I call “the Mausoleum.” It’s a claustrophobic maze of boxes, a teetering collection of dead people’s things: costume jewelry, photo albums, quilts, china sets that are probably-junk-but-maybe-priceless-heirlooms, yearbooks, fancy old hats. The collection began fifteen years ago when my…

And the 11–3–6 rule that might help — A few weeks ago, I joined a local “comedic acting” class. The instructor asked us to introduce ourselves and explain why we were there — probably assuming we’d say things like I’ve always wanted to be on stage! or I did improv in college and it was fun. But I…