Stories and essays from my life
Poop references, races to the bathroom, and disgusting nicknames aside, I have never wanted to trade my brothers for sisters, I don’t care how many times they farted on me.
When my mom was around 65 years old, she started showing signs of dementia. Although she had always been demented in a funny, twisted, hilarious sort of way, this was the real deal, full-on clinical dementia.
Anal beads, pronouns, and surgical gloves: My non-binary roommate experience
The Passover seder requires all participants to drink four glasses of wine, and when I was seven-years-old, it sure made for an interesting night.
Stale snacks, prolapsed anuses, and naughty septuagenarians; my first experience in a BDSM dungeon