Thought.is

Whenever a man, hearing that I love country music, tries to impress me, he always says something to the effect of, “Well, I love the old stuff like Johnny Cash and Hank Sr., but I don’t like the other stuff.”

Wash less, condition more.

I wanted to love you so fiercely, to possess you entirely, to crawl inside your skin and beat your heart. But I couldn’t – I couldn’t give it up that completely. I never wanted to, I guess.

“Send a picture of that book cover to your ex. You know he’d like it. Do it. Go on.”

It’s all about presentation. I always sell more when I present Buffalo Exchange employees with nicely folded items and delicate fabrics on hangers than I do when I bring it all in dumped in an Ikea bag.

I was in the exact place I needed to be, had finally repaired those broken hearts, and I needed a talisman to remember that.

It’s common courtesy, really, the kind of courtesy you reserve for those you really don’t trust, those you really would rather never see again.

Men worship my body and whistle at it, cup the heavy breasts in their hands, hold slices of flesh and bury themselves and their secrets in it. But sometimes I still can’t leave my head enough to enjoy that feeling. That imaginary friend is still there, though it gets easier to push her away.

Want a new hairstyle? Follow a few of your favorite salons on Facebook and volunteer to be a model. Salons often post model calls for training sessions for cuts and colors, so if you’re game for a change, this is a cheap way to do it.