Staying Straight: Avoiding Gay Conversion

ImageThere are a hundred things to be afraid of in this country, but three take the lead. In reverse order of importance they are: economic collapse, robots, and gays. As American citizens, we have built a history on being proactive, being prepared, and being patriots. We may not be able to fend off an economic collapse, we may be too asleep to throw off all the insidious means by which this “president” is attempting to demolish democracy, but make no mistake, you can spot a gay from a mile away. The mass hysteria over their recruitment tactics holds some weight, and is worth the time it takes to read this in order to remain safely heterosexual. The lives of our children hang in the balance. Continue reading


Tiny Lifequake

I could spend a lot of time setting this up, but I won’t.

Humans are storytelling animals. I certainly like to tell myself stories, and more often than not, they’re all just fancied tragedies. One of the prevailing ones is a narrative of failure. Certain situations summon this mean, inner narrator, and almost without me having to do anything, the story begins. It’s a tale I’ve told myself for a very long time, and it always ends with me feeling like I’ve been through an existential meat grinder. Such was the case on the day I lugged myself into the domesticated hell of Katy, Texas. Image Continue reading

Self-Doubt: Tom Foolery’s Emotionally Damaged 2nd Cousin

“You don’t believe in yourself. We get it.”

That’s what I’m waiting for everyone to say to me. Who’s everyone? People, man. Just people.

I cut myself down first, then wait for others to follow suit. It’s a skill I honed in high school. The idea is if I disassemble myself in front of everyone, no one else has to do it. And if they try, I’ve already affirmed them in their mission – so it’s all good. Like water off a duck’s back. You see that? You can’t hurt me. I hurt myself first. We’re all friends here. Image

But if you stuck a gun to my head and asked me, “Susan, do you think you’re going to make it? Do you believe in yourself or not?” I’d scream “yes!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Then I’d ask why you’re carrying a gun. Then I’d remember I’m in Texas. Continue reading

Parenting is in not panicking. But feel free to panic.


Since I’m in the poor man’s business of giving opinions, here’s one I like to hand out to struggling moms:

I usedsusan2 to think the goals of all parents, big and small, were just a derivative of a singular goal – which is to not screw their children up as much as their parents screwed them up. Family business is tough.

But the reality is you’re going to screw your kids up in an entirely new way. Make it fun! Make it exciting! But keep the damage to a minimum. Therapy can get pretty expensive. Image Continue reading

People Matter.

When I was little, I had a Jewish friend named Sally. When it came time for me to be baptized, I told my mom how excited I was to tell Sally about my decision. My thrill was smashed by one of those adult ideas that 10 year-olds don’t understand. She told me that Jewish folks don’t believe Jesus was the son of God.


Wait a minute. Isn’t that what this whole dunk is all about? I profess my faith that Jesus was the Messiah. I am cleansed of my sins and find eternal life in heaven. And more pressing here, those that don’t adhere to the Good News are doomed to eternal damnation in the flaming pits of hell. That’s what you guys said, right?


I’m going to heaven, right? Continue reading

A lovely rant about butts and things.

susan10Look, here’s the deal, all of my feelings can basically be classified in two major mood groups: “Punch Things” and “Hug Things.” Some people want to get technical and call this Bi-Polar, but whatever. I ain’t diagnosed, playa. And anyway, I think it’s applicable to all humanity. We have love and hate. We have good and evil. Are you trying to tell me the fundamental nature of all mankind is bi-polar? It would help explain Michele Bachman, but that doesn’t make it a fact. (For reimbursement of cheap jokes, please see the man behind the curtain.) Continue reading

The Great Story of a Brave, Forgotten House.

There’s something about an old, rotting, abandoned house that makes me think. There’s a message for humanity in there somewhere. But maybe not.  Some won’t look any deeper at life than at what’s floating there on the surface. And then there are those who’ll neurotically analyze every event and symbol in the world, searching madly for a message of something bigger. I usually fall somewhere in the middle of the spectrum. But when it comes to these houses, I land at the far end with the rest of the thinkers.

I go out to where my grandma is buried when I’m in crisis or at a crossroads. On a comfortably cool, Texas December day, nearly a week before graduating college, I went out for a visit. After my usual tearful monologue about the state of my affairs, of which she already knows I’m sure, I left. It was probably out of a subconscious search for nostalgia that I decided to make the half mile trip up the winding road to where something else was dying. Continue reading