Soppho

Apartment hunting in Charlottesville is tough. I know, I know. Cue Carrie Bradshaw tapping out on her funny looking Mac something ridiculously cliched like, In New York, the only thing more difficult to find than a good man with reservations to the hottest new spot in town on a Friday night is a good, rent-controlled [...]

Presented without comment, the conversation outside of my window at 5 am:
Her: Don’t hit me! Why you hit me? Fuck you! Don’t fucking hit me!
Him: I didn’t mean to hit you! You fuckin’ hit me first! I didn’t mean to hit you! You fuckin’ hit me first! Bitch! I didn’t mean to hit you! [...]

Out of sheer desperation love, I got Y Chromosome a Wii for his birthday. He decided to keep it over at my place, which is fine, except in order to play, we have to push my couch over to the other side of the living room, pushed up against the stove and fridge. In fact,  [...]

Last week, Y Chrome came tearing up the stairs of my apartment building, threw my door open, and looked at me in a panic.
“There was someone. On the steps. He looked like a young guy; I think he works for your new rental company. And he was playing with a caulking gun.”
And then I ran [...]

Yesterday, Y Chromosome and I were sitting on my couch in our skivvies, drinking out of my cocktail recipe glass. I was showing him Cliche Kitty, which one of our friends used to have hanging in his bathroom (right over where the toilet paper would be, if ever he had some in stock), when there [...]