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Sex and the… Parental Abode
Here’s a little known secret about Yours Truly: I live with my parents. I pay rent, and I have my own bathroom, but still: I live with my parents. While my oft-stamped passport would suggest that I’m...
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Not My Proudest Moment…
Image by 427 via Flickr You know it’s bad when your mother hides your cell phone to keep you from drunk dialing your most-recently-snuffed-out-flame. But before we proceed with the events of Sunday...
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You Know You Live With Your Parents When…
The other day I noticed a new library book on the coffee table. It belonged to my mother and bore the title “How to Raise Your Adult Children: Because Big Kids Have Even Bigger Problems.” Hmm. Well...
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Is 26 Old Enough to Buy Your Own Socks?
I have issues with tissues. And socks. And tampons for that matter. As in I never remember to buy them—any of them— and whenever I find myself in need (by which I mean dire need) I end up wandering...
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A Revelation in Ikea
I’m ogling bedspreads at Ikea when it finally hits me: I’m staying. Staying here. In the US. In Philadelphia. Not moving back to London. It’s like a brick. And not because it hurts but because it’s so...
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My 2014 Hit List
I like sleeping. A lot. Hence the reason I want to murder people who wake me up earlier than I intend to wake up. For the past few months, TWD has been at the top of my hit list. He gets up early—so...
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These Things Called Doors
This might be a bit odd, but after having spent the past several years living with my parents, my brother, my grandmother and occasionally my grandfather, the things that intrigue me the most about...
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