Happily Ever After... Or Else


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Public Peeing: A Case for Gender Desegregation

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I just wrote a scene about a topic near and dear all our hearts: public bathrooms. Below is an excerpt from my book. “Yeah, so how come girls and boys have different bathrooms?” … Josh thought for a time. “I don’t know for sure,” she said. “But I read about it in the Twelve’s* books. I think they did it and we inherited it from them. You know we live in buildings they built and use sewer systems they fashioned.” Garyn shook her head. “Well, we do. We owe our infrastructure to the Twelves. They were great builders and developers. Not so great at taking care of each other, but you know that…I guess they thought women and men should pee separately.” “Why?” Garyn persisted. “We don’t eat in separate places.” … “I don’t know, Garyn,” she said finally. “…I do know the Twelves thought a lot about sex. I think they were worried they wouldn’t be able to control themselves if they knew the person right next to them was only half-clothed.” Lynna snorted. “What about onesex or
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Bustin' Some Welfare Myths

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In my classrooms, and sometimes on Facebook, a topic comes up so predictably and with such frequency I can almost mouth the words as they begin to emerge from students’ earnest mouths: Gotta watch those those welfare recipients to ensure they don't  Abuse the System© . The thing is, I don't know if they know they're the very recipients we should be watching. Yeah, you heard right: welfare. I’m not going to pretty it up by saying “recipients of social assistance” or “family assistance.” I’m going old school and using the most emotional language I can: Welfare. Recipients. Full disclosure, as bloggers are wont to do: I grew up on welfare. When I was four, my mother grabbed my two sisters and me and fled a violent situation. We slept in our car, bounced among various relatives, rented tiny trailers. Finally, we landed ourselves Section 8 housing , which meant a constant roof and our own beds. I’m not going to lie: The highlight of our month included waiting by the
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The Fat Twin Phenomenon

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My identical tw-- uh, best friend (left) and me Did you know I have a twin? I do. Lots of them, in fact. Or, if not a twin, at least a sister. Millions. My poor mom. Picture this: Two women sit next to one another on a shuttle to a hotel in Chicago. The shuttle driver grins at them in the mirror and asks, “Are you two twins?” They get the same question a few days later. A few years later, while one of them visits the other’s workplace, several people approach the smiling duo and ask if they’re sisters. They’re not twins. They’re not even sisters. In fact, they are separated by years (nine), hair (one has long, straight, blonde hair, while the other’s is curly and brown), height (the blonde is two or three inches taller), and body shapes (the blonde is more hourglass). Their eye colors and face shapes are completely different, and no one would ever confuse their voices over the phone. However, they have three things in common that automatically, and apparently, render t
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