Word: beds
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Dates: during 1990-1999
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...desk said she'd be back in 15 minutes. After about an hour, when I had determined that only three out of the "500 Reasons Why I'm Obsessive Compulsive" applied to me, I found myself studying the "Ziggy" ("Look Out World, Here I Come!") poster above her bed and abandoned the idea of meeting my host before dinner...
...sudden, it was senior year all over again. His trip down to Baltimore to get surgery, my pretend excuse for going there too--"Really, I'm visiting Hopkins and Georgetown." My father lying in bed, looking pretty good for someone being invaded by tubes and catheters, my nervous mother, all the shrimp and barbecue we ate down by the waterfront when my father was hungry again. I had thought that it was all over. The doctor had worked his magic on my surgeon-father so unaccustomed to playing the victim on the operating table rather than the needle-and-knife...
...think your Expos paper is hard. Well, my father is in a hospital right now, getting gamma rays sprayed through him every day with a last hope that they will kill his cancer. All I could think about is what I would miss if he died. I lay in bed the other night thinking what would happen to his rows of Docksiders in the closet. He has a system. Fancy clean Docksiders for dinner parties, medium-flavored Docksiders for walking around the island, and dirty, hole-filled Docksiders with floppy soles and a distinct smell of dead crabs...
...even on the topic of my first name yet. Relentlessly misspelled, mispronounced and misgendered, my first name has been an experience. Example 1: A recent job rejection letter addressed to Mr. Sugi Ganeshananthan. (It's hanging over my bed, the "Mr." circled in red.) Example 2: This past pre-frosh weekend, I went to dinner with three friends from high school. We were at Uno's, and the hostess had an abnormal amount of energy. The restaurant was crowded with a mixture of what looked like prefrosh and frosh. It had been a long day and we were hungry. "Four...
...review the trendy new men's mag, Maxim, but I have great news to report: When your man is going to the gym, he's not indulging his Neanderthal muscle-building urges (okay, that might be part of it); he wants you to ooh over his pecs in bed...