Hmm…My First WordPress Post! And It’s going to be about coffee. Go figure.


So. Um. First off, hello! *waves frantically and squeaks a bit*


It’s been ages since I have written a blog post. An honest to goodness blog post. And to be honest, I have no clue what I am doing. So. I’m hoping no one is expecting the next Great Expectations or a dissertation on how to lose your sanity in five Tumblr reblogs or less, because that’s not what this post is going to be about. 

In fact, this post is going to be about one thing, and one thing only – the ridiculousness of Keurig coffee makers.Image

Yes. This thing, right here.


My husband and I have been…talking. Over the last couple of months, we have been talking about getting a good coffee maker. One that I’m less inclined to just ignore and leave left over coffee in and forget to clean and before we know it, whatever was left in the pot has become sentient and named itself and is going to college with a major in theoretical physics. Yes. The remains of the coffee maker we have is smarter than me. *sigh* But anyway, back to the conversation. 

Every time we pass the section of the store with the coffee makers, we stare in awe at the holy Keurig. We stare at the clean lines, the technological wonder, the lovely little readout, the HOLY CRAP THIS THING IS EXPENSIVE NO. NO. WE ARE NOT GETTING THIS THING. I mean, holy mother of pearl, even the travel mug is $20. Crazy talk. We laugh about our little fantasy and walk away with yet another $9 piece of crap that I’ll have to put through Harvard.

Fast forward to now. The ‘now’ in which we have a Keurig.

No, I did not shell out half a paycheck to buy one. No way. Nope. What actually happened was that my husband apparently does not know how to party.

Now, when I go out with friends to get drunk, things happen. These things could range from talks with the police about noise ordinances to coming home with a multicolored tail that I have no clue how it got attached to me in the first place to somehow getting my hands on traffic cones – yes, this actually happens, it’s not just the movies. It’s ILLEGAL AS HELL, but fun. But it’s usually wild and fun and entirely worth the hangover in the morning. Sometimes. Weeeeell, most of the time. Usually. 

But last Saturday, for once, I decided to stay home and attempt to make some sort of sense of my writing while RICE-ing my knee while the husband went out with his friend. And as I finally pass out around 4 a.m. with visions of fanfictions and zombies and deadlines and whatnot running though my head, I get a text. It said “I found something.”

Great. Fine. You found something at oh-fuck-hundred. Perfect. I’m sleeping.

Next day, around 6 p.m., my husband came home.

With a Keurig coffee maker. 


“What. Is. That?”

“I found it.”

“You…found it.”

“Yep!” Cue happy wagging tail and puppy dog eyes. “Can we keep it?”

Oh my everloving Flying Spaghetti Monster. “Yes. We can keep it.”

“Yay!” He set it on the counter. I take my love by the hand and looked at him. 

“You do realize we have no coffee for this thing.”

“That’s okay, you can get some tomorrow.”

“You don’t understand -” I tried to tell him that we have coffee, just not for that…thing. I tried to tell him this as he’s throwing away the old coffee maker. 

“We have a new coffee maker, we don’t need this one anymore!”


One day, I need to sit him down and explain that you don’t just…argh. Whatever. Fine. So, I didn’t have coffee the next morning because we had a new coffee maker and no way of making coffee. 

Now, we get to the ridiculousness. Because I went to go buy the K-cup…thingies for this monstrosity. And wouldn’t you know it…they are EXPENSIVE. Ridiculously so. Stupidly expensive. I mean…ok. Look. See this?Image

One package of THIS costs $1.50, and you get ten packets. Okay? Got that? Now look at this.Image

Twelve little K-cup thingies. $8.35. 

*screams* WHAT. Why?

And the coffee? Ok, I get that there’s less cleanup. You don’t have to buy the filters. You don’t have to worry about measuring. And there’s less waste because you are only making one cup of coffee at a time. But for Jesus Jackhammering CHRISTMAS’ sake. You want to talk about coffee being expensive at $11 – $12 bucks a container? At least you can get GALLONS of coffee out of that thing. These things are stupid. 12 cups of Foldgers Black Silk, which is basically a pot of coffee, for 6 bucks. 

Now, I know it sounds reasonable. And it does. To someone that doesn’t drink a lot of coffee (my husband). But for someone like me, who is still waiting for science to figure out how to mainline coffee…

So, in short, Keurig is stupid. But I am impressed by one thing. 

I don’t have to program the damned thing to do my laundry for me.

It’s actually really easy to use. You choose the setting (tea cup, regular cup, or travel mug/latte cup), and it just…pours it. It’s cool. It’s fancy. I like it. 

I don’t like the pricetags. 

My poor husband doesn’t quite understand. He says, “But you pay $6 for a cup of coffee at Starbucks!” Yes. I do. I’m paying them to make my caramel macchiato with five espresso shots or my chai latte. They are MAKING it. Yes, it’s going to be more expensive. That doesn’t mean I want to pay that price every time I want a cup of black coffee with nothing fancy done to it. Why is that so hard to understand?


Thank you for listening to my rant. I’m going to log off now.

The Other Side


I could take you to places that’ll make you stand and just breathe in humanity–the wonderful stink of it– while the noise of life assaults your eager ears… whispering, singing, shouting, blaring “I’m here… I’m alive and uncertain, but dammit, I am HERE”

And I could show you places everywhere that show our greatest fear… names of long-gone lovers carved into living wood, paintings in caves, dead, white coral arranged amongst black lava rock… all of it saying “We matter… right?”

And I’ll take your hand and lead you to places where, but for the path we tread, we might not exist at all, and another kind of life come buzzing and whistling in… the kind that crashes through underbrush and nestles into warm burrows for winter, that sings from treetops that we’d never dare climb and taunts us with bright flashy feathers, that follows silently through close, dark forests, only visible by a glow of the eyes. 

Sometimes we forget to look up. We forget that we’re small.




Nighttime Ponderings of a Traveling Wife


Why do some people travel and some stay at home? 

It’s not cowardice that makes them stay; it can’t be, not when my absolute terror of being boxed-in and chained down to one place, one way of thinking, keeps me running on and on and on… no. It’s not that simple.

I was told once that I was like the missing piece… you know, from the children’s story? Searching ever and on, trying to find a place where I fit, not realizing that I can decide to stay, decide to just stay and be… me. Eventually the edges wore down, and the missing piece was whole… how rough are my edges? How long do I roll until I’m worn into something stable? Not missing, not lost, just… me.  

This seemingly endless journey is a good one, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything, but sometimes my soul gets weary, and I long for the home I was never convinced that I had, or deserved, and eventually decided I didn’t need. But I do. I really do. And maybe that’s why they stay… they already know, and I’m still learning.


Wifely Updates


It has been a while world and so we bring you some updates on what the wives have been discussing.
The Many Wives have convened and decided that these things are necessary to the survival of the planet:
Benedict Cumberbatch, Ben Whishaw, and David Tennant. Do the wives have an obsession with them of the United Kingdom? Apparently we do.
We also like the idea of combining dark chocolate pudding with salted caramel pudding and topping it all off with rum-whipped cream. We are pretty fabulous.
Two of the wives are collaborating on some songs. They will be amazing. We are obvious songwriting pros and things are going peachily.
Some of the wives are writers (many of the wives….) and so there is much writing going on. Magicians, James Bond, Poems, Zombies, World Revolutions! EXCITEMENT!
The wives are planning a trip abroad. This may take awhile but there will be some nerddom.
If Neil Gaiman reads this for some strange reason then know that the Wives think you possess the secrets to the universe. Seriously.
We discussed pie versus cake. Battles may be fought over this issue.
Follow the Wives for more updates as sparklingly awesome as this. Til next time.
—Head Wife

Whereupon one found a home…


He shuffled along the sidewalk, palming the small ring of keys in his sweaty fist. He buried his nose into his wool scarf as a sharp west wind cut down the street. A gaggle of groans and giggles sounded behind him.

“Are we almost there yet? It’s bloody cold!” one of them whined.

The loudest one replied, “It will be worth it! I swear!”

He didn’t think so. The property had just been put on the market the day before and was nothing special in his book. It was something old: brick, arch-windowed and iron-gated, taking up valuable property in the limited downtown area. He had always been attracted to the sleek, silver features of the new age. This building could rot for all he cared, and it probably would even with the enthusiastic bunch trailing after him.

They stopped before the stone edifice which appeared more gloomy than imposing.

This is what you dragged us out here for?”

“Shush! I just know it’s what we need! Do you want to share that apartment forever?”

“I don’t mind it,” the whiner murmured.

“That’s because you hardly spend the night anymore,” a sarcastic comment cut through. Laughter erupted and he gritted his teeth at the antics of the young women.

He mounted the two large steps and thrust the key into the lock. He twisted it and shouldered the impressive oak door open.

“The building has been empty for the last couple of years. It was originally built for a printing press company, but was converted as living quarters some time in the 1920s.” He grumbled the sales pitch, then let out a loud ‘oof’ as he was forced against the wall as the group shoved their way in past him.

Soft heels clicked and sneakers scuffed loudly across the marble floor, echoing down the empty hall and into the home. A number of quiet gasps chased after the sound.

“Oh….oh…wow!” a voice he hadn’t heard before gasped. His eyes cut to the quiet one with the bright, knowing eyes.

“See?” the loudest spun around to face her, “What did I tell you? It’s home.”

….to be continued…

Tales of the Traveling Wife, Part 2: Walking in a Dream


Wandering around my hometown again is like the beginning of a lucid dream—right before you realize it isn’t real and you can open a hole in the ground and escape to somewhere safe. 

Everything is the same as I remember. Almost. There are little mistakes, little differences, as if my brain is sending me clues that it’s all a dream and I can fly if I choose. I don’t try. I do step into every still, calm puddle I can find, hoping that I’ll fall through it into the reflected sky… like you said we would as we walked along that flooded dirt road, taking care to avoid each glassy, perfect pool of sky. 

Wandering the halls of my old school, I expect to see childhood friends around every corner… and I’m startled every time they don’t appear. The nearby library seems smaller than I remember it, and I can’t help but smile at a younger me, who believed that brick building held the combined knowledge of the entire universe.

The red bridge is exactly the way I remember it… from a distance. On closer inspection, it’s wider, newer, and the red paint is more fresh than I have ever seen. Its sturdiness makes me feel less safe than the warped, peeling boards of its rickety predecessor. Looking over the edge, I see the late afternoon sky, and all I want is to dive in and fly to unbelievable places until I can wake up wherever you are and be home.


Ode to 8 Wives


Several are poets—spinning words out of air,
each line etched onto paper
like those people who carve into glass somehow
never breaking it.
Some write fiction—letting stories weave spells.
Some are artists—which makes me hopeful. Those bits and flashes of color shedding light in ways we couldn’t imagine before and now can’t imagine being without.
A couple study history, study science—the pieces that make up who we are seen from different angles.
Some like math—the beautiful way that numbers so easily define. We are all basic addition. Me+you=Us.
A few travel—one always and constantly, some only in dreams.
All are wives—perfect, graceful, wondrous to behold.

Tales of the Traveling Wife, Part 1: A Brief Introduction*


The Traveling Wife sits on the floor of an airport gate, waiting. Rewind 5 months: she was sleeping in her car in a truck stop. Fast-forward less than a month from today: she’ll be back in an airport, waiting to go somewhere else. Out of all the wives, she is probably the most elusive, but soon all of that will change…

*This was written on Wednesday, when I was indeed just sitting in an airport, waiting. I meant to post it then, but I had to get on a plane. Since then, I’ve mostly just been kind of lazy and very busy. Until now.

**Not sure where the whole “Traveling Wife” business came into play (‘cept that I’m one of the wives, and I am traveling), but I’m going with it. 😀