Friday, March 25, 2016


(The corner of Haight and Ash-Wednesday)

And so this is Easter, and what have you done, another egg painted, and a new one just begun….

I love Easter. It's the one day of the year in which I can easily cast off my hatred of all things, adorning the purple velvet cloak of Irish-Catholicism, to celebrate the day that signifies the culmination of the Passion of Christ. Also, I get to eat as much fish as I would like. 

In truth, I just like to see all the girls dressed up in their very best. Few things are as erotic as a church on Easter Sunday. I am going to come out in full support of traditional gender roles on this one day of the year. I'm not talking about really young girls. I mean mostly late teenagers, and their hot, milfy, cougar mommies, instead.

How funny and lucky it is for some that "teen" can still refer to a consensual adult. There is a two year window, by law, where teenagers are not considered jail-bait, but are able, capable, and eager to exercise their own choices, while still under the watchful and mostly disinterested eye of the law. 

If there are any 18-19 yr old readers of this site and you want to really piss your parents off then please reach out to me privately. We'll have a great afternoon, send recent pics.

Okay, there is that. I partially kid. 

I do invite anyone to argue patriarchy or feminism with me today. Good Friday. I have the power of the Holy Spirit behind me. I wield its enigma like a sword made from the winds. I slept for eight hours, a tremendous victory against the moon. The Gods of Olympus smiled down upon my suspended consciousness, my body in repose.

The boy and I made dyed eggs last night, in anticipation of the arrival of the mystery bunny. We of course made a mess, but it was fun and we only broke one egg. The dye came off of plates very easily, and out of plastic containers the same, even off of fabric and dinner placemats and clothes. The one place that it refused to budge was skin. Dish soap was helpless against it. We both went to bed with gunked-up kid fingers.

Perhaps that is the trick, eat fish for dinner and let the mighty Isis know of our adoration for her each night with decorated eggs and dirty, dyed fingers.