Your brain's eccentric sleep stories say a lot about you. Sometimes.
by Alicia Kania
I see dreams as weird stories my brain weaves out of miscellaneous bits of information while I’m sleeping, and for more insight into where those stories come from, and why those particular bits were chosen, I turn to dream interpretation. Read more.
The cicadas hum and the grackles scream as they take flight, and I sit here remembering the first summer of my crone years. Before ascending to the final aspect of the triple goddess, I thought entering my cronehood would bring me instant understanding of the machinations that give our natural world purpose. I remember my excitement while waiting for the traditional Crow of Wisdome to drop the well-worn Tome of Magicks into my hands in the twilight hours before the break of day. When he did, I remember eyeing the volume in surprise and disappointment. This is it? I wondered, running my still-ungnarled fingers through the pages. This is the Book of Forbidden Knowledge Living Beings Think of and Despair? Little did I know that my crone years would unfold more like a map and less like an instantaneous astral projection. Read more.
As a lazy teenager and then somehow-even-lazier college student, my method of washing bras was to throw them in the washer and hope for the best. I didn’t use a mesh bag. I maybe used the delicates setting. (Sorry, Mom. I’m sure you taught me better.) But as most women know: bras are expensive. And if your cup size is bigger than a D and your band size larger than 38 inches, well you better be prepared to spend even more because you can’t find what you need at Victoria’s Secret. So why on God’s green earth didn’t I try to take the best care possible of my bras so I could stop replacing them at an obscene rate? Read more.
In theory, I’m an adult. I’m twenty-five and thus entirely allowed to have a quarter-life crisis. I can see rated-R movies without parental supervision. I can buy my own alcohol. I have a job. I pay rent. I’m mostly successful at feeding myself like a healthy human being. That said, my face keeps breaking out. I get carded at rated-R movies and bars. I’m still not sure how to make chicken stock. And I’m pretty sure I just paid $6 to put air in my tires. Six. Dollars. I can’t help some of those things and only practice will stop me from calling my mom to ask, really, you just boil chicken bones to make stock, but I can get better at car maintenance and not spending a ridiculous amount of money on pressurized air. Don’t worry; if I can work it out, so can you. Read more.
When it’s cold out and I’ve consumed more tea than I care to admit, making a meal that uses all the dishes in my kitchen is the last thing I want to do. So, when I find a solid, one-dish recipe, I make sure that I hang on to it. In this case, one-pot mac and cheese! Because let’s be honest, cold weather demands comfort food, and is there anything more comforting than a bowl of something warm and full of carbs and melty, delicious cheese? Read more.