More and more, professional attire feels like some sort of costume.

On my way home from a meeting tonight, a nice man on the street kept waving and waving at me. It was so sweet. Something must have been wrong with his hand, though, because all he could wave was his middle finger. Poor guy.

My husband just starred in a Google Glass video. I always knew I’d one day be a celebrity’s arm candy.

Something started growing on my nose last night. I think it’s another nose.

I’ve invented a Ziploc Stupid Bag: It’s called the workplace.

The next time you hear someone in Kansas City refer to “the other side” of Troost, your reply should be, “Oh, you mean the west side?” It will break that person’s brain in a whole new way.

My growing-out pixie or, as I like to call it, my bob-mullet.

I really got lucky with my husband. It’s not easy finding a straight man who likes Depeche Mode.

I see my young face in my current face about as readily as I see a poem in a bowl of alphabet soup.

The way to a man’s heart is through his pericardium.

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Facebook posts from January 8–11, 2015.