Oh, Father’s Day! I can’t tell my whole story without including my dad, Ron, who passed away when I was 13. Here he is at my fifth birthday party being a really great sport as Bubbles the Clown cracks a confetti egg over his head. I wish he was here every day, but especially on days like this.

Tango, Crown, Birthday Cake, Panda

I’m proud to be an emoticon, where at least I know I’m free. 

30 is the New 60

Realizing that I’ve reached the age where I’m not sure how to click out of pop-up ads.

Because everyone deserves to feel just like this.

Keep selling, Beauty Department, but I can 100% guarantee that this sprite’s mane is way too fresh for anything resembling a Fun Bun. 

Keep selling, Beauty Department, but I can 100% guarantee that this sprite’s mane is way too fresh for anything resembling a Fun Bun. 

Now we are 30. 

Every week I drag myself to acupuncture and fall asleep in a dim, warm room for half an hour with needles sticking out of my legs, arms and head. Afterward, I walk to Ivar’s on 15th and wait for a cab to bring me home. I never buy anything, but I usually use the restroom. Last week, I arrived at Ivar’s to locked doors and a note explaining that they’d closed forever. A few older patrons stood at the other entrance, reading the note to each other, looking sad. 

This photo is for you, closed Ivar’s. I’ll miss your cozy bathroom and hand washing stool. 

This is all I want for my 30th birthday, okay? 

This is all I want for my 30th birthday, okay? 

No one else. 

As it Should Be

Most days, I am Marla Hooch, serenading the Internet with It Had To Be You over the din of the crowd at the Suds Bucket, drunk on the promise of love or maybe just some dog photos.