Mr. Saucy and I were on a fantastic, last-minute vacation in Iceland in January, sitting in a cozy hotel lobby with the remainder of a bottle of wine, when one of us called Iceland “a landscape of arpeggios.” One of us has not been able to live it down since.

Imagine if you married that person. The shame, especially when you are off the love high and five years out and finally talking to him again like a human because you have a kid and it’s the right thing to do and you realize what a boring pseudo intellectual windbag he is. ... The shame.

Don’t be too hard on yourself. I passed a guy in my 9th grade history class a note where I told him I thought he looked like Falco.

I’m pale enough to be a long-lost member of The Cure, and even I am not this white.

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Etymology might seem dry, but the connections between words feel to me like the connectedness I felt while giving birth — that I was related to every woman who had ever given birth throughout time. I guess it’s having an experience that gives you a feeling of wonder, to use your word, that you can then feel that you…

Lord I know I’m white, but please don’t ever let me be this white.