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Author: Karen Gillespie

Lost in Translation

Facebook sent me a message the other day saying I’d been on it for ten years. At the beginning of my relationship with Mark Zuckerberg’s addicting brainchild, my posts were fairly straightforward. Sometimes I’d share charming and poignant details about my daily life. (Crisis! Can’t find the Q-tips.) Other times I’d post some hard-won wisdom. (Bourbon and eye-brow plucking do not mix.) But now that I’m a ten-year social media veteran, I’ve learned the fine art saying one thing on Facebook and meaning something else. For your perusal, I present my most deceptive Facebook status updates from 2017: In...

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For Whom The Bell Tolls

My phone rarely rings. When I was a teenager that would have been a fate worse than running out of Clearasil. A ringing phone was the sound of popularity. There was nothing better than hearing that joyful jangle, followed by your little brother hollering, “It’s for you… Again!” My dream was to have a line of my own—the much-coveted children’s line—but I’d have settled for my own pink princess phone to handle the heavy traffic. My parents nixed both ideas. I was reduced to using the kitchen phone and pulling the chord into the hallway so my mother couldn’t...

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Presence is Better Than Presents

It’s gift giving season again, a time fraught with angst for those of us who find ourselves wandering in the Circle K at midnight on Christmas Eve, wondering if we can just get everyone Jumbo Slim Jims and be done with it. The trouble is, a gift isn’t simply a gift. It’s a test of how much you know a person’s tastes, secret desires and essential essence, and that’s especially true in romantic relationships. At least that’s what an ex-boyfriend once told me when I gave him a nose-hair clipper for Christmas. When he opened his present, his horrified...

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I Only Drink Coffee on the Days That End in Y

If you’re like most people, when someone asks you, “How do you take your coffee?” your answer might be, “Very seriously!” Recently I saw a post on Facebook that said, “Coffee is starter fluid for the morning impaired.” Perhaps you know the type. They’re the subhumans who slither out of bed, snarling, hissing and cursing until their forked tongues get their first taste of coffee. And yes, I’m talking about myself. Nothing is more harrowing than scuttling into the kitchen and finding only a stray bean in the coffee bin.  Suddenly it dawns on you that you’ll be forced...

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Not Missing the Boat

People either love boats or hate ‘em, and I fall solidly in the latter category. Years ago when I was still dog-paddling in the dating pool, one question I always asked potential suitors was, “Do you have a boat?” If the answer was yes, it wasn’t just a deal breaker, it was a deal annihilator. In my experience, there’s something wonky about the relationship between men and boats. On dry land a guy can be perfectly normal. But put him on a deck of boat and suddenly he’s Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean, swilling rum, and bellowing...

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