When I was a TA for the freshman art class in senior year my students really adored me. It was so sweet. I’d had classes that were more ambivalent toward me but these guys were all about me.

I loved working with that teacher too. He was the kind of crunchy art nerd whose own kid didn’t know what candy was, who loved bird watching and wearing tweed. We’d chat while they worked and it was just a three hour pleasure rather than work.

When the class switched from charcoal to gouache a devil medium, the evilest watercolor, the students struggled. We’d have in class painting where they’d spend the whole time trying to mix one color instead of just accepting something as good enough and trying to practice other skills.

So one day I showed up to my shift and announced, “I have stickers. If you get color down for the whole composition, you get a sticker.”

They wanted. The stickers. So bad. Students who had agonized before about keeping lines neat and perfect plowed ahead. The first student to call me over I tsked at. “Putting grey on everything doesn’t count,” I chided, “I asked for colors on each object.”

The classroom worked in furious joy, young adults who had seen my bird and cactus stickers and gone feral. The teacher was flabbergasted. “Why do they want stickers? They could just buy stickers…”

I held up my water bottle and showed him a tiny 3D bubble sticker the program director had brought to my game teams space last week. “You never grow out of wanting to earn a sticker.”

By the end of class everyone had a sticker. There was more visible improvement in the work too, which surprised them since they’d been rushing. “Gouache looks terrible before it looks good. It’s okay to start messy and then refine.” The teacher had said the same thing but looking at their frantic sticker paintings they finally saw the truth of it.

Some things are a job, and other things are a privilege.

This is innuendo, get it? My nana didn't. You can find my updated fruity design on my Redbubble! You can still find the older version on Teepublic if you prefer the previous one.

Pro tip. If you pay some guys to move your enormous bed and pull up the old carpet in your bedroom, make sure that you first remember to put away all the shibari rope hidden in secret anchors behind said bed.

Stark contrast to asking a friend to help move my mattress and adjustable base so I could tighten the legs. Fucker’s still wobbly. He entered the room and looked at the side table. On it sat a bright orange disposable grinder.

“What is what?” he asked innocently.

My wife and I looked at it and in sync said, “A sex toy.”

He took a hesitant step back and we both laughed at him until he laughed too and realized things are only a big deal if you make them one.

I have several cute repeating patterns that just got put in my brand new Spoonflower shop. So if you've ever thought, damn, I wish that cute design could be ordered on fabric, wallpaper, or napkins, have I got good news for you!

I had this friend I was living with when I was getting my associates degree in my early twenties. Wait, hang on. So the first thing I need to convey about that time in my life is that I was as full of anxiety as it was possible to be.

I was working, taking classes, and living on my own for the first time. I was drowning. I was a bubbling kettle of stress and responsibilities all waiting to boil over at any moment. Bodies are fickle things. They all react to stress very differently. My body decided that the best possible way to deal with stress was to puke about it.

This was extremely unwelcome not just because throwing up is a violently uncomfortable experience but also because I struggled most of my life to maintain a healthy weight. I’d eat enormous portions but even when my food stayed down I burned through calories like a hummingbird. I tended to hover right around a hundred pounds, desperately trying to gain weight.

My friends were all aware of my struggles. They’d keep granola bars on them for when I suddenly got so hungry I was sick and made me calorie dense meals. They knew the face I made when I realized I was going to be sick and usually had water and back rubs for me afterward.

So that’s where I was. Throwing up generally at least once a week, working and school full time. I was living with three friends. Let’s call them K, D, and E. K and I had been friends since middle school and she and I shared a bedroom with our own bathroom. The boys D and E shared a room, and had the public bathroom.

The last thing you need to know is that D was a sex addict. He was always horny, masturbated several times a day, and made no secret of his proclivities. It was a running joke within the friend group. (As an aside he once had his car broken into while transporting his duffel bag of sex toys to and from a liaison, and the thief ignored everything else in the car to take the toys. It was probably over a thousand dollars of used sex toys but the thief still wanted it more than his iPod)

One night I was doing homework and dinner was sitting poorly. I hadn’t fully developed my brain yet to make a connection between my paper was stressing me out to the fact that I suddenly felt really sick. But to my dismay K was in our bathroom.

So I jumped up, frantically ill, and ran across the living room to the boys toilet to barf.

The walls were thin.

Within a few minutes D came in with a cold wash cloth. He put it on my neck and rubbed my back. He’d brought a glass of water for me, too, which was all very lovely.

When I was done we sat in the miserable aftermath of this latest episode in stomach violence. He finally broke the silence to comment, “I’ve never lost an erection as fast as I did hearing you start puking.”

I have several cute repeating patterns that just got put in my brand new Spoonflower shop. So if you've ever thought, damn, I wish that cute design could be ordered on fabric, wallpaper, or napkins, have I got good news for you!

Since my beloved wife got a breast reduction we have a nightly ritual where I smear goop (anti-scar cream) on their incision lines. The first goop we had was from the surgeon's office and it was a silicone base that was pretty nice, but did have a tendency to build up a residue afterward. We asked the office about buying more and they pretty much said to get whatever as long as we were getting something on it. They also told us theirs was a "spendy" $50 which we didn't think was that bad.

So my wife bought a different product ($30) and we were both put out that it came in such a small tube for the price. We decided we'd use it up before going back and getting the first goop again, even if it was more expensive. We did like that the small tube didn't have any residue afterward, but for the price we paid it still seemed like a rip off.

We have been. So wrong.

The tube has appeared like it should be empty for weeks. Yet every night, we convene in the bathroom for nightly goop. I hold out my finger and my wife squeezes the tube. Every night, there is enough.

When we first thought it was almost done we bought another tube. Even if it didn't last as long we liked that there wasn't a residue with it. But now that the first one still isn't empty it's clearly very good bang for our buck, because it is frankly staggering both of us that we still keep getting more out of what appears to be an empty tube.

Early on I joked it was a Hanukkah miracle but at this point eight days was over last month and we're gonna have to make a new holiday to liken this phenomenon to because this is the energizer bunny of goop.

Every night now we wait with bated breath to see if this is finally the end of its supply. Every night, there is plenty. I told my wife it would be funny if I were secretly filling it a little bit to keep a long prank going but honestly the opening is so goddamn tiny that we couldn't possibly fill it on our own. We shall see when it's reign ends, but either way, we definitely got our money's worth.

It has finally run out, for realsies.

I checked the purchase date. We bought it in May, it lasted until August. What a champion goop. Incredible longevity. Well worth the money.

I had this friend I was living with when I was getting my associates degree in my early twenties. Wait, hang on. So the first thing I need to convey about that time in my life is that I was as full of anxiety as it was possible to be.

I was working, taking classes, and living on my own for the first time. I was drowning. I was a bubbling kettle of stress and responsibilities all waiting to boil over at any moment. Bodies are fickle things. They all react to stress very differently. My body decided that the best possible way to deal with stress was to puke about it.

This was extremely unwelcome not just because throwing up is a violently uncomfortable experience but also because I struggled most of my life to maintain a healthy weight. I’d eat enormous portions but even when my food stayed down I burned through calories like a hummingbird. I tended to hover right around a hundred pounds, desperately trying to gain weight.

My friends were all aware of my struggles. They’d keep granola bars on them for when I suddenly got so hungry I was sick and made me calorie dense meals. They knew the face I made when I realized I was going to be sick and usually had water and back rubs for me afterward.

So that’s where I was. Throwing up generally at least once a week, working and school full time. I was living with three friends. Let’s call them K, D, and E. K and I had been friends since middle school and she and I shared a bedroom with our own bathroom. The boys D and E shared a room, and had the public bathroom.

The last thing you need to know is that D was a sex addict. He was always horny, masturbated several times a day, and made no secret of his proclivities. It was a running joke within the friend group. (As an aside he once had his car broken into while transporting his duffel bag of sex toys to and from a liaison, and the thief ignored everything else in the car to take the toys. It was probably over a thousand dollars of used sex toys but the thief still wanted it more than his iPod)

One night I was doing homework and dinner was sitting poorly. I hadn’t fully developed my brain yet to make a connection between my paper was stressing me out to the fact that I suddenly felt really sick. But to my dismay K was in our bathroom.

So I jumped up, frantically ill, and ran across the living room to the boys toilet to barf.

The walls were thin.

Within a few minutes D came in with a cold wash cloth. He put it on my neck and rubbed my back. He’d brought a glass of water for me, too, which was all very lovely.

When I was done we sat in the miserable aftermath of this latest episode in stomach violence. He finally broke the silence to comment, “I’ve never lost an erection as fast as I did hearing you start puking.”

I had this crossover idea that was causing brain rot, so here’s the heroes of Hyrule inspired by Utena. I definitely took some liberties with Zelda’s dress and the overall poof factor. 

If you like it a lot, it’s up on Redbubble.

My beloved and I are getting rice bowls and the place is playing really dramatic ballads in Vietnamese.

As the singer soulfully belted my beloved asked me, “What do you think she’s singing about?”

“I’ve actually been thinking about it while we sit here and I think she’s singing about being in love with the emperors forty third daughter.”

“And it’s gay?”

“Yeah.”

“Who’s the singer? A diplomat?”

“Sure. No, wait, a vassal to the Emperor. She’s been awarded with her pick of the Emperor’s daughters but she fell in love with the forty third daughter who offers no political advantages. It’s very sad.”

“If it’s like an Asian drama it has a sad ending.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, “the forty third daughter realizes her feelings but doesn’t want to hold her back so she kills herself.”

“Oh my god.”

“This is the part where she visits the grave of the forty third daughter with her wife, the first daughter.”

“Man, the Emperor has a lot of daughters. But I think in a world with gay marriage there’s no stigma to not having sons.”

“I think whoever becomes Emperor just assumes he/him pronouns.” After a beat I added, “Everyone else uses she/her.”

This piece popped into my head fully formed and wouldn't leave me alone until I painted it. I called it Duality and you can find it on Redbubble, Teepublic, and Threadless if you'd like to celebrate the saddest wettest girl in Faerun.