How many times can I use the word ‘snot’?

Laura, what the hell happened to blogging three days a week?!

Well, let’s enumerate:

  1. Got a new job! So had to wrap up the old job.
  2. I had the worst allergy attack in like forever (or I was sick).
  3. Started new job while dying of snot.
  4. Proceeded to improve, aside from the whole passing out as soon as the clock struck 10 thing.
  5. Today, the boy started dying of snot. Husband may or may not be dying of snot, though he is certainly producing quite a bit of it.

So yeah, I’m going to try and get back to blogging soon–I’m reading Naya Rivera’s memoir, so I’m sure I’ll have things to write about–but first we all need to recover from whatever this hellish snot thing is.

I have that agitated, buzzy feeling that heralds too much change, too much information, too many things I can’t control.  Not all of it is bad, and not all of it is good–a lot of it is sort of neutral and waiting to resolve into one or the other. The murky future looms over me and all I can do is wait and see what happens.

Honestly, I’d love a week or two of routine, but 2016 apparently has none of that for anybody.

On a happier note, today is Jason’s birthday, and he is certainly a light in the murk of the world.  Here’s to another year of snarky texts and shameless each-other promotion!



Today I’m going to rant a little.

I’m getting a little tired of the judgmental memes on Facebook, y’all.

Sure, I do indeed have the same number of hours in my day as Einstein and Beyonce, but both of them had/have the luxury of not having day jobs.  Some of us spend 8 hours a day at work and then have to come home and work on the theory of relativity or write an album, rather than spending our actual working day doing those things.  And I’m reasonably sure that neither Einstein nor Beyonce had/has to get the kids from school and make dinner–but even if they did?  They’d have time because, again,  no day jobs

And then there’s the fact that I am apparently the devil for allowing my child to have a phone/iPad/computer access at all.  I am stunting his mental growth–the mental growth of the child who came home from 3rd grade one day shocked and appalled that no one in the class knew that Alexander Hamilton was the first US Treasury Secretary; the child who told me that he’s a feminist because, among other reasons, women should be paid the same as men; the child who has grilled us on racism, homophobia, and why on earth anyone would try to ban Harry Potter.  The iPhone he plays games on and uses to listen to the Hamilton soundtrack is absolutely destroying his ability to think.

Wait, no, maybe what’s doing that is guilt-trip memes and scaremongering articles on Facebook that make sweeping generalizations using false dichotomies and confuse correlation with causation.

Whew!  Okay.  End of rant.


Types of drama I have witnessed recently:

  1. Weather (AAAAAAHHHHHH INVEST TROPICAL DEPRESSION TROPICAL STORM why the hell can’t I just go to a weather website and find the maps right there on the front page?  Why do I have to scroll through five stories about weather that’s not impacting me —even after I put in my zip code–in order to find out about the weather that’s supposed to cause flooding somewhere in my area, and I’d kind of like to know if said area is my house?  Why, if I click on a thumbnail of the Cone of Uncertainty for my storm, do I get radar and no Cone?  JUST GIVE ME INFORMATION.)
  2. Facebook (I did not realize ‘T’ was also ‘tea,’ but I’m pleased to discover I’m not so behind the times as to not know what they meant by ‘tea’ in this scenario)
  3. Elementary school, 4th grade specific (the struggle is real, y’all.  The child’s lunch box was maligned!)

There are also birthday party invitations to respond to, job stuff to take care of, insurance stuff to take care of (ugh, just reserve my cave in the woods right now), some sort of business venture the child and his BFF are trying to start up on Labor Day (ha!), we were thinking about a trip to one of the local water parks this weekend, we think the female molly fish is preggers again, and the house is a mess.  Okay, mostly the bedroom.  The kitchen needs sprucing.

Why the hell am I blogging this?  This is not quality content!  Well, whatever, it’s the content I’ve got.


Okay, let’s see if we can manage three days a week, shall we?  I can’t promise in-depth, lengthy commentary, but maybe the short stuff will do.

I’m very sad to see that Gene Wilder died; he’s been one of my favorite actors for basically ever.  Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory was probably the first movie of his I saw; pretty sure my father showed me Young Frankenstein when I was, like, eleven.  I discovered The Producers the summer I was 14, and proceeded to tell everyone I knew to watch it.  I think only JC actually did (because he and I were the Merv Griffin weirdo teenagers).  And at some point I saw him in The Little Prince and just hated it.  Too sincere and too sweet.  The thing I loved about Gene Wilder was the weirdness underneath.

The husband and I quote just about all his movies at each other regularly.  Even the kid quotes some of them, and he only made it halfway through Young Frankenstein.

In more personal news, I did not get called for jury duty.

Also, I could use more chocolate in my life.

The Landlady (a revised Teachout story)

So in 2014, I posted the original vignette “The Landlady”.  And then this year I ended up revising it substantially, and I thought it turned out pretty well, so I’m going to post it here to end my 2-week blog streak.  I will probably take the first version down at some point, just to streamline the bibliography page, but for now they’re both here.

(I enjoyed the microblogging, but every day seemed a bit too much.  I think I may switch to once a week, maybe twice a week.  It bears thinking about.)

And so …

This is a story (please note the “read more” button!) about the Teachout sisters, links to whose other adventures can be found in my full bibliography.  I think this can stand alone, but it wouldn’t be a bad idea to go and read the others, as well.  For reasons.  (It’s cool.  I’ll wait.)

The Landlady

by:   Laura E. Price


“You seen Mrs. Warram lately?” Gwen asked Corwyn.

Corwyn had not, though her lack of memory might have had something to do with her envelopment within a sulfurous cloud of stench from the poultice the witch of Cobbler’s Hill had sold them to help heal up her ankle. She had said ankle elevated on the back of their sofa in a most unladylike fashion. “Oughtn’t we be happy the old harpy ain’t after us for rent four days early?” she asked.

“That’s why I think something ain’t right,” Gwen said grimly.

“Tell me you ain’t going down there to pound on her door because she’s not making you mad enough to spit, Gwen.”

“Dear god no,” Gwen said, startled. “It’s just odd, is all.”


The one thing Corwyn knew–clear as a bell in the storm of bruises and outrage and, though she refused to admit it, furious sadness that raged in her those first few weeks after she and her sister left the patronage of Mrs. Simcote–was that she did not want to live on the goddamned street again.

Read More »