Stephanie Klein Greek Tragedy

"I was so different back then" isn’t something you’ll hear from me.  I wasn’t that different.  Aside from the exclamation points, stonewash,  and hearts, my personality is obviously the same.  I found proof in my puffy purple diary from 1988. …

I’m absurdly drunk right now. Now, I know, this might be hard to believe… anyone can feign soused via email or a post on a ‘blog (I love the apostrophe). There’s no slur, only misspellings and an absurd amount of…

There’s something magical about cupboards.  After school, I used to open them, unsure of what I wanted.  It was habit, really.  Surely there was an answer, or comfort, in the cupboard after a cold and often empty day.  Usually that’s…

“I’m young, dumb, and full of cum.” A breathy college student yelled her motto in the yellow light of the Richard Bey Show set as she squeezed her tits. She sported too much moose and not enough neutral tones; her big toes…

Mr. Phillips taught social studies, and when we’d answer a question particularly well, or ask a thoughtful question indicating actual engagement in the discussion, he’d stop pacing, return the chalk back to its ledge, and swivel on his feet to…

Long before I graduated to dressing barbies and enacting their dramas, I had a doll named Joey.  I can’t imagine naming him that, so it must have been on the box or a soft floppy tag sewn into the seam…

My father’s belly was a red coat of hair, and it was enormous to me as an infant. Snowcapping his mountain of a stomach was the only comfort I knew short of food.  I loved the gentle rise of his…

Granted I was a Freudian Slip for Halloween; who knew I’d give an encore performance at Christmas.  It’s the evening of December 26, and I’ve traveled 40 minutes by car to reach destination Blue Martini in West Palm Beach’s Disneyesque…