Interviewer: Today we will be getting the muck on Medium writer Jennifer McDougall. Many of her pieces are penned from a satirical foundation and cover topics about the messy aspects of life from running and travel to sex and relationships. She’s even tried her hand at erotica — pun intended. But she also has serious pieces surrounding parenting, Christianity, and her role as a caregiver to her spouse with Alzheimer’s. Let’s just jump in! Welcome, Jennifer.
Jennifer (in the middle of chugging back swigs of freshly brewed coffee, spits droplets onto the jogging pants she’s jumped into every morning since…
Dear people – particularly those in the northern hemisphere,
You know me by my chilly, intricate artwork. My palette might be your window or blades of grass and tulip faces may fascinate me for the night. I’m flexible.
Occasionally I stick around until just before the sun yawns itself awake so I can observe your reactions. Some of you are quite enthusiastic, thank you. “Ooh”s and “ahh”s are particularly sweet tokens of recognition. And yanking out your cellphones to capture my techniques boosts my ego.
Some of you are less appreciative. Just because you have to throw bed sheets over…
I just found out that I’m a horrible person. I had inklings of suspicion but now I know for sure.
Here I thought washing out my recycling and buying more groceries for my students than my own kids were the makings of a good soul.
Hanging my laundry outside and always saying yes when the cashier asks if I want to donate $2 to save broken-legged lemurs who’ve been sold into the sex trade. My entry ticket to Heaven.
But apparently gobbling up as much social and radical feminism as possible, desperately trying to get my head around anti-racism, and…
If an object no longer holds significance or memories what is the use in retaining it? If the story associated with an item sadly disappears — or if those tales were never shared — what value does it have to anyone else?
“Just chuck it into recycling,” I tell my daughter as she pulls a cracked Barenaked Ladies CD cover, once one of my husband’s favorite bands, out of some unexpected crevice. We don’t even own any device that would play an actual CD. Well, maybe the laptop but since Kennedy’s assassination, it hasn’t worked the same.
I doubt Hubby…
Am I the only one exhausted of hearing that good Christians don’t drink, swear, or screw? That we certainly, most definitely, never fart — let alone use that extremely indelicate word. We don’t do the Moonwalk, the Floss, or the Hokey Pokey. Because we’re prohibited from anything that would fit under the category of fun.
And sex? Eegads, people. We certainly never allow our genitals to touch anyone else’s — at least not in a way that could be construed as enjoyable.
Do you believe this nonsense? Apparently, too many people do.
Please hear me now. Jesus, the son of…
Dearest Lovers who have worshipped my body as though it was some new age sex addict altar,
I owe you a million apologies.
Yes, sex is embarrassing. And yes I probably made it even more so. Things happen — sorry not sorry.
I mean, I honestly didn’t purposefully fart when your face was right down there tickling my inner thighs.
You get that it’s already a vulnerable thing to have someone down below belly button level, right? I wanted to ask, as you investigated my labia with your tongue, are my vulva large? Or merely average-sized? Do I smell okay…
“Getting bored? Need something to do?” Leaning towards me, her bra-less bowling ball-ish breasts topple on top of the table.
“What are you offering?” I chuckle as I slam the laptop lid closed. It squeaks as loudly as my middle-aged kneecaps.
From behind her lavender-soaked Mumu, she produces the deck of cards we bought while on our last cruise. Covered in yellow bells, a sudden melancholy to be traveling anywhere plagues me. Mer’s long fingers caress the deck of cards. Is she going to read my fortune? …
“You sound like someone who wants to help everyone,” you say in your best Barry Manilow voice. “I’m sure you want to help me, right?”
“Well, that IS my job,” they insist, sounding less like a squirrel on speed and more like the mother of a toddler.
“So, you want to help me out in the emergency situation then, right?” you are using the firm but friendly tone that whistles over your tongue when re-negotiating cellphone rates.
“This isn’t an emergency and there are other calls I…
Highway wrecks. Slasher movies. Celebrity scandals. You don’t want to look, but you somehow can’t seem to turn away. What is it about human nature that makes us want to feast our eyes on the strange, upsetting, or downright macabre? Amy Solomon
I get it. When I see a firetruck flashing past, my head does seem to automatically spin in an exorcist-meets-owl fashion. You're not a complete psycho — it’s easy to be somewhat attracted to accidents that involve metal, tires, and human lives, isn’t it? Don’t I know it.
Satirical takes on all life chucks my way. Christian, Spouse/Caregiver, Mom, Teacher, World Traveler, Coffee Addict, Crack of Dawn Runner, Book Binger