Kara Nesvig

You took such care with each button of your perfect shirts, sliding your tie silkily off, leaving your sweaters on top of mine, your shoes set aside neatly, climbing into the mess of my bed.

It’s an event when an unknown car drives through town. Who could it be?

You know how tousled and sexy your hair looks after a day in the salt and waves? This fancy spray from Oribe mimics that, minus the crunchy feel.

It’s not about love. It’s about death. It’s about both.

“Go to him, stay with him if you can, but be prepared to bleed.”

I think it’s Amateur Night for couples.

My silver fox fur coat ($140 from Craigslist and super warm) and my blue sequined jumpsuit.

When I was 16, a pretty young blonde named Dru Sjodin went missing from the parking lot of my local shopping mall in Grand Forks

It’s like how your body never really forgets how to ride a bike or drive a car, how dogs will walk back to the place they were born, how babies know every nuance of their mother before they’re born.

Fooling around with boys I didn’t like that much while yearning for others who didn’t notice me at all, made Liz’s words, written 13 years earlier, feel like my gospel truth.

When you’re scared like that, all you can do is pray like hell.

The round, flawless shells of chocolate protectively enclosing that sweet, melty fondant.

Either you really, really like to drink and fight or you just wanna look exactly like the Most Beautiful Woman to Ever Live.

He ended up in my bed, in my pink sheets, the way lots of boys have. And he kissed me and I kissed him back and it reminded me of the boy who murmured, “We’re just two corn-fed kids” before he pressed his mouth to mine one winter night.

The bigger and burlier the man, the more he melts when he smells a candy-sweet perfume.

When I say cult products, I don’t mean things used in the Heaven’s Gate dorm room. I mean beauty products that have a rabid, devoted, loyal following. They’re best-sellers, beloved favorites, eternal stars.

“Dress for how you wish to be dealt with.”

Sundays are for no makeup, for glasses, for books, for naps, for spending the day watching the same movies cable channels play every weekend.