Don't Spitzer Into the Wind

I feel like the wizened, yet senile, community elder who spouts off stories out of context just because she can, but here goes: Did I ever tell you about the time I served pasta to Air Supply?

Oh, I did?

How about my worst heartbreak?

You heard about that too, huh?

What about my boobs? Have I covered the amazingness of my boobs?

Shit. I'm running out of material.

I guess I'll take a dance move from Woodrow and ask ya'll what you want to know about. In meantime, I need your help:

What in the hell are these things?



I've been spending a lot of time out in the woods lately, trying to find myself, talking on my cell phone to Megan Jane and communing with nature, as it were. And every day, I see these creepy things poking out of the ground, mocking me. All twisty and turvy and speckled.

Help a sister out because they're giving me nightmares. In-exchange for your assistance, I'll share a little-known-fact about my-self.

Peep this: I don't really-know how to properly use hyphens. My-Pretties, I write for a living and I don't understand the laws regarding hyphens. Sometimes I put-them-in. Some-times, I don't. I mostly just guess.

It's a blow to my writer's-ego to be so deeply-in-the-dark about this. For the longest time, I've simply just nodded my head knowingly when someone said, "You're missing a hyphen."

My response was, "Yes, well, I can see why traditionally a hyphen might have been used. I suppose I'll just concede to the anachronistic punctuation rules this time," all the while simply trying to make sense of the murky grammarian code.

But, I tell you what: I'm first-class when it comes to semi-colons. (Now, I know a hyphen belonged there, right? ... Right?)

My boobs are also first class. Did I mention that?

In the Comments section, give me a hard and fast hyphen rule. Or just give me a hard and fast ... oh, never mind.