Katie Levisay
Katie Levisay received her doctorate in neuropsychology from the University of California, San Diego, which just means she knows enough about the brain and some shrinky stinky stuff to torture her beloved husband.
She is a professor at the University of Denver, who spends her free time writing, wasting valuable emotional energy following sports, and trying desperately not to screw up her two precious little humans.
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Past Work
Love. We all know it. We’ve all felt some manifestation of it, or hope to one day. We all need it like we need air. Over the next few months a group of people in black robes will d[...]
I will always love the NCAA Men’s Basketball Tournament despite the fact that it has reached painful mainstream proportions, which in today’s world renders it instantly prosaic. Ju[...]
You’re trapped in a confined space with poorly circulating air, surrounded by frenzied, fetid bodies that haven’t seen a shower in days. You watch them gorge on candy scraps and ke[...]
The decision had been made: the Levisays would not be gracing the world with any additional spawn. Had we met 10 years ago, we would’ve gladly fielded a hoops team of our DNA, and [...]
06 Feb 2013
DENIAL. No way did I just suffer through the worst football game in the history of ever, only to watch #18 throw across his body, trying to thread a ball to Stokley who was wearing[...]
6 a.m. is not my friend. 6 a.m. is a cold-blooded, ruthless motherf’er, incapable of showing any semblance of mercy. 6:00 a.m. makes the honey badger look like Mother Teresa. 6 a.m[...]
24 Oct 2012
The following is an excerpt from Katie Levisay’s piece for Cartel III (Fall, 2012), which can be purchased for $2.99 as an Amazon Kindle e-book or as a PDF. *** It is popular[...]
John: “I think it’s time to hire a nanny.” Me: “No it isn’t. I’m only part-time working part-time and Jamie down the street has four kids, two dogs, and a husband who travels more [...]
05 Sep 2012
It’s that time of year again. The air is crisp. The leaves are changing color, preparing for their annual journey to the ground, where at my apathetically landscaped abode they’ll [...]