There's No Two Without Three...
Another contraceptive disaster, another morning-after pill, and a growing suspicion that I've been placing far too much trust in men I barely know.
Another contraceptive disaster, another morning-after pill, and a growing suspicion that I've been placing far too much trust in men I barely know.
I brought a perfectly nice date to meet my friend's ridiculously attractive German friend. What could possibly go wrong?
Seven years of questionable decisions and somehow it was responsible me who had the pregnancy scare.
An investigation into my terrible taste in men and the possibility that I might be the problem
Seven years inside Meta should make for a depressing read. Somehow, it was also one of the most entertaining books I’ve read in a while.
An earthquake, a dubious eviction order, some incredibly stubborn neighbors, and one comically Italian bureaucratic fuck-up.
Sometimes a date is just a date. Sometimes a date starts as a K-drama fantasy and ends with you discussing abortion, feminism, and politics over breakfast. Unfortunately for everyone involved, this was the second kind.
I was going to keep this short. Then I remembered who I am.
I’m not a chef. I’m just someone who discovered that making gnocchi from scratch is surprisingly easy and gives me an unreasonable amount of validation.
My dating life remains unpredictable, but my weekly appointments with Jon Stewart and John Oliver are completely non-negotiable.
If you go to one of the most beautiful places in Italy and barely explore it, did you do it wrong?
The Navy? Fine. The Catholicism? Manageable. The frat? Questionable. The demon voice during sex? Unfortunately real.
Dating
I may not know what I’m looking for romantically, but at least I have a color-coded spreadsheet about it.
Field Notes
What happens when a person with too many thoughts finally decides to write them down?