Face-Licking

I have a confession that’s a bit too long for Twitter: whenever I’m standing close to someone, no matter who they are or what the context is, I think about licking their face and how godawful socially the aftermath of that would be. It’s similar to how when you’re standing on a high place, you think about jumping off: that this very simple thing that would take two seconds and that you could easily do for no reason at all would ruin everything.

A Very Adult Day

Back in January, I injured my calf muscle doing toe raises with a weight at Orange Theory. I thought it was just a really sore muscle so I kept exercising, and then I tore it running fast uphill on the treadmill. That time, I knew it was injured. There was a painful pop and I had to leave class and limp home. The GP said nothing was sticking out, so it would probably heal on its own (there’s really no reason to ever go to a GP), so I waited until it didn’t hurt anymore, and then went back to…

Status Update

I’ve been thinking for some time now that I’d post something about the election, but it really seems like we have all woken up in one of the less sophisticated interpretations of Wonderland, and I don’t think there’s anything I can say about it all that hasn’t been said better elsewhere.

So Long, Thomasina

My little buddy is gone. She lived with me in four states, across three apartments and two houses and six rooms. I made her two salads a day for almost seven years, and I checked in with her every single time I went in or out of any one of my living rooms, and now I’m still checking in with her every time I come in or out, and I’m still talking to her without thinking about it, and I feel like these things are deep down in my muscle memory, and so I wonder how long it will be until I…

Possible Configurations

I’ve been busy and I’ve also been thinking about being busy, and about jobs and women and parenting and families, and I think that all of the arguing boils down to the fact that, for ordinary people with ordinary energy levels, only the following configurations are possible:

I Rarely Do This…

But everyone must go over to Buzzfeed and read this letter that the woman who Brock Turner raped read to him in court. It’s very long and very depressing, and for many of us, it is a sunny summer weekend, and yet, you must read all of it, down to the last word, no exceptions. I’m insisting. Best go ahead and get it over with now!

Three Wishes

After much thought, I think I have arrived on the final set of three wishes I would make should a genie ever present me with the option: Make me independently wealthy, such that forever after I will have all the money I want to do whatever I feel like doing without ever having to work for it or worry about it. Make me a white American man who looks exactly like Jon Hamm. Give me an IQ of 160. I’m assuming that these wishes would all be in addition to whatever I already have; and not any tricksy nonsense like…

“Quitting Your Job To Travel Isn’t Brave. It’s Lucky”

When we start equating privilege with bravery, something even worse occurs: we suddenly view the opposite of those acts as complacent, and even cowardly. That staying at a job you hate is somehow ignoble (spoiler: it’s not. If someone works tirelessly at a job they hate in order to support themselves and/or their family, that is pretty damn admirable). Or that not hating your job means that you’ve just bought into some great American lie. That settling down is somehow settling for less. Yes, yes, all of this! Geraldine at The Everywhereist is my favorite travel blogger, mostly because she’s hilarious, but…

The Eurello Diaries, Vol. II

Previously. By my second semester at college, I had somehow managed to make a couple of actual friends. I’d also moved out of my first terrible dorm room situation and into another, slightly less terrible one, and I had finally fully broken up with my voice teacher and the music department. The first half of the year 2000 sees me growing gradually more accustomed to college life. It also — I’m not going to lie — involves my expressing some frankly horrifying opinions in a shameless and unguarded way which so appalled me on the reread that I nearly gave…

Hand Them a Farm or Whatever

So, The Toast has this great feeling where men just seem to be just so quiet, and even the male fans who want to be involved quietly participate and don’t force their way in. How do you think that’s come about, and how do we make the rest of the Internet exactly like that?   [laughs] I mean, this is a great question. “How can we make men quieter in general?” is always a worthwhile thing to ask. They have a really hard time with it. They struggle. They are sweethearts, but it doesn’t come naturally. We just make it…