That Time I Didn’t Fall In Love On A Plane

I wrote this in February of 2017 and never published it, probably because it felt too personally revealing to share.  But now that time has passed and I can look back on it and laugh, I figure I’ll share it with you so you, too, can laugh.  I am no longer single so hell has already frozen over, and I can’t even remember what this guy looked like.



Whenever people ask me why I don’t write anymore, I tell them it’s because I don’t have anything to say.  I still sit down and start to try to tap out a story now and then, but it usually falls apart when I stop and ask myself “what is my point?,”, or “who the hell cares about this?” or “is this sharing too much about a person in my life who may read it and be less than thrilled I’m posting about it?” and I abandon it.

But finally, friends, something happened.  A something that made me stop and say to myself, “this may actually get me writing again.” Minimal risk of the person it involves discovering it, but even if he does, my fucks given are lost somewhere in the ether.

And so here it is: my adorable plane love story….. that was not.  AT ALL.

A few weeks ago I ended up going on an impromptu work trip to NYC.  Only 2 nights, and I was scheduled to be out early the following day.  I packed light and my physical appearance upon arriving at LAX for my 10AM flight could best be described as greasy chic.  I sailed through security thanks to the blessing that is TSA pre-check, and took my far too sweet vanilla latte and egg & cheese breakfast wrap to sit at my gate.

As I glanced around, my eye stopped on a guy that was so attractive it made me pick up my phone to text my friend, Kim, about it.  (Hay Kim.)  This is a thing that does not happen often in my world.

There is a hot guy at my gate.





The Pop Up

the pop up text


Women: I’m not going to ask you if this sounds familiar, because I already know it does.

You’re going about your merry business, your phone buzzes and, thinking nothing of it, you glance at it and a name pops up that throws your brain on its ass.  The name of a person with whom you shared some sort of history with, but is no longer a regular part of your life.  Maybe things ended fine, maybe they ended a little ???, or maybe they ended downright terribly.

Regardless of where things were left, their name popping up incites a dizzying mixture of surprise/excitement/nausea/despair/elation/fury/spastic eroticism/heartburn and before you even attempt to formulate a response, you start a new text to one of your friends saying, “GUESS WHO JUST FUCKIN TEXTED ME.” (more…)


10 More Things Women Wish Men Knew About Sex


The first time I wrote one of these, I spent a lot of time cringing before hitting the publish button.  So I thought to myself, let’s do it all over again!

1.  It’s a nice thought, but the act of sex itself does not need to go on for an hour.  Trust me, this is not the type of making her “not be able to walk straight” sore that you want to aim for.  A better idea: breaking up activity into smaller chunks with breaks in between.  Then you can call it a marathon and wow, don’t you sound like the man now?

2.  Stop trying to recreate the insanity you are seeing in porn.  Porn is shot to (more…)


I Noticed You Stopped Asking Why I’m Single, So Now I’ll Tell You


You know what’s worse than people constantly asking you whether you’re dating and why you’re still single?  When they stop asking.  When they’re so tired of being inundated with “no” “nope” “not even a little bit” and “are you fucking kidding me?”‘s that they just throw you into the forever alone box and leave it at that.  Who wants to constantly (more…)


Rain=END OF THE WORLD & Other Things I Learned Living In Los Angeles



I moved to LA for a lot of reasons. Let’s get right to it, okay? I was on-and-off dating a guy who moved out here, and when I made the announcement that I was also moving out here, pretty much everyone I knew was convinced that I was a desperate pitiful lunatic following his ass – an ass that didn’t even really want me – across the country. Yes folks, my “friends” were SO confident in me that they were taking bets on how long I’d last out here after he cheated on me/kicked me to the curb.  Almost six years later and I’m still here so to them I say: EAT MY ASS, YOU JOYLESS PRICKS.

But were they right? Kind of.  I had wanted to move out of my hometown, Albany, since before I graduated college, but I had no one to do it with me and I was too much of a vagina to do anything about it on my own. I met this dude and fell for him, watched him make the move, visited him a few times, watched my cousin also make the move, and somewhere along the way I decided to do it myself.  Basically, meeting this guy gave me the lady-balls I needed to change my own life.

When I came out here, I thought I had LA mostly figured out.  (more…)


No, I Will Not Make Out With You


I know I can be a bitch sometimes.  I’m sorry, I blame it on my cynical outlook on the world and people in general.  Getting made fun of too much as a child?  Whatever it is, I know I can embody the true essence of a megafuckton o’bitch at times.

But as bitchy as I can be, it’s very hard for me to blatantly reject a guy.  I mean, I understand it takes balls and courage and what have you to work up the nerve to ask a girl to go out/hang out/wang out/get a drink/eat a meal/watch a stupid movie/sit on your face/whatever.   Even the least intimidating girl in the universe can seem intimidating when it’s time to lay your dick on the line and hope she doesn’t smack it away.  This is why I will never ask a guy out in my life. I cannot bear the thought of possible rejection.  Or having my dick smacked away.  Call me a pussy, I know I deserve it.

All this being said, if you ask a girl out and she politely says she’s busy or unavailable, and makes no suggestion of rescheduling, you can pretty much take that as a foolproof sign of her disinterest.  Especially if you’ve tried more than once with the same results.  She likes you but isn’t in like with you.  She thinks she should be placing her tulips on someone else’s organ.  She has to wash her hair every night for the rest of her life and you can’t help.  She just ain’t interested, brosef.  It’s not personal.  Or, okay, it is, I guess, but either way, don’t waste your time on the broad.  Seriously, screw her. This should be pretty obvious, yes?

Unfortunately…, not always. (more…)