You're the One I'm Thinking Of

You're the One I'm Thinking Of

In the sixth grade a boy named Alex with a lesbian bootlegger’s haircut handed me a store-bought Valentine on which he wrote, “I’m only giving you this Valentine because we have to give them to everyone.” No envelope included, not stuck together with a shiny sticker, not even a single piece of cinnamon flavored candy attached. He strolled away in his JNCOs and navy blue basketball jersey not caring that he’d hurt my feelings. Later that year someone kicked him in the balls during hand bell choir practice and he passed out on the carpet in front of the altar inside the church. Afterward the girls were lectured on the dangers of kicking boys in the balls. I didn’t feel sorry for him at all. Rumor has he got a girl pregnant during his freshman year in high school.

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Joan Didion at the Orgy

Joan Didion at the Orgy

Tonight, in a living room in the Hollywood Hills, tucked between the Santa Monica Mountains, in a ranch style home on Mount Lee, a current of erotic energy moves past the Hollywood sign, carrying with it a buzz not unlike that of the Tesla Coil at the Griffith Observatory. I watch as an unclothed tangle of men’s and women’s bodies arc like the coil’s sparks in front of me on imported Moroccan rugs.

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Honeymoon in Bali

Honeymoon in Bali

A few years ago Bill Murray crashed a random bachelor party and gave the following advice to the husband-to-be and his merry band of bachelors. On choosing “the one” he offered, “If you have someone that you think is the one…take that person and buy a plane ticket for the two of you to travel all around the world, and go to places that are hard to go to and hard to get out of. And if when you land at JFK and you’re still in love with that person, get married at the airport.”

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I Want to Believe: Christmas in Three Parts

 I Want to Believe: Christmas in Three Parts

Every year you hear people who say they wish we could capture that “Christmas feeling” all year round. I am not one of those people. Like a newborn refusing to latch to her mother’s breast, so is my relationship with ye olde Yuletide.

Now, I’m no Scrooge. The truth is I want to be swept by the spirit, tangled in tinsel, and a’glow with more inner light than a Christmas tree in a bay window.

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Notes on Love Days Before Marriage

Notes on Love Days Before Marriage

I met Jeff three years ago at the bar where he likes to work and where I liked to drink. I was new to my hometown having returned only to find the city I grew up in changed beyond my recognition. I’d left the beginning of a promising career in advertising in Dallas and found myself working in a fried food trailer across the street from the bar where Jeff works. That summer depression smelled like funnel cake and shots of whiskey.

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The Wedding Industrial Complex Hates You

The Wedding Industrial Complex Hates You

If you’ve overcome planning your wedding and have come out on the other side safely wed without a refinanced mortgage, good for you. If you’re deep in the tulle trenches, wrestling a budget, and battling your better judgement, then put down your afternoon glass of boxed wine and listen up: I’m here to help or at the very least, I’m open to commiserating. On second thought, screw advice; let’s bitch.

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Most Likely to Remain Single

Most Likely to Remain Single

The more I scrolled through an endless stream of wedding website templates, the more anxious I became and the more anxious I became, the less I could stop myself.

I pressed my finger firmly on the keyboard’s down arrow to view more smiling brides and grooms who all seemed to ask me, “What are you doing here?”

My mood dimmed and before I knew it I had set off down that lonely, all too familiar road to pay a visit to a girl I can’t seem to leave behind.

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Everything I Was Too Afraid to Say

Everything I Was Too Afraid to Say

“I’m okay. I’ll never be over it, but I’m better now. I was anorexic mostly. Bulimic, but only as a now and then treat for when I would binge because nothing helps you regain control of a shame spiral like choking on your fingers over a mostly clean toilet. Do you know if these shorts will stretch out much?”

It probably wasn’t what the sales associate in the J. Crew fitting room was expecting to hear, but she’d asked me how I was doing and I was feeling particularly generous. Not that it didn’t feel good to get it off my chest, but there are people and places better suited for listening to this kind of thing.

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