Last week I wrote a post about an ex, calling him both “the worst boyfriend and best ex-boyfriend I ever had” and listing examples on why. The post was written in jest and I firmly believed that he wouldn’t read the post due to his acknowledgement while dating that he could give a shit about my blog.

I was wrong.

Someone brought the post “to his attention” (way to go, ass!) and I got a somewhat angry email from him the next day.

I apologized, explained that the post was meant to be light, and that I would remove it if he so desired.

I have not heard from him but I removed the entry anyways.

This is not the first time my blog has gotten me in trouble with someone close in my life. My parents and I now have an understanding that they are to never read my blog, unless I specify a particular post. If they do go to that post, their eyes are not to deviate elsewhere on the page. This isn’t a rule that I mandated, but an observation they figured out themselves. Though my mother has not pointed out (more…)

Last night I attended the Austin chapter of Mortified.
If you haven’t heard of Mortified or don’t listen to NPR, what kind of fucking hipster are you?!

Oh wait, I keep hearing that that word is dead (and therefore my blog irrelevant?)

What kind of fucking young, creative urbanite are you!?

Mortified is when a bunch of adults go onstage and read awkward diary entries from when they were kids to an encouraging audience.

The set I saw last night was good. Intimidatingly good. These people were once bona fide dorks, nerds, geeks, freaks, and dweebs.

I on the other hand, sat there in shame realizing I could never own my adolescent awkwardness as well as they did.

I was a nerd alright, but a color-inside-the-lines nerd. I had a great childhood. Full of non-angst and zero boy drama. In fact, I wasn’t even sure I liked boys. I knew I didn’t like girls, but I just didn’t like anyone other than myself. If I thought I could have married myself, I would have. Of course that led to my mother quite seriously (more…)

It is while giving her boss a blow job that Lola Milstein realizes it’s time to get out of LA.

At this exact second, somewhere in Austin, TX, Kevin Horowitz wakes from the best dream he’s ever had.

These corresponding moments are not incidental, for Lola and Kevin share a connection deeper than the one they already know exists. An intricate web of a million moments striving for a great point.

Like a zombie smelling blood, Lola sits up, coldly pries her lips from her boss’ near ready to unload dick and starts walking towards her desk.

Three years of being this asshole’s assistant. Three years of picking up his dry cleaning, his coffee, his girlfriend’s birth control pills, his Viagra. Three years of having her job held over her head for an end all goal she could not see.

Three years of no longer knowing who she was.

The adrenaline running through her system completely overshadows the reality that only $300 exists in her bank account and that she, in fact, has no idea what she will do for a job.

“What (more…)

It is my mother’s birthday today.
It’s a milestone one.
I’m sure she wouldn’t like me telling you her age, but here is a hint- she was three years old when she had me.

I was not able to make it home for my mother’s birthday. She lives in New York and I live in Texas.

This fact tore me up.

I took off the weekend just in case I was going to be able to magically fly home, but I didn’t magically do anything this weekend. Instead I moped around the house and contemplated human existence, listened to Stevie Wonder’s “Songs in the Key of Life” on loop, and shed a tiny tear every time the song “As” came on.

Considering I wasn’t able to make it home, I’d like to take this time to wish my amazing mother a wonderful birthday.

Will you please help me in wishing my mom a Happy 30th?

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You did everything right, but sometimes doing right just doesn’t guarantee you anything.

Aren’t you the one to always tells me that?

“You can’t be afraid to live life out of fear of getting hurt.”

And boy, (more…)

Ok, my life isn’t that bad right now, but I’ve sadly begun to realize (well, actually I realized this long ago but have been in denial about it ever since) that my best writing does not come with the ebb and flow of life’s little diarrhea.

I, unfortunately, also do not have the gift of creating while being completely crocked. My great dream as a child to grow into a mentally unstable artist with seven ex-husbands and eight chemical dependencies has been dashed!

I was in 9th grade and sitting in the band room during lunch- because that’s what band geeks do- when I heard the most perfect piano rendition of George Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue coming from one of the practice rooms.

I recognized Gershwin anywhere. My father, being a piano player himself, loved Gershwin, therefore I loved Gershwin in attempt to bridge the three-state gap between us.

I didn’t know that anyone in my school loved Gershwin as much as I, let alone play his 32-page composition perfectly.

I peered in through the tiny window of the practice room and like a caged animal, I see a flurry of arms and hands running up and down the keyboard. I didn’t recognize the kid, he looked a few years younger than me, but I knew I had to meet him.

I waited outside the room like an eager fan and introduced myself before he could even collect his sheet music.

His name was Josh and he was in 7th grade and playing that “little old sheet music” was no big deal to him.

But it was a big deal to me.

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What (more…)