I’m 30,000 feet in the air and I’m 75% sure the guy next to me has shit his pants.
At least once.
As recycled air — that’s almost entirely farts now — washes over me, it’s got me re-thinking my decision to always get a window seat on red eyes (it helps me sleep). But in its defense, the decision had looked promising — before it became a prison of my own making.
When I first took my seat, it was one of those situations where enough time passes that you start to think you’re going to have the whole…
Two wrongs don’t make me swipe right.
Better late than ghosted.
Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and it’s the only profile picture he’ll ever use.
Don’t count your lovers before you’ve matched.
A life with love will have some thorns, but a life without love will be something your parents ask about every time they call.
When the going gets tough, the tough delete Tinder for a while.
People who live in glass houses should ask me out because it sounds like you could support my lifestyle.
My wife Sarah and I sit in the doctor’s office in front of a large mahogany desk. It is a desk belonging to a serious man who does serious deeds. Upon his walls hang citations and framed magazine covers praising his brilliance at joining seed to egg in such a way that it very often results in the birth of a human baby. No alien DNA here, that would be cheating. The thought of alien DNA, in addition to its intrinsic coolness, is a fine example of how my mind copes with stress. Whenever I’m in a stressful situation, like…
At 16, I believed I had a remarkable gift for retail. Hope, my manager at The Limited, thought otherwise.
“Why didn’t that customer buy the shell?” Hope asked one day, after she saw me returning the stiff, boxy tank top to the rack. “I thought she loved it?”
I pursed my lips. “She… didn’t like the color.” It was a blatant lie. My actual conversation with the customer had gone something like this:
Customer: “What do you think about this top with these pants?”
Customer: “You don’t like it?”
Me: “If looking like a maraca is what you’re…
It took you four years to cobble together enough half-hour time intervals to complete a 250-page novel. You painstakingly crafted such an intricate plot that Amazon user CrazyMogambo said it reminded him of something he had read somewhere. The writing was so nuanced, said Twitter user @death_skull, that it compelled her to try harder to see the good in others, except for her younger brother who is a “total waste, let’s face it.” It’s time for your first bookstore reading.
The first thing you have to do is find a bookstore. You thought you could walk into any bookstore with…
I used to teach in a high school for kids who got kicked out of their original high schools. The students could be challenging and fractious, but I got along with them pretty well — at least, relative to how well I got along with the administration. Most of the strife was caused by my failure to comply with one or another of the almost incomprehensible number of school rules, many of which struck me as stupid and pointless.
The day I saw the principal heading down the hall toward my classroom was the day after I broke the “no…
I write about the dark side of Google marketing. So I feel like any day now, I’m going to be black-bagged and tossed in the back of a Google Street View car.
My wife is as paranoid as I am. But she hasn’t asked me to stop writing. Instead, when we moved, she asked that we not bring any of our “always listening” gadgets with us.
We’ve been living here, in our new house, for four weeks now. This is usually the point — in all those clichéd haunted house stories — when the husband discovers some weird hidden room…
If you’ve ever seen a naked man in glasses, you know how ridiculous he looks: fully dressed from the neck up, like an anatomically correct paper doll. The bespectacled nude in my mirror every morning is familiar to me and yet still somehow odd — few situations call for both nudity and distance vision, and the distance in question is remarkably short. Just-glasses ranks high among awkward single-item nudity, after just-socks and just-a-shirt (also known as The Porky Pig). Each makes the wearer look like they hadn’t planned on being nude, a naked-at-school dream come bewilderingly to life.
“Eoy caliente!” I proclaimed to the taxi driver taking me to my brand new digs in Granada, Spain. I had completed exactly one week of a Spanish Language Learner’s cassette tape before arriving in the country, and was very proud of my achievement.
He met my clear, 21-year-old eyes in the rearview mirror, amusement chasing alarm over his features. I assumed my accent was terrible. Only later would I learn I’d told him I was horny, rather than hot.
I laughed when my teacher, a Spaniard named Inma, later explained to me the very important difference between what I’d said…
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