“Guys don’t like short hair.”

When I was 20(ish), I decided to cut my hair short. My hair was a dark brown then, and I liked how simple it was. It was right before a road trip I was taking with my friend Becky, and her mom, Katie. We RVed down the East Coast, which was challenging, invigorating, and really…

Melted ice cream sandwiches.

“Stop being a melted vanilla ice cream sandwich,” I said. I don’t remember who it was directed at. I just recall that they were being kind of negative. I was tired, and the only thing I could compare how I felt to was the feeling of sticky, chocolate caked fingertips. I hate vanilla ice cream…

Art That Matters, Damien Rice & Everything

A few weeks ago, I left YouTube on auto-play. My sound was off. I was working on something or another, and absentmindedly, I switched the audio back on. “We could get a house and some boxes on the lawn, we could make babies and accidental songs.” That’s all I heard. A haunting, heartsick voice. I…

I fucking love this movie.

This movie never ceases to remind me how right, and how wrong, I can be. I saw 500 Days of Summer six years ago. I was sitting in my apartment at The Piazza at Schmidts, one of many residences over the past decade. I had never seen 500 Days before, but had heard good things. The various messages…

A Month Without Alcohol

A month ago, I gave up alcohol. The most important reason is simple – I felt compelled to. After a bad date, and one too many drinks, I woke up the next day feeling emotionally exhausted and shitty. That afternoon, we had a margarita lunch at work. I decided to pass on it. It was…

“Maybe He’ll Like it”

I was talking to a new friend, when those words popped into my head. “Maybe he’ll like it.” Like it, in regards to what I was about to admit to. I don’t recall what I was holding back, but it was pretty unimportant. Something equivalent to, “I still listen to Britney Spears when I drive…

I Finally Wrote A Review About Joule

The waitress hands me a spork. “What’s that for?” Nikki asks. “Oh, it’s for the grits,” I explain, placing it carefully next to my knife. “But I’m not using it. I think sporks and spoons are disgusting.” Nikki sighs, with a hint of amusement, and says: “Of course you do.”