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Three’s Not A Crowd, After All.

Well.

Now that we’re 34 and 32 respectively, I suppose Justin and I are officially “in our thirties,” which is weird because nothing has really changed since our twenties except that our hair is falling out (yes, mine too — if you know how to make this stop, please fill me in) and now we have a roommate. Read the rest of this gem…

I Think My Fortune Cookie Is Trying To Mess With Me.

This weekend I’m starting a class about food writing and photography.

That is to say, I’m taking a class that’s going to show me the proper way to pull my iPhone out at a restaurant and snap a photo of my plate. Because apparently there’s a right way to do that, and the way I’ve been doing it since they stuck cameras inside phones is obviously completely wrong. Read the rest of this gem…

I Honestly Didn’t Know I Had Sweat Glands There.

Be in the moment. Be in the moment. Beinthemoment. 

A single droplet of sweat carved a lazy trail from the top of my shoulder to the crook of my elbow, meandering across spring freckles and around fine hairs until it dropped unexpectedly, as though it felt close enough to the ground to just let go, and landed with a splat onto my purple yoga mat.  Read the rest of this gem…

This Is A Post About Breasts.

I looked at myself in the mirror and assessed. As we do.

Not terrible, I thought, which is much kinder than I usually am to myself. My 32-year-old body has never borne the burden of birth and so, for the most part, while things might not looks as fresh as they did when I was 22 and I’m certainly not as thin, most pieces are still in their proper places. Mostly. Read the rest of this gem…

To WIT.

The city appeared newer than I’d expected.

Sodden and gray in its refusal to quit winter, I thought most of Boston’s buildings might be brick and colonial — not sleek and concrete. But modern monstrosities dwarf the stunted historicals as towering testaments to the industrial age. And somehow, interestingly, it works. Read the rest of this gem…

A Life Preserver.

Yesterday I was mad. I didn’t take the time to work out, I was disappointed with how I handled something for my job, and Justin left me way too many dishes for me to clean after dinner. I deserved to do nothing further that night. Read the rest of this gem…

A Public Apology to E.L. James.

I’ll admit it.

I’ve given E.L. James a very hard time.

Not personally, mind you, because if I knew her personally I’d probably be too busy asking her about her favorite brand of lubricant and just how far she actually took her research Read the rest of this gem…