2012

A different kind of lazy Sunday.

Dear Dan: you’re almost always right, except when you tell people to leave — because they’ll just find the same person again.

A woman on the subway I couldn’t stop looking at.

I’m supposed to like burlesque, but I don’t — it’s silly where it should be dirty, and clever where it should be transgressive.

I know what I want. And I ask nicely.

I can’t get hard reading erotica by someone I can’t imagine fucking.

Jealousy, for me, boils down to the fear that I don’t exist — and that a woman holds the power to confirm it.

Folly is making a late-game push, and I’m not sure I’m rooting for wisdom.

I seem to have a gift for giving offense where none was intended — and I’m not done yet.

Twenty minutes. Go.