Post

I catfished Craigslist to win a bet with L. It worked, sort of.

L is losing our contest, and the terms need adjusting — but either way, she should be punished.

The game of attracting readers is fun, but the real point is simpler: writing reminds me I’m alive.

An “exercise pad” at the hourly hotel. We didn’t notice it until we were on our way out.

L and I are starting a contest to see whose blog does better — metrics, prizes, punishments, the whole deal. She’s worried I’ll kick her ass. I’m still figuring out the prizes.

She wasn’t much to look at, but her mouth ruined me for everyone else.

A evening out, planned in detail — for someone I won’t be joining.

A resolution I somehow left off the list.

A scavenger hunt, of sorts, beginning at Grand Central and ending in Room 1402.

L sent me an elf-pajama crotch shot. Merry Christmas.