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So many posts to write, so little time.

A tiny, gorgeous, engaged bartender asked me for marriage advice. I gave her some. But mostly, I just stared.

It’s a tradition!

I called Angela a slut, imagined her fucking other guys, and managed to turn my own fear of rejection into an insult. I owe her an apology.

Hy and I swap blog recommendations again — this month, I’m drawn to the cold, almost sociopathic detachment of a john in Amsterdam, and to the sharp voices of sex workers writing about their own lives.

Pandora knows me better than I know myself.

A simple request, really.

Sometimes a GIF is so fucking hot you have to break your own rules. Twice.

A Playboy mention, some flattering analytics, and a meditation on what happens when strangers actually stick around.

A conversation that starts with a creep on a train and ends somewhere much more interesting.