This is the sort of behavior that lands you in Group, as in a Group that starts each session with “My name is John T. and I nearly went emo AF on Facebook with a 1970’s lyric.”
If you’re faced with dozens or even a couple hundred wine choices at the grocery store, and you’ve got one entire Alexander Hamilton burning a hole in your pocket, here are four ways to help identify a great value in the crowd:
I recently discovered that I have been stricken with a strange affliction: I suddenly can’t dance. I’m not saying I was the Second Coming of Michael Jackson or Fred Astaire to begin with, but I had my moves, executed them well, and could mostly avoid snark and condemnation at weddings and clubs. But that has all gone away.
Look, it happens to all of us: you find this wine for under ten bucks that looks like it may be a killer bargain, and when you pop that cork you discover you just made an investment in grape-flavored ass juice. No judgment here. Trader Joes’ wine section doesn’t come with a warning sign above …
A result of this feminist opportunity isn’t so much role reversal as it is role inclusion: women get to experience things that were once reserved exclusively for men. Awesome things, like working 14 hours a day in a cubicle, being responsible for the livelihoods of 800 people and having a DefCon 5 Midlife Crisis.
She sprawled across my Ikea Ektorp sleeper sofa like something out of an Audrey Hepburn movie, destroying me with one of the funniest stories I’d ever heard. When she finally reached the end, I was laughing so hard I couldn’t catch my breath. There was something happening here. Something weird, something different.
Love is lightning that explodes with thunder without counting Mississippis. Love is chemistry and mayhem. Love is unlimited free pizza delivery by unicorn. But love is also 14 hour workdays without end. Love is changing the diaper at 4 AM when you did it at 2 AM and 12 AM
You’re probably asking, “why would anyone who’s not twenty-four want to date a twenty-four-year old?” The short answer is simple: Because I’m a guy. The long answer requires you to understand the thought process of the male gender of the species.
Let me tell you a story. It’s a love story, which is the best kind, and it has this amazing twist to it that I swear you will not see coming. Like all the classic love stories that have been told through the ages, it starts like this:
My two little Sunshine Princesses, ages five and seven, regaled me in the car last week with tales of the Zombie Apocalypse. Being a Certified Geek myself, I figured this new obsession with the undead was my doing; that somehow they’d heard me talking about it in the context of my first novel, or while geeking out with friends. That said, knowing that it takes very little to inspire a child’s nightmare, I try to be cognizant of the things that would freak out my kids, and the consumption of human flesh to the point of the world ending is at the top of that list.