I scrolled through Facebook and Tumblr on my phone to feel less alone in the night.
Ní thuigeann an seach an seang.
More medical students than men have seen my vagina. I become detached from myself.
He says, “I love you” too soon. You don’t know how to respond. You’re nervous, you’re overwhelmed, but somehow, it feels right. You say it back.
Things are quiet. Oddly and eerily quiet. Stores are closed. Normally the roads are clogged like bad arteries, but today there is little traffic to be seen. A week of state-sanctioned mourning is now in effect.
Flat-voiced. Emotionless. My mother’s eyes widened.
How can the mind become such a deep hole?
I cannot possibly begin to explain my combination of chronic obsession and absolute disgust with these Facebook felons, going back and forth on whether I want to slap them with a large organic salmon filet or thank them profusely for providing me with endless entertainment.
Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you should already know that Greek yogurt is the most sacred and treasured of yogurts.
Ina has only three simple rules to become her absolute favorite person in the world: be a gay man, have the gayest job possible, and live in East Hampton.