So recently, over a bucket of Bud Lights (they were out of Corona, but really once the bottles hit the bucket, they all taste like Coors) and a pair of Michter’s rockses, I asked a friend of mine a question that’s been lurking around in my brain (and the formant pages of my seedling memoir) lately. It’s a tough one to ask because it really makes you look like a prick to even ask the question these days. And honestly I don’t think there were ever days in the past when the question was framed in quite this way. In the past, the question I asked went like this: Continue reading Is this my stop?
So, lucky you. I’ve decided to try out some of the more difficult (read: juicy) bits of work my memoir writing has generated here in this safe, unread, anonymous forum. So. Without further ado, I present the time I became Justin Timberlake’s eskimo half-brother. Oh also if you’ve ever wondered what those phone chat singles hotline things are actually like, read on: Continue reading If once, then always