This past week I have been checked out EVERY time I’ve worked out. Like stared down. At the Gym. At Bootcamp. At Runyon Canyon. Kathy Griffin strolled right past us on that more-social-than-struggle of a mountain, but everyone was looking at me. And I got to say those words I’ve always wanted to say.
“Hey! My eyes are up here!” Read more
Last night a boy gave me his digits. I like to say “digits.” It makes me sound hip. Young. When my niece and nephew lived with me I caught on to all the cool new lingo. When my nephew was moving back here from Italy, I needed his full name for something. I asked him. He said, “I’m on the grid as Christopher.” Read more
Here’s something I’ve never quite grasped. Dressing for the gym. We’ll just get this out of the way right now: the fact that I can even dress myself without being mistaken for a homeless man is remarkable. Though if someone were to throw a dollar into my coffee cup on Larchmont once in a while I wouldn’t complain. Read more
“Hi. I’d like a Venti Iced Mocha.
With Skim Milk.
With an addshot.
With only two squirts of chocolate.
My stomach turns every single time I order. Read more