an open letter to my former classmates

Dear classmates,

I’ve been wanting to write this for a long time. Yet, somehow, despite my love of angry words and yelling at and about men, I just couldn’t bring myself to put fingers to keyboard. And now, in no small part thanks to the bravery of fellow blogger and Abbey Park High School alum, Brianna Wodabek (which occurred ages ago now but, you know, chronic procrastination makes writing things real hard), I’ve finally decided to throw caution to the wind. Brianna, thank you for breaking the silence I and everyone else were too afraid to breach. Read her piece here. Especially in our post-Weinstein world, this conversation has never felt so necessary. So, as scared as I am to pen (pixelify?) these words, there’s no better time than the present to burn some high school bridges. Let’s dive right into the fire.

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an open letter to the random old man i passed on the street-corner one morning

Dear random old man I passed on the street-corner one morning,

The morning began like many others: I woke up, ruing the three glasses of wine and four gin and sodas I’d consumed the night before, not to mention the chicken nuggets I’d subsequently drunkenly shame-eaten in my bed. The empty ripped-apart McDonald’s bag lay on the floor, eliciting as much regret as a used condom beside a college girl’s bed the morning after a questionable Tinder date. I pulled myself together best I could and mentally prepared myself for the long day of peddling mediocre vegan food that lay ahead.

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the most awkward date ever

About a year ago, while hanging out with a friend of a friend, I was complaining about how emotionally exhausted I was by online dating and seeking romance in general.  She mentioned how she’d been speaking to a couple guys herself, and that she’d be happy to pass one along to me.  She gave me the guy’s number and let him know someone would be contacting him.  Thus began one of the most confusing experiences of my life.

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