
There’s a bad trailer for the movie version of my story where it’s just me riding around Portland while twee indie music plays in the background. It won’t be inaccurate, but it won’t be good.

There’s a bad trailer for the movie version of my story where it’s just me riding around Portland while twee indie music plays in the background. It won’t be inaccurate, but it won’t be good.

It was worse than you think. Or at least that last fifteen minutes was.

I managed to pass out in the time it took my iPhone to reset. I guess I was sleepy or something.

This is not what I’m used to in relationships. It’s good. It’s very good.

You can force compersion on yourself, right? Right?

My patience for know-it-alls is … limited.
Blame my ex-wife.

I’m not hung over, you’re hung over. Ssssshhhhhhhhh. Object quieter.

You should invite me to all of your parties. Or, given the amount of food I made for my party, make me host every party.

Apparently a sense of self-worth is very expensive.

Heather is a monster made of hair and spite.