It was one of those classic San Francisco mornings. In other words, I was hungover and there were homeless men sleeping outside my 6-floor building downtown. I liked where I lived. It was “different.” Moreover, it was my first studio apartment and when I lifted my murphy bed back into the wall, I could dance in my underwear by myself or with a special friend, depending on the day of the week. I had left suburbia and entered a city where I could sort of see my entire future unfolding. The
Read MoreIt was 10am and my studio smelt like cheap wine. Everywhere. My body felt like it had been glued to my unkempt bedding; I couldn’t move. My eyes wished they had never opened while my mind already wished it was some place else. So I got up to forget again. I started stumbling to the fridge and, oh shit. I found out why my room smelt like wine. My laptop was laying on the wooden floor of my San Francisco apartment…wet. What did I do last night? All I knew
Read MoreIn Junior High, I wore pleather pants from Wal-Mart, probably accessorized with leopard-print sneakers and 12-too-many butterfly clips in my crafty up-do. I proudly told people that I didn’t care what anyone thought about me. I was lying. Truth is, I wore my hair like a drug addict because I wanted to stand out. And as far as the pleather pants, those were in style, okay? My little sister got a pair too because I’m a terrible influence. We were a couple of tweens in mass-market pleather. With braces. Visualize that.
Read MoreI have fallen for a 46-year-old redhead. He’s brilliant. He’s weird. He’s Louis CK. Louis Szekely, famously known as Louis CK, is my favorite comedian to date. The multi-talented actor, writer, director, and stand-up comedian has the ability to say the most unfathomably crude joke while simultaneously proving a point. From utterly hilarious to downright depressing, he just goes there. You know, “there.” Often compared to Woody Allen, Louis makes you laugh, but moreover he makes you think. Perhaps that is why he is worth 12 million dollars today. You go, Glen Coco.
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