I watched as my nephew listened to The Beatles for the first time. It was just after one of those now-rare family dinners when my sister, parents, and I were gathered around one table again in the house where I grew up. With my move …
Have you ever spent an entire weekend alone vacillating between Netflix and Hulu and basic cable in your pajamas with peanut butter from the jar and reheated ravioli and felt like a total failure? I have. I open 5 junk mail listicles a day outlining …
Sporadically I’ll be giving in to you youngins with the dreaded Listicle. These lists will take various forms, but will always recap my week.
I shall call this series, The Cluster.
For this week’s Cluster, I’ve written the chapter titles that would comprise the novel version of these past seven days-in-the-life. Full novel to come.*
*But probably most definitely not.
Chapter 1: Private planes and the men who own them: a case study on overcompensation
Chapter 2: My dog’s an insta-whore
Chapter 3: Where’d all the wine go and why is my mouth so purple?
Chapter 4: If Ohio is for lovers, San Francisco is for lovers with unfortunate taste in footwear
Chapter 5: Fresh coat of single, Fresh coat of alcoholism
Chapter 6: The only person to contact me while my phone was off during the movie was my mother
Chapter 7: Your girl she so thirsty. But really, do you have bottled water? I’m parched.
Chapter 8: I’m not mad or tired or sick, this is just my face without mascara
Chapter 9: What’s that and where do I put it?
Chapter 10: I don’t always fall in love, but when I do it’s on the bus