These are posts that will go in the blog, under the slider
It seems like depression seems to be hitting the blogosphere. At least with the people I read online.
Two of the biggest bloggers, The Bloggess and Hyperbole and a Half have both recently detailed their journeys through depression, just in the past week.
Many years ago I thought I could make it as a cartoon writer. Turns out you need to find someone who could draw to help bring my boners to life.
Note : “Boners” is a word last century that used to be in the vernacular to mean jokes. Now it just means, well, boners.
When I was 20, I was politely asked to leave college for a semester. Turns out not only did the school want my parent’s tuition, but also expected me to perform to a certain standard. I know, lame.
And since I was heavily involved in not getting laid or being cool, you would have thought I had a ton of time to study. And I guess I did. But I didn’t. Study, that is.
About two years ago I had my dog certified with Therapy Dogs International so that she could participate in programs with the elderly and children in hospitals.
Unfortunately, I found that because this organization resides is Jersey, the certificate is largely useless here in Chicago. They have little pull in the Midwest.
In Part I of my Paris-Ochial story, I spoke of a woman who suggested that I would need to covert to Catholicism if we had children.
The day after that was published, she sent me an email expressing her sadness about the story. She said that I had misrepresented her, and that she had not actually asked me to convert to her religion but that our kids ought to be raised Catholic.
I have somebody who has reached out to me recently and expressed interest in dating. She seems like a perfectly lovely woman, and so far our conversations have been nice.
Only once have we spoken on the phone, the rest is through email and instant message. She lives somewhere other than Chicago.
I need to tell on myself, to once again reveal an insecurity.
Last night a woman contacted me online, who happens to be the wife of a national television news anchor. (…and no, this isn’t Gertie Rather)
I just guessed that Dan Rather’s wife would be called Gertrude, even though a simple Google search revealed that she is actually named Jean.
Back in November 2009, I participated in Mo’vember, which is a charity to raise awareness for men’s prostate cancer.
Basically, you grow a mustache, hit up your friends for money, and then shave it off December 1.
I had never grown one before, and let me tell you a few things.
I haven’t figured out why, but sometimes I wake up farting.
You’d think that after 35 years I would have reverse engineered this algorithm, but I truly haven’t.
Now, I know this topic seems incredibly immature and sophomoric, but let me explain myself.
I'll never give this child another cigarette, pinky swears!
