People keep telling me I'm a manic pixie dream boy but I'm not sure that's an actual thing.
Yesterday a bunch of drunk hipsters decided to give me their business cards in the street. One said "tenor," one said "proofreader" and one didn't list any profession at all.
I came in last place on a nationally syndicated quiz show.
I spend too much in used bookstores.
I've sung karaoke: in suburban backyards, at a Caribbean prison, with a professional dominatrix, on multiple first dates
I walk around Soho with a cat on my head. I drive around north Brooklyn singing in my Subaru. I stand in front of crowded subway doors with a giant backpack. I only feel truly comfortable in my Elmo suit.
I get really energetic and happy late at night. Sometimes people assume that means I have cocaine, but I've never tried it, since it makes other people annoying and I don't want to be That Guy.
I've never cooked an eggplant or a zucchini. I can never decide whether to leave the seeds in the cucumber. None of that is a double entendre; I was just thinking about dinner.
I have difficulty sitting still. Also I probably smile too much and it puts the wrong people at ease.
- education reform
- what might have been
- police tactics
- what to do with my life
- what to do with my night
you're here to play mind games
you saw me on Tinder and accidentally swiped left
you put your man first, the Lord second, yourself third