St. Patty’s Day is now a distant memory and suddenly alcohol doesn’t seem as repulsive as it did last week. While planning a weekend of debauchery, you can feel the butterflies begin to form in your stomach. Maybe you'll drink with friends on an extravagant rooftop. Fancy! Perhaps you'll just have a couple beers at your local bar, further relying on the alcohol as your parlay goes to hell. Better luck next time! Or maybe, just maybe, you'll surprise your significant other with a home-cooked dinner and bottle of aged Argentinian malbec. Look at you!

Wherever you drink this weekend, you will be able to escape life’s problems, even if for only a day or two. But Monday is fast-approaching and these problems will still be there. Haunting you. Lingering over you.

Stop trying to drink your problems away. There’s no use in that because they are, in turns out, already written all over you. And I know them based off of what kind of beer you'll order this weekend.

Those were the days!

You finally did it. You cleaned the whole house. Every laundry basket is empty. Every countertop, decluttered. Every nook and every cranny—swept, Swiffered, and scented. You don’t even have a junk drawer anymore.

You’ve ascended to a tier of domestic perfection hitherto unknown. And now, there’s only one thing left to do: Nothing.

Relax, ya boy has not really joined a cult. I almost did once, though. It all began with a single invitation in the mail. What followed was a series of events so weird that to this day I can’t really explain what happened to me.

My mom is in California for the week, so I’m watching my brother and sister. They’re super chill, so it’s a pretty easy gig. Seems like my only real responsibility has been making dinner and setting the table each night.

The kids are very busy these days. Bella splits her time between the dance team, theater, and media deadlines. Diego just got a PS5, emerging from his room periodically for Gatorade and other sustenance.

Dinner is really the only time we spend together, so I’m determined to make each meal special. I’ll teach Diego how to cook a perfect medium-rare steak. I’ll surprise Bella with her favorite soup (broccoli cheddar). This is going to be a really great week… starting tomorrow. I have a work event so they’re getting mac & cheese tonight.

Dinner is ready early, so I figure I’ll sit at the table until the kids come downstairs to eat. Though alone for only a few moments, I manage to squeeze in a quick existential crisis.

This blog got pretty weird a couple of years ago. The only thing I wrote about was drinking with degenerates because I found them more interesting than anyone else. I asked my Mom to guest blog in an effort to right the ship. Boy, did she deliver.

Museums are fucking awesome and never listen to anyone who tells you otherwise.

Will buying these expensive pants change my life? I think they just might.

Fuck, there are a lot of birds in here.

If you’re watching your waistline, December can be more stressful than joyful.

This is my daily writing exercise when the creativity just ain’t flowin’.

Fuck Halloween—ghosting is real and it’s happening everywhere, to seemingly everyone. The topic recently came up while I was out to dinner with some friends. We asked a buddy of mine if his girl was joining for an upcoming concert.

“We’re not talking anymore, I think.”

Halloween weekend is upon us. In case you still don’t have your costume, I’ve put together some options for you. The best part? You probably have most of these in your closet.

I never stood a chance. That entire theory of us human beings starting off as a blank slate is all a bunch of bullshit. There are particular traits that I learned from my parents before I was ever able to form a cohesive thought.

Sure, it’s October 10th, but are we really going to let that prevent us from discussing going sober this month?