Dirty 30

Only four months in, my 29th year has been little more than a brainstorming session for 30th birthday parties. Vegas with friends, LAX with the mister, balloons and cake with the parents. But I wonder—am I celebrating a new chapter, or burying the last?

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Dimmer Days

The first in a series of 500-word memoirs based on a photograph. This dark, unedited pic was taken during my first few weeks living in Portland, years before “tiny houses” were a (good) thing.

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The (Car)fax of Life

If you had told me that morning that running out for coffee and an oil change would turn into $4,000 in repairs and a loaner car (and no coffee to boot) I would’ve told you no. And I would have been wrong.

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