It’s 1986, and I’m a brooding teenager who’s already irritated with the world when she decapitates my plan to deflower my left ankle when I turn 18.
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An adult crush is such an elusive creature, like a snow leopard or a rare bird that you know exists but never see. I’m not talking about a celebrity or a musician crush, or in the case of my friend’s 24-year-old daughter, “I get crushes all the time, Shanti, on TikTok.”
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The pickleball floodgates opened fast and they opened wide – I found a community, a sense of purpose and belonging
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We’re 45 minutes into the job interview and I’ve heard the word “literally” 27 times. And don’t even get me started on “pivot”. I’m about to pivot my 53-year-old keister out of this freakin’ interview. Literally.
Never mind that I need an interpreter to understand 75% of what this communications director has been talking about since we started the interview.
“Just one more profile and I’ll quit,” I tell myself. Yeah, right, who am I kidding?
I need an online dating intervention. Or a miracle.
It’s 2am and I’m wide awake – weary, wired and spun out.
I’ve been swiping for seven hours non-stop with nothing to show for it but an empty bottle of Pinot Grigio, a dull headache, massively dehydrated skin and most likely a trigger thumb. Thanks, Bumble.
The Guardian: Click to read
The Guardian: Click to read
The Guardian: Click to read
Los Angeles Times: Click to read
Illustration by Lori Lora / For the Times
My aunt insisted he was perfect for me. Then she tried his vegan macaroons
She lures me to L.A. with the promise of a suitor — not just one but a multitude of hand-picked middle-aged, maybe divorced, probably Jewish and most certainly bitter bachelors. “Santa Monica is teeming with good men your age.” Really? I didn’t get that memo.
Her daily spiel is aggressive, peppered with enticing sound bites meant to convince me that migrating south is the key to finding love. “You’re almost 50. You’ll end up joining an ashram if you stay up there.”
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