I need to stop going to parties where people think Heineken is high-end beer. That’s how I met a 30 yr. old ginger named Ron who’s confused about his sexuality. I know. I don’t have enough to deal with.
Anthony Paull is a syndicated columnist, author and filmmaker from Sarasota, Florida. Visit anthonypaull.com for more info.
Other Recent Columns
My father’s new thing is he has absolutely no boundaries. I don’t know when we’ve come to this point in our relationship but I believe it started somewhere around the time he hit 65 and stopped giving a shit.
I guess one could say I have a love/hate relationship with social media. I want to shoot my load all over it but don’t want to stick around to see the ugly afterbirth.
My god Becky! The new ’IT’ boy in the neighborhood is a serial rapist. He’s the hottest thing since those hideous lawn globes.
My friend Josh has a dilemma. Single for two years, he’s graduated from making love to kitchen utensils. It won’t do anymore.
I try to see the best in people. Like my friend Carey, who would have guessed him to be so crafty with a skinning knife?
Did I miss the memo? Since when is it all right to solicit someone for sex in the middle of the day without offering food or money?
It’s a whirlwind, growing up. I can’t get the hang of it. I’m on tour with a new book but I don’t know how I got here. I say aloud, I have to earn my stripes. But am I ready for scars too?
My column is late, my love life is on hold, BUT I’m going to live really long. I just have to eat like a goat and designate the toilet as my new bed.
For the sake of keeping things fresh, I’m taking on a thrilling, new mysterious role in my relationship by keeping my boyfriend guessing about my exact location at any given time. The problem is the plan keeps backfiring.
Yes, being a writer is glamorous and interesting, but sometimes I feel like I’ve written myself in a role I can’t fulfill. I ask myself, how did I become a dating expert?