Brianne Hogan

Last week was my imaginary ex-boyfriend's birthday. January 2, to be exact. I only know this because Facebook told me so. I had forgotten about him.

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Dry humping my pillow and imagining it was David Duchovny seemed a much hotter alternative than doing the real thing.

I’ve decided that I no longer want to depend on an exchange of cultural consumption or “comparing lives” currency in order to feel good about myself.

sommelier. noser. author. roxane gay fan.

For a long time, romantic love was an esoteric thing to me that I assumed would occur eventually, like taxes and having your clothes dry-cleaned.

The cards showed me the Tower and the Ten of Swords, which is basically bleak shit worthy of jumping off a tall building.

accidental movie star. founder of crankytown. wannabe villain.

From fierce bunnies to books, Sonja rocks the art world.

I sent out Christmas cards this year, which I wrote upon with an actual pen. But it wasn’t always like this.