Brianne Hogan

The chin hairs were the first hint of my impending senior discounts and early-bird dinners.

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

public speaker. author. entrepreneur. loss-to-love alchemist.

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

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.

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.

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Come, fervent readers of smart, witty blogs.

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.

The turkey was rubbery. The mac ‘n cheese was cold. But somehow the meal was delightful.