My take on the new Netflix show Tidying Up with Marie Kondo

For InStyle, I wrote about how the new Netflix show Tidying Up with Marie Kondo inspired me as a hoarder.

My Good Housekeeping debut on why I love clutter

Yes, that's my byline on Good Housekeeping's website, for my essay "I'm Happy With My Clutter, Thank You Very Much." I am, and I'm also very happy to be published somewhere I never thought I'd be, given that I'm so far from being a housekeeper. I also wrote about moving three times in three years for Omni, a new imprint at Medium, with my essay "What I Want in a Home vs. What I Need."

Why I'm a "hopeful hoarder" and not ashamed of loving my stuff

For the Tidy (ha!) issue of TueNight, I wrote "Confessions of a Hopeful Hoarder." Having just moved and gotten reminded umpteen times that I own "too many books," hoarding is very much on my mind these days, though I wrote this before my move.

Hoarding is now officially part of my writing beats

I've officially added hoarding‬ to my beats with "Hoarding Isn't Fashionable or Glamorous" at The Toast and hope to cover it more often (alongside sex, dating, books, pop culture, though I'm open to writing about anything and everything, especially travel and events). I wrote this in response to the infamous Interview magazine hoarding fashion spread (read my piece for the link).

"I'm a sex writer with a secret shame - hoarding"

I guess it's not a secret anymore, because I wrote about it for Salon! Read my essay "I'm a sex writer with a secret shame - hoarding" and if you like it, please, um, like it on Facebook if you do that sort of thing and/or pass it on to someone who might be interested. And please note that is an over two-year-old photo and my apartment is not "neat" but is in much better shape these days, but there's still a long way to go.



This is the piece I had it in my calendar to follow up on a month after submitting and turns out they were interested. I’m glad…and a little nervous. My editor, Sarah Hepola, helped me see the big connection between sex writing and hoarding, which was something I’d tacked on at the end. I think it hadn’t occurred to me sooner because sex writing is such an everyday, literally every day, part of my life that it doesn’t seem odd or unusual anymore. I’m very honored to be published at a site I’ve been reading for years and years, and inspired to keep writing about the challenging things, with Adair Lara’s words from Naked, Drunk and Writing in my head. Here’s the beginning:

Over the past decade as a writer specializing in sex, I've dished about my erotic escapades, from threesomes to kinky parties to a date gone wrong with a Top Chef. I've posed with a freshly spanked bottom for a sex blogger calendar, masturbated on HBO's "Real Sex" and edited books like "Best Bondage Erotica 2011." Writing about my intimate life has never felt awkward. I didn't grow up with shame around sex and didn't carry any of it into adulthood. Divulging those stories, as well as fictionalizing fantasies about bukkake or webcam exhibitionism, has been a way to understand and come to terms with my desires. Because I've been so open, though, some people think I have no skeletons in my closet. And I do -- or rather, I would if the two-bedroom Brooklyn, N.Y., apartment I've lived in for over 11 years had any closets.

Read the whole thing

Waking up next to her makes a rough week a little better

Trying to snap out of this rough week's mindset so I can appreciate my vacation this weekend and leave the ills of New York and self-sabotage behind. Excited to spend some time away and also to come back and hopefully have both perspective and creativity, two things I've been lacking lately. Waking up next to this fluffy, friendly one has helped, and I get to do it next week too!

When I was little I always begged my mom for a cat. "If you're not going to get me a cat, don't get me anything," I said before I think my 8th or 9th birthday. But I was allergic and we lived in an apartment building where they weren't allowed. I wasn't hearing it. I honestly don't know if I'd be good at taking care of a cat in the long-term, but I don't have to worry about that. In the short time, like tonight and tomorrow morning, I get to cuddle with her, which is perfect, cause talking to people I would probably not be so successful at right now.

It's such a close shot cause she was lying on my chest. So, onward. I am very good at lamenting what I haven't done, but am trying to focus on what I can do in the moment, like write about BEA fatigue. And masturbation. And gay threesomes. The usual mix. I will tell you that the best book I got at BEA (obviously haven't read them all, but I can tell) is Pesi Dinnerstein's forthcoming memoir from Seal Press, A Cluttered Life: Searing for God, Serenity, and My Missing Keys. I grabbed it this morning...after frantically looking for my keys.

She nails things in just the first few pages I've read that could be straight out of my head, about the reasons behind hoarding and clutter and filling ourselves up with all the things we fill ourselves up with, women like us. I am trying not to do that, yet that process seeps in, whether it's filling up my hand with to do list items or my bags or my home or my mouth. Unlearning, or avoiding, lifelong bad habits is extremely challenging. They are comforting even when they're clearly dysfunctional, hence I make the same errors when it comes to not finishing, procrastinating, spending, clutter, whatever, over and over again. It's why I'd rather not drink at all than even give myself the option.

I'd rather choose nothing because I don't think I'll ever be fully rid of my all or nothing mindset; that's the rationale behind my short-lived dating hiatus. I couldn't trust myself and my "all" in terms of dating was both literal and full of bad decisions, ones that often, in the moment, felt good. I could talk myself into justifying them just like I do with all the other arenas where I'm careening into negative behaviors. It's not just a daily thing but sometimes an hourly, or by the minute, process of pulling myself out of that darkness. I almost lost it yesterday with such a wave of self-hatred I could barely get myself back for my signing, let alone smile and act happy to sign books. But I did and by the end I actually was kindof happy to have signed all the copies of Gotta Have It that were placed in front of me. I gave out swag and people not only looked excited to read the book, lots were giving it as gifts, and I wrote down the URL for the hotel erotica anthology I'm editing. Thank you to everyone who came to that signing for helping me see that failure isn't such an all or nothing prospect. It's one (or, okay, three or ten) failures, paired with lots of successes. There isn't a scorecard; it's just life, and sometimes I make good decisions and live up to my potential, and sometimes I bomb hard. I know there is a lesson in the bombing; I'm still trying to figure out what that is and find a way to prove to myself that I can meet my goals. I can't try to live up to anyone else's goals for me; that is a road to ruin, but I can make goals for myself and hold myself accountable, and that is what I'm trying to do in this crazy year of 35 that much of the time I just wish were over.

One lesson I learned this week is that having a cat stick her wet little nose all up in my face and show me so much unconditional love was both adorable and really healing. She doesn't care in the least about any of my human flaws and problems and I totally needed that. It was an unexpected bit of catsitting and I'm very grateful for the opportunity.

My New York City personal organizer recommendation, and what we did today

As some of you know, last year I hired Savage Organizing (formerly Organized NYC) to declutter my apartment. Liz did a fabulous job, and it was an enormous, week-long project. I don't have time to detail all of it now, but I can tell you she had shelves installed for my books, and totally transformed my apartment from an utter mess into one that actually was, yes, organized. For a little while, it stayed that way, but slowly, my old ways started to creep in, and today I had her come back. We did a four-hour session, which resulted in four bags of stuff to bring to Goodwill, 80 pounds of laundry dropped off, some dry cleaning, and a whole clear room (the middle room of my railroad apartment), which awaits the dresser I ordered from Amazon.

Liz also helped me set up the shoe rack I bought...last year. I let exactly two people, save for the exterminator, into my apartment in the last year, and that wasn't something I was that comfortable with. Liz is pretty much the only person I'd trust with that, and she, despite my fears, was extremely encouraging and kind and not only helped me clear out space but helped conceptualize how we can best use the remaining space (more shelves!) and never once pressured me to get rid of anything. Making progress helped me not only see how much I do have, but helped me see the light at the end of the hoarding tunnel. I want to have room for my weights, for my books, for my clothes, for all the things that are important to me, and also just some clear floor space, just for me, just to look at and gaze upon and be happy with. There's a ways to go, but it's gonna happen. And look! I can see my shoes...and keep on adding to this collection so they all have mates: