I’m not one of these people who considers herself as a romantic. I can appreciate romance, but that’s only if you understand the word “appreciate” to mean “roll my eyes in bitter, disgusted jealousy while bearing witness to romantic things happening to someone other than myself.” Which always seems to be the goddamned case. It’s not that I enjoy seething in a blinding rage over the rapidly congealing Lean Cuisine on my desk while the girl I share an office […]

Categories: Samantha Irby, Story Club North Side