Serious Insanity: in which job applications get ridiculous. Utterly, completely ridiculous.

Dear LUSH Hiring Personnel,

I am writing in application for the Manager-in-training position at your store. I have attached a copy of my resumé and job references to this email, and I encourage you to peruse the resumé and chat with my references at your leisure.

I am probably not your typical LUSH Manager-in-training applicant. First off, I am male, and in all my visits to LUSH, I’ve rarely seen another male in the store. Continue reading


Baby or Bowel Movement?

Once upon a time in a land far, far away, where gumdrops grow on trees and brilliant up-and-coming writers are discovered and rescued from lives of scraping-by by Oprah and live happily ever after, I compared writing a novel to childbirth.

Naïve, I know, as at that time I’d neither finished a novel nor birthed a child (and man, if I could pop out a kid…well…let’s just say that would be another reason for Oprah to have me come jump on her couch). Continue reading

Exercise, Smexercise, Le Part Two: In which Zach discovers he’s developing his own field of gravity, constantly dreams of cookies

Those of you who know me know that I’m a little bit obsessive when it comes to my body, eating, and exercise. As in thinking nothing of getting up at 5am to run or cycle for an hour before work, lifting weights at the gym during my lunch break, and then running 6 or 7 miles in the evening, all while living off coffee, cottage cheese, boiled eggs, apples, rice,water, and chicken breasts. Some of you might remember my two-month quest for perfect abs earlier this summer that bordered on a full-fledged neurosis, and a few might even recall the fun little addiction (long since kicked, thankfully) to various stimulants and fat-burning pills a couple years ago.

Those of you who know me even better, though, know that underneath the perfect-body nazi lurks a 600-pound couch potato who’s just waiting to break free. Continue reading

Exercise, Smexercise, Le Part One: Zach loses balls, plays with roommate’s little pink ones

I’m man enough to do it, dammit, and I’ll say it proudly: I played with my roommate’s balls this morning. In broad daylight. In the park.

I would have just played with my own, but I couldn’t find them. I looked everywhere, too, but they’d just plain disappeared. Maybe I’d left them at some other guy’s house after playing. I can’t quite remember. That must be what happens when you don’t use them often enough. And yeah, really, it’s been that long. Continue reading

Angst, angst, angst: In which Zach needs prozac, reconsiders employments options, and misses coffee and cute guys

At four in the morning, it’s very peaceful outside. It’s quiet and dark, save for the sodium-vapor streetlight down the block. The moon is a bare little sliver in the sky, low on the horizon, and the stars are bright. The night-blooming organ pipe cactus in the front yard has a single, white, delicate flower on it. It’s beautiful and ephemeral, much like the chilly air that will give way to another scorching Arizona morning a few hours from now.

Yes, it’s four in the morning. Yes, Zach is awake, and no, it’s not a been-out-all-night-and-am-just-staggering-home awake. It’s a Zach-has angst-and-can’t-sleep awake, which is, of course, the worst kind of awake-at-four-in-the-morning that can exist. Continue reading