Archives – Columns

By JUSTIN COX I wake up early all week long and spend the bulk of my day hovering over a laptop in my apartment. Sometimes I don’t go outdoors until my “shift” ends, which is usually between 4 and 7 p.m., depending on the weight of the...
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By CAITLIN FLAWS Staring at the ceiling, my head slightly tilted backwards, I attempted to keep the tears from spilling out of my eyelids. The sneers and jeers of the bullies next to me were on a loop in my head, repeating that insufferable word...
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By JUSTIN COX My mom recently described my wife as the “most happy pregnant girl she’d ever met.” And she was right. For seven months, Bianca owned her pregnancy like the gift from God that it was. We went camping almost every weekend during the...
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By JUSTIN COX My mom recently described my wife as the “most happy pregnant girl she’d ever met.” And she was right. For seven months, Bianca owned her pregnancy like the gift from God that it was. We went camping almost every weekend during the...
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By JUSTIN COX Let’s start this off with a tidbit from of Urban Dictionary as it relates to the expression “YOLO.” YOLO: Acronym for You Only Live Once. Mainly used to defend doing something ranging from mild to extreme stupidity. YOLO, as defined above, reached...
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By JUSTIN COX My good friend Tanner — who was an A’s fan while we were in college from 2001-2005 — posted the following on my Fantasy Baseball league’s message board shortly before our draft this week. The gist is that he’s an A’s fan...
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By JUSTIN COX Bianca and I got married on August 6 of last year. From that day forward, we began fielding this question semi-regularly: “So, when are you gonna to have a kid?” Bianca’s answer always came before people could even finish asking. “We’re going...
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By JUSTIN COX I usually prefer to actually read something before I decide if I want to share it with my friends. The Washington Post Social Reader removes the ability to make that choice, and that’s why it’s a bad thing. It’s like me saying,...
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By JUSTIN COX Three friendly Mexican men had just handed me a thick stack of $20s and $100s. My pink slip was sitting on the tailgate next to my beat-up repair manual, waiting only to be signed. I landed my pen on the signature line...
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