Writing

THE NEW YORK TIMES

I was at my gynecologist’s office. “At 39, I’m scared I’ll never get married or have kids,” I told him. “Think about freezing your eggs,” he said. My eyes went wide. It was 2009, when egg-freezing was “experimental” and felt like science fiction. Walking out of his office, I was filled with regret. I was a 4-foot-10, 180-pound woman who’d started dating at 35, still a virgin. How could I ever catch up?

THE NEW YORK TIMES

For the last 18 years, my mother and I have spent Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the Jewish calendar, at Tod’s Point beach in Old Greenwich, Conn., near where I grew up and where my mother still lives. I’m a TV producer living in Brooklyn now, but I still go back every year. My mom reads my father’s old prayer book while I order lunch for us from the greasy concession stand that stays open into the fall, double hamburgers with grilled onions and French fries.

SALON

I had stopped going to therapy in the spring. But by late August, my luck had turned. Specifically, my dating luck, which started to go bad with the breakup of my first real relationship at age 36, and was followed by a series of unsuccessful dates. The whole rotten season culminated in a cringe-inducing text message from a guy I’d just met that started with “I have an indecent proposal for you,” and ended with, “Here's looking at you, kid.” Talk about a gross misuse of “Casablanca.”

NEW YORK POST

Many singles view Valentine’s Day with dread. But, looked at another way, it’s actually the perfect time to make a love connection: Counterintuitive as that sounds, when couples pair off for some overpriced, candlelit dinner, the field is clear for everyone else.

NEW YORK PRESS

It started with a handwritten sign in broken English on the front door of our brownstone, which is the black sheep of our pristine, historic block. The sign read: “We are bedbugs in the building! Disinfect apartment now!” “Oh, my God. Is it true? I am freaking out! I would rather have gonorrhea than bedbugs!” wailed my neighbor Mary. Or was it Jane? In my decade of living in the building, I’d never really spoken to her—or any of the other tenants.