Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Monday, March 14, 2011
You'll Never Guess Where I'm Going
Tuesday, March 01, 2011
Monday, February 21, 2011
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Get out of my head
Wednesday, February 09, 2011
Tuesday, February 01, 2011
My AP English teacher in high school made us write every paper, EVERY paper in cursive. WHY GOD WHY.
How the fuck could he even read that shit?
Monday, January 31, 2011
At least I got rashes
Via Natalie Dee
On top of psoriasis, I've got a really awesome sports bra rash.
Come and get it, ladies.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Because I'm a late adopter of everything, from technology to books to movies to TV, it's no surprise that I just finished reading one of 2005's most acclaimed books, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer.
I didn't expect to love it because everyone in my neighborhood tends to think he's a douche (he lives in Park Slope and irons his jeans?). But I did, in fact, love it. It smacks of a little pretentiousness, but mostly, I found myself stopping after reading something and reading it again because it had such personal significance to me.
Since I tend to read only drug addiction memoirs and true crime books, it's been awhile since that has happened for me.
Thus, we have:
Being with you makes my brain quiet. It hasn't made life wonderful, it's made life possible.
I think and think and think. I've thought myself out of happiness one million times, but never once into it.
How were we spending so much time together but not getting to know each other?
Sometimes I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all of the lives I'm not living.
I would give everything to never think about her again, but I can only hold onto the things that I want to lose.
You cannot protect yourself from sadness without protecting yourself from happiness.
At the end of my search I wanted to be able to say: I don't know how I could have tried harder.
Labels: Best Thing
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Can't let go
Saturday, January 22, 2011
5 years since I was tripped out of the closet by someone I used to be friends with.
I used to be friends with a lot of people, though.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Things I've Learned from Sister Wives
When I was at home for Christmas, I was lucky enough to catch a marathon of the ENTIRE FIRST SEASON of Sister Wives. With this, plus my obsession with Big Love and Warren Jeffs documentaries, I think it's safe to say that I am now officially a polygamy expert.
Here's what I've learned. Take notes.
1. Polygamy puts you on the fast-track to Herpestown. Next time you're watching an episode, take a look at everyone's mouths. At least one of the wives (never the husband, interestingly enough) has a cold sore on their mouth. What's even more scary? Sometimes, THE KIDS HAVE THEM TOO. OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD.
2. Even if you have 4 wives and 400 children, you can afford to buy multiple luxury cars. How the fuck does this ass clown afford all of these kids, multiple houses and a fucking two-seater Lexus? Also—you have a ton of kids and three wives and you drive a two-seater? YOU'RE A DICK. Drive a mini-van like everyone else who sold their souls to the pursuit of family.
3. If you're on TV, you can avoid any kind of prosecution for the ILLEGAL SHIT YOU'RE DOING ON TV. The DA where these creeps live launched an investigation on them, but said that they're not going to prosecute them because they don't believe any kind of abuse is going on in the household (ie: forcing 12-year-olds into becoming child brides). I mean, fine, these people aren't beating these kids or molesting them, but they ARE subjecting them to a world of incredibly bad haircuts and cold sores. ABUSE.
In summary: what a goddamned country.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Douchey Shit I Pulled in High School (Part 2)
When I was in high school, I was in the Yearbook club, mainly because I was an overachiever.
The weird thing about me, though, was the fact that I was an overachiever with a bad attitude. Overachievers are usually really positive and super happy to be involved in every aspect of everything because if they pause from smiling for one second, their entire little world will come crashing down on them like a pile of broken dreams. Think Tracy Flick from Election.
So while I wanted to be involved in everything, what I brought to the table was mainly a lot of sarcasm and unenthusiastic participation. As the editor of our school newspaper, I wrote a recurring "Editor's Letter" where I said things like, "And this is to our readers (population 0)..."
So, in the Yearbook Club, we did the obvious, which was design the yearbook. At the beginning of the year, our teacher had us all go up to the board and write our own suggestion for what the title of the 2003 yearbook should be.
I, of course, went up and wrote my very own brilliant idea: "Thanks for Nothing."
She made me erase it.
The theme ended up being "Let the Good Times Roll"—complete with dice on the cover and a board game theme throughout.
I still like my idea better.
Friday, January 14, 2011
I Love My Neighborhood
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Monday, January 10, 2011
Reasons to Hate New York
Look, there are a lot of reasons to love New York City, but this place is also a motherfucking HARD place to live.
I find myself thinking, "If I lived in Buffalo, the rent that I pay now would buy me a beautiful mansion instead of a one-bedroom closet next to a woman who blasts salsa music and has a photo of Jesus posted on her door."
Or, "If I lived in Buffalo, I wouldn't be checking my mattress for bedbugs for the FOURTH TIME this weekend."
Or, "If I lived in Buffalo, I wouldn't have to put all of my clothing into a sack and carry down the street, over my shoulder to the laundromat like I'm fucking Santa Claus and then sit on a wooden bench squeezed in next to a tower of broken laundry baskets for 2 hours every time I want clean underwear."
All of this shit, is, of course, white people problems. Oh, my fabulous life is so hard. I have to live in the most exciting city in the world in an apartment BY MYSELF with exposed brick walls and a magazine job where I get to be in close proximity to celebrities for free.
It's called PERSPECTIVE, and sometimes I lose it.
But, I will say this: the number one reason to hate New York happened to me on the subway tonight.
As usual, the F train was crowded.
We all pile in, because GOD ONLY KNOWS when the next one will be coming down the track (read: probably never). We are all packed in so tightly that I'm worried that I'm going to get accidentally impregnated by someone (IF YOU SEE SOMETHING, SAY SOMETHING).
I look over the shoulder of the girl in front of me, mainly because my chin is resting on her shoulder and it was otherwise unavoidable. She is texting someone on her phone. This is one of those keyboard phones made for teenagers who love to text and hate their parents (read: the text is MEGA small), but still—I can read every word she types.
"Oh baby, u know how to make me so horny."
Yo, where is the goddamned emergency break up in this car? I should never be able to see sexts like that from strangers on a Monday at 7pm.
You know where this wouldn't happen?