“A sandwich for me a sandwich for you! Cookies just for me a banana apples and—of course—a shoe stopper!”—Oliver, the most delightful four-year-old I’ve ever met, pulling a shoe horn out of his lunchbox while telling me what his mother packed as though that’s the most natural thing for a four-year-old to pull from thence.
Nothing gets a girl jazzed for a night of packing quite like finding that her radio finally picks up WFUV and the Sunday night Big Broadcast again. Especially when an actual, serious recording of “Teddy Bear’s Picnic” comes on. Oh yeah, let’s do this.
I woke up hungover after drinking too much with my soon-to-be-ex-boss and my soon-to-be-future-boss and somehow managed to make a beautiful fucking omlette. (Is that how it’s spelled? Tumblr is telling me I’m wrong, that I meant to spell Colette, Violette or toilette. Hm.) I have never made an omlette before, and frankly this one was an accident, but I think it bodes well for my move today.
I just had a dream that I lived in a land covered in ice, that The Government was moving in to every other apartment on the block and doing nefarious deeds, that Cary Grant took me driving in search for his lost love and her little dog.
list that shit for free on Craig’s List. I listed the beaded curtain, some ugly picture frames and some leftover lamps. I got 60 responses. 60! People love free shit! One response even called the lamps “great”! And she had seen the picture!
At this point, a lot of guys are going to go to Wendy’s or BK and see if they can get fries with their combo at that drivethrough window. But there are some guys who REALLY like McDonalds Big Macs and they might think, “If I keep coming here and ordering the Big Mac and Coke, maybe she’ll change her mind and give me some fries with that later.” So they will keep on getting the combo without the fries until the deal breaker happens: One day that guy is going to order the Big Mac and Coke and then he’s going to pull up a little bit to pay, and someone else is going to pull up to the drivethrough speaker and order the “Big Mac Combo” and he is going to hear the girl say, “Would you like fries with that?”
That’s why guys don’t like to be friends with a girl who breaks up with them.
Ugh. Too true. That next guy in line is the worst.
And then sometimes you break up with someone you dated for four years, and they don’t get why you don’t want to give them “just the fries” when you awkwardly see each other for the first time since breaking up over a year ago. Especially since the fries were only available at the drive-thru window in a rental car in Jersey City. Bitch please.
My sister visited me this weekend. We ate lots of brunch and visited lots of thrift stores. We stumbled across a German pride parade on the Upper East Side. We did yoga in a sculpture garden. We ate falafel. We danced to the song “Sisters Are Doin’ It For Themselves” for the full four minutes.
Why are your featured playlists so timely?? I was just thinking about the joys of temporarily living alone (not washing dishes, naked dance parties in the empty living room, etc.) and you go and put up a list of songs about roommates! Get outta my head, man!
At approximately 3:28 p.m., Alice started staring off into a corner in her room, holding a corner of her bedspread in her hands and feeling it lovingly. She then spake the word “Belmoral,” which is the name of Queen Elizabeth II’s holiday home. Katie stood up, fairly abruptly. “I need to go,” she said. Alice laughed as they relived the moment that was just shared. “Well, I’ll be in Brooklyn tonight, so if you need more Q-tips, look somewhere else,” she said.
You may be reading this, thinking, “Ha ha. What an interesting composition. Katie is so good at writing stories.” And she is. But I can assure you that this is not fiction.
Today we presented self portraits to each other. One girl dumped an inexplicable ounce of whiskey into a tea cup already filled with earth and roots and a man hummed along to a song he’d written called “You’re Awake Now” and at some point in all this, gazing out the window at the sun setting on the spires of Heinz Chapel (I am falling in love with you, Pittsburgh), the fist-sized knot of anxiety and fear and cynicism that I keep lodged between my shoulder blades began to loosen and I felt a space open up in me large enough to let everything in, even things I might have rejected once, things with soft centers and vulnerable edges.
a list of points to make in a letter a group of friends and I planned to write to Clay Aiken following his loss on American Idol (“Will you marry us? Mormonism? Or come to prom? Save me from my abusive prom date? Can you send us autographed pictures? Would that be okay? Freckles are beautiful, Clay. Your mom is so cute.)
A satirical version of Britney Spears’s song “Sometimes,” penned in the 7th grade, reflecting her apparent breast implants, which I seem to have found distasteful.
A 8” by 11” glossy photograph of John Kerry and John Edwards at the 2004 Democratic National Convention; affixed to this a yellow Post-It emblazoned with the words “President of my Heart.”
A security pass for 4 Times Square from that time I didn’t get that job at Vanity Fair for which I was woefully unqualified.
A paper entitled “She Steals Like a Thief, but She’s Always a Woman to Me: How the Female Characters in Nearly Every Book We’ve Read Have Consistently Ruined the Lives of the Male Characters Around Them.” This particular draft features comments from the teacher who asked me out, including, “Listen, I’m not sure if it came across in this class but I have a fairly unique perspective on many matters literary and so might be a useful person to keep in touch with.” Yeah, well, maybe if you hadn’t ended that sentence in a preposition, JERK.
A list of funny things that my Statistics teacher would say in class. Like, “Can someone go get me something to eat? Otherwise, I’ll get the shakes.” And “Oh, you know what that is? Ha ha, that’s asbestos.”
Lots of terrible poetry
A note written by our building’s security guard to one of my residents when I was an RA. “Thank you so much for your Great Hospitality of the pizza yesterday. FRIENDS FOREVER.” This version is edited.
My will, written at 14 in the back of a mini-van that was being driven erratically by Alice’s brother. “To Pat, I leave a happy face. P.S. Alice leaves less than nothing to Pat.”
Notes I copied from my former employer’s divorce papers, which was a serious violation of my confidentiality agreement and also just basic human kindness. Also a blind item she penned for Page 6! About herself!
rejection letters, fan fiction, mass cards, every paper I’ve ever written
The lyrics to the “Captain Planet” theme song, rewritten for a theoretical superhero named Captain Virgin. (“Captain Virgin/ She’s our hero!/ Has sex not once but zero!/ She’s our powers magnified/ and she’s fighting on the hymen’s side”). The five of us who wrote the lyrics comprised Captain Virgin’s Virgineers (?) and our powers were whatever we considered the explanation for our virginity (“this crazy arm, Catholicism, big feet, intellect, my ex-boyfriend”).
This is my life.
Please don’t tell me Intellect was me. There was a lot more than that holding me back. Ego, for one, if I thought intellect was my only problem…
"Instead of a library, the academy is spending nearly $500,000 to create a “learning center,’’ though that is only one of the names in contention for the new space. In place of the stacks, they are spending $42,000 on three large flat-screen TVs that will project data from the Internet and $20,000 on special laptop-friendly study carrels. Where the reference desk was, they are building a $50,000 coffee shop that will include a $12,000 cappuccino machine."