PB&J, Captain and Tennille, the Big Apple and stress…they all go hand in hand. In this week’s Time Out New York, I ponder whether New Yorkers are really more anxious than everyone else and if we maybe secretly like it that way. (Spoiler alert: The answers are yes and yes.)
Ok, that last one isn’t a thing. (Actually, those first two probably aren’t either.) But if you like made up things—especially goopy made up things, this post is for you. Click on over to Time Out New York to hear what other euphemisms my co-workers and I feel could use the Gwyneth treatment. You won’t be disappointed. (And if you are, we’ll just think of a Gwynnie-approved euphemism to describe it. Maybe “unintentional expectation remittance.” Sure, why not.)
Hi, you guys! I have once again been derelict in my blogging duties (blame summer, work, laziness and a DVR queue of Law & Order: SVU I don’t think I’ll ever make my way through). Today I’m excited to share my latest essay for The Hairpin, about the day my therapist *politely* suggested I try to be a *tad* less sarcastic with blokes I’m trying to snag. Not the worst advice I’ve ever gotten. Witness me mulling it over here. I adore The Hairpin (and was lucky enough to have its brother site The Awl pick it up, too), so I’m thrilled! Hopefully you will be, too. (And if you’re not, there’s a comments section for that. Step into it, if you dare.)
Hey, y’all! Today I come to you extremely hungover (or am I still drunk?) and elated after last night’s Freerange Nonfiction reading series. It was a real thrill to stand in a room and read some (frankly) really personal stuff (OMG I am an exhibitionist!) and an honor to be featured with such talented writers. It was a warm, lovely, supportive room of friends and strangers, and to the guy talking really loudly on the stairs while I was reading, I’m sorry I told you to shut up. (Well, actually, I’m not, because you were sort of a jerk, but everyone else, you were great!) Honestly, writers need all the support they can get (we’re a fragile bunch, despite appearances sometimes!), so yay.
This is a photo my friend snapped, and I think the blurriness properly evokes how I feel right now. That I ended my night wandering the halls and stairways of the hotel attached to my condo because my key card didn’t work and I kept accidentally ending up on the roof like I was in Lost or that Judy Blume book I loved as a kid where the girls get turned around in Central Park and realize it only after they notice the same tree for the fifth time felt somehow fitting to the surreal, hilarious, scary fun-ness of the night.
Hey, guys! Please check out my latest piece, on the egregious bleeping of Nicki Minaj’s “Starships,” in Heeb magazine. Thanks for reading!