May 11th: Unfortunate Items to Carry On Public Transportation 1. Super Tampons A charge had been placed on all bags in stores such as, Walgreens, Target, Safeway, Sex Stores, and Taco Bells alike. (I get really touchy, by the way, when I have to pay ten cents for the transportation device of my bean and cheese burrito with no onions and seven packets of mild hot sauce.) This means that when I am trying to support the environment and the survival of baby seals and not pay ten cents that I sometimes am faced
Read MoreMay 5: Labels This isn’t a terribly original idea, I ‘m afraid, but recent circumstances have caused me to realize how exceptionally convenient it would be if males came with labels. By labels, I specifically and exactly mean a small stamp on the back of their furry little necks, or measly muscled calves, that summarized, in one word or phrase, the most critical information regarding their personality and/or damaging characteristics (physical and non) to any glimpse of a relationship. For example, if one of these males was staggeringly, emotionally unavailable in that dating him was like dating a scarecrow,
Read MoreI’ve been here before; it’s an old familiar corner, an imaginary coalition — The Sad Girls Club. It exists solely for the sads that sprout from nothing. Pounding hearts, jaws that clench, minds barren of rational thought and practicality, as one cries as hard as the shower water comes down and tries to get it together enough to shave an armpit (or two). This exists in me and in the small veins in my temple, and the large veins in my opposite elbows, and it holds a weight that I
Read MoreI want to lie on the grass. I need to be connected to something that isn’t people buzzing, or the untangling of old loves in written form, both analytical and emotional — twenty-three pages long. To something that isn’t death, or tension, or burdens that don’t belong to me, but that I’ll carry strong and true. Is this how Holden felt? Is this how a mental break begins? One moment you’re in a museum and the next you must lie on the grass. (No matter if 6,787.5 dogs have urinated
Read MoreDear Sir, I’m not scared. I know how it begins, at least. San Francisco isn’t synonymous with shy. There’s a lack of permanence to this city that must exist in the fog. It will fall apart. It will end. When? I don’t know. It’s never predictable. I’m not scared of you, this time, your skinny frame. Yes, you’re another one. You have a Southern accent. And beard stubble that scrapes my chin. And one of your front teeth is quite charming in its crookedness. Your vocabulary is more advanced than
Read MoreYou’ve cried. You’ve consumed more pints of ice cream than anyone with a slight dairy allergy should. You’ve watched Sex and the City, the movie, seven times, but only until Mr. Big leaves Carrie at the altar, er, the New York library. You’ve empathized with her complete emotional demolishment while she has a weird piece of bird jewelry on her head. You’ve fully mastered the art of sleeping in the center of the bed, but you still haven’t done your laundry because you know there are three of his shirts
Read MoreYou’d kiss me at the front door — lips cold from a few blocks walk with San Francisco wind, your cigarette boy sweater lingering on your shoulders. I have to wonder now, how many times did you fuck me right after? How many times did you throw pillows on my floor like plates meant to break afterwards? Right after you addressed her emotional bids? Her tears? With one of your “infamous pep talks”? How many of your ‘I love you’s were straddled between messages to her, affirming your ex-girlfriend’s needs through
Read MoreWhen I think about what a person wants to read about, what is entertaining, slightly taboo and not attainable every day, what takes effort, has a distinct scent and is not an article about relationships about Bruce, I mean Caitlyn Jenner, I can only think of one thing. If we were stripped of our societal normalcies: Tinder, kombucha, and brunch, it would still play a prevalent role in our lives. Birds do it. Bees do it. Fourteen-year-old boys wonder when they’ll do it. Twenty-four year old men do it like
Read MoreI close my eyes and images appear in my mind. They’re ones I haven’t conjured up. They’re immediate and ugly and ferocious — a dismembered arm, a spider crawling outwards from an eye with its silky, black legs, and a red hourglass on its belly. I can’t sleep. Sometimes I wish I was a hamster. Hamsters are nocturnal, after all, and this sleeplessness at night would then be acceptable. I take a deep breath. (The kind that cracks your spine in a few places at once, but doesn’t calm you
Read MoreAll’s fair in love in your twenties where rules are meant to be broken and mistakes are meant to be made (except where condoms are concerned). I’m officially past the point that’s considered “mid-twenties,” by numerical definition — as “mid” generally signifies, um, the middle of something. I haven’t had a one-night stand with a narcissistic writer with mommy issues, and an awful name like, let’s say, Donald, in awhile. (This may have something to do with having a boyfriend who smokes cigarettes after Sunday morning hikes. The one with
Read MoreI’ve been in low places, like on the floor — in a matching sweat suit that wasn’t mine. While crying and kicking my feet, a teensy bit, like a two year-old in the peak of his tantrum. And the matching sweat suit was gray and didn’t belong to me and was the kind you purchase at Target in the men’s section for $11.99. And it belonged to my decently androgynous roommate who dated a pretty androgynous woman who wore the same kind of underwear. And when they walked by on
Read MoreMy third grade self had planned on getting married when I was twenty and having children when I was twenty-two. (Even then I knew I would need at least a year of designated binge drinking before being responsible for another human). I was going to be a writer when I grew up and I was going to live by the beach. I loved the beach. It was inconceivable to me that there might be restrictions to the planning of these life events. It might be hard to find a husband.
Read MoreI pulled back the drapes, my drapes, white and wilted. Fog lied ferociously across the glass. And lonely, little drops of condensation were flung about. Ignorant, because they weren’t alone, but part of a larger collection of one morning. I was intrigued that I could do that myself. It didn’t take the breath of two bodies: one slightly cigarette scented and the other certain. It didn’t take sex. It didn’t take a whole night’s sleep of spooning and swaying under shoved down sheets. Just me. In the middle of my bed. Without
Read MoreI used to think that the term “young adult” referred to Twilight novels only, but I am tired of repeatedly crediting my generation as “twenty-somethings,” so here we are. New Year’s resolutions are either a popular or vexatious topic, depending on the seriousness of the declarations and the audience’s own commitment to growth and change, but there is hardly a young adult who doesn’t use social media in some form or another. In this Near Year if you make any resolutions, I hope you dance, yes, but also that your resolutions
Read MoreThere’s something about engaging in a (slightly) revolting activity in the presence of an attractive individual that is not preferable. By presence, I specifically mean sitting one inch away from a nice-looking Canadian man on an airplane, and by revolting I mean unwrapping a half-devoured, room-temperature burrito in your lap from a mock “Chipotle” in the Dallas airport and spilling black beans on your shared armrest. Excuse me, sir, care for a luke-warm lentil? I had four more hours of traveling next to my burrito and this Canadian man and
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