first dates are meet and greets. second dates are for getting to know them better. third dates are for getting to know them better. fourth dates are for getting to know them even better. do you get my drift? go on a date expecting nothing more than to meet a new and interesting person. that’s it.
first dates are meet and greets?
holy fucking game changer.
work is important in that way, i guess. it can be, on its best and oddest days, a reminder that, if we’re lucky, we can have some control over our lives, our own little stories, that we can be willful and brave and self-possessed. i still wish, of course, that i could be lazy and shiftless, independently wealthy and obliged to no one’s clock but my own. but as a way of measuring time and experience, work is useful, alternately heartening and frustrating.
we belong together
by throwing shade
but it also conveys a certain universality. when i say, for example, “the talks broke down because politics,” i’m not just describing a circumstance. i’m also describing a category. i’m making grand and yet ironized claims, announcing a situation and commenting on that situation at the same time. i’m offering an explanation and rolling my eyes—and i’m able to do it with one little word.
major @1234KYLE5678 vibes.
british male intern: amy, who’s your celebrity crush?
me: jeff goldblum in independence day right after he and will smith blow up the mothership and they walk side by side through the desert smoking cuban cigars while their women run at them. oh, or ryan gosling at the 2005 mtv movie awards when he and rachel mcadams win best kiss and they reenact the whole thing except this time he grabs her hair a little bit. why? who’s yours?
bmi: the girl from inglorious bastards [googles mélanie laurent].
me: oh, you like baliens.
me: yea, baby aliens.
bmi: what? what is that? a person who looks like a baby and an alien?
me: no, a person who looks like a baby alien. whispy hair, soft face, eyes for days.
bmi: show me another so i know what you’re talking about.
me: [googles amanda seyfried].
bmi: mmmmm yes. oh, she’s quite nice.
me: yep. your type is definitely balien.
and once the storm is over you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. you won’t even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. but one thing is certain. when you come out of the storm you won’t be the same person who walked in.
twc rep (who had been very helpful / nice): anything else i can help you with before you go?
christine: i’ve just never been more discouraged by the experience of being someone’s customer. this has nothing to do with you, you were great, i just want our file to show that like … i am so, so upset to be using this service and making these calls and giving you my money, and if another company could help us, i would choose them immediately.
him: this is off the record, but i feel you.
christine: you’ve been great. sorry to put that on you, but i just want my file to be really serious and scary at this point, ya know? i want it to demand attention. i want like, flames to appear on people’s screens when i call.
him: i totally get it.
why so serious?
do the damn thing.
the only way.
unf unf unf.
down to funk.
jig on, francis.
jig. the fuck. on.
i really like looking at these,
but i guess that could be said
about everything i post.
all of old.
nothing else ever.
i don’t think i’ve ever been on a date where the other person didn’t ask me, “what? what is that? what are you thinking about?” not a huuuuuuge surprise since i make direct eye contact no matter what even when my mind wanders off to planet marsh and the 7-10 things i’m daydreaming about instantly coalesce on top of my [now entirely unreadable] face. i usually try to come up with some sort of “yeaiguessthatmakessense” response, but in the spirit of dating up and honesty and niceness and not giving a shit and doing me and just fucking going for it, my no bullshit response this very second would be:
1. woah woah wow. thanksgiving is, like, tomorrow.
2. will i ever make more $$ w/o being chained to my computerphone miserable?
3. we found love = still wonderful, still don’t give a fuck who i smack danceable.
4. i can’t remember the last book i read. wtfwasit? no. srsly. wtf.
5. ashley and jack black are so right. sometimes you gotta let the led out.
6. if time warner doesn’t fix my internet on thurs, i am out of solutions.
7. grow, marpar, grow. grow the damn thing. good lord they’re adorbs.
8. omg robyn meyer-flay needs to start a video blog right right now.
9. drinking 3 liters of water a day is turning out to be a √+ life decision.
10. bonus points for successfully dressing for the weather.
1954 classic dior
oh, it’s already been brought’n.
prez: was going to order somezing ands* now i can’t remember.
me: what, like something online?
me: clothing? [no] toiletries? [no] electronics? [no]
prez: ah, forgets it. i can’t remember.
me: something from ebay?
prez: [eyes light up] do you use ebay?
me: what? nooooo. no, i don’t use ebay.
prez: YOU TOTALLY USE EBAY.
me: i don’t even know my username.
prez: AHAHAHA I KNEW IT. YOU LOVE EBAY!
* the president is german
“ … get up, walk to a plant store, and pick out a plant you really like. take it home and set it by the window, and water it every single morning while you’re waiting for your coffee to be done. you are a regular pretty lady living a regular life, and this is the very beginning of your story. stay open to the world around you. pay attention to people who aren’t bullet-proof brands. give some time to those who make you work a little harder to see them clearly, to let them in. you are raw potential, but you’ll only stay golden if you give up on glory and show the world your true goofy, unwashed, brutal, brilliant, opinionated, vulnerable self. make them work harder for it. and if they’re not offering you the deal you want, be prepared to walk.”
behind every champion
there are champions.
= monday kryptonite.
anna wintour’s daughter, 26-year-old bee shaffer, is moving back to new york for a new job as a segment producer for seth meyers, who’s taking over nbc’s late night next year. shaffer grew up and went to college in manhattan (columbia), but then moved to la two years ago to work for glee producer ryan murphy. in r.j. cutler’s 2009 vogue documentary, the september issue, she stated that she hoped to become a lawyer, but everyone says that when they’re an undergrad, so let’s not hold it against her.
the post reports that shaffer got a “low-key” (i.e., glamorous) send-off at the chateau marmont, but on to the bigger questions: where will she live? (brooklyn, like every other 26-year-old, or the west village, like her mom?) who will she hang out with? how much did her mom help her land this job? (meyers is tight with wintour and the vogue crowd — he even hosted the cfda awards last year.) in any case, there can never be too many glamorous, hardworking twentysomethings in this town, so welcome back, bee.
i effffing miss
little old ladies.
me: halloween turkey cookies joji style.
jo: yo i like dem sparkle punkins.
the jo knows.
how many times
we let them go,
they come back.
the words that matter
that is just →
too much fashion.
they like bitching too much.
- charles frazier
me: one of my fav twitter personalities just retweeted dan nosowitz
jo: yeah dan is a big deal lol
me: are we big deals yet?
jo: getting there
yet another reason
why i thank the lord
i found soulcycle.
you’re not a real new yorker until someone asks you for directions, or a pigeon poops on you in port authority, or a pigeon—who looks like he really needs to poop—asks you for directions to port authority.
you’re not a real new yorker until you live in manhattan. or you drink a lot of them and puke on a really expensive street corner in tribeca.
you’re not a real new yorker until you’ve performed in a production of my new play the bodega monologues. excerpt: “my bodega is warm. my bodega is inviting. my bodega has a $10 minimum for credit cards.”
you’re not a real new yorker unless you’ve finally given up defending our mexican restaurants’ cuisine to californians because it’s just not worth it.
you’re not a real new yorker if you haven’t ridden the cyclone, the staten island ferry, or a cross-town bus that, for no apparent reason, is technically moving backwards.
i scratched my eye.
and it was raining.
and it was a monday.
soup soup soup.
guys guys guys.
a few months ago,
i helped produced this.
and then buzzfeed said …
“this is, honestly, the best state tourism ad ever created.”
mark my word,
we gon’ be alright.
my brother my sister,
we gon’ be just fine.