how i think about you,
how i hope you think about me.
sometimes i can’t crack my own code.
how i think about you,
how i think about you,
how i hope you think about me.
sometimes i can’t crack my own code.
how am i?
on top of
“let’s try to make it all feel real.” – kevin drew
me: when do you take your pill?
her: morning, but i’ve always taken meds in the morning, since probably high school, so it wasn’t weird for me to learn to take a pill and keep that routine. but other people set an alarm for themselves at the same time every day which is awkward when that time is 7pm in the middle of a brooklyn brainery class, for instance.
me: i was thinking 4pm was safe. i’ll be up, i won’t be at the gym, not too late to disrupt a night out. wait … have you been in a brooklyn brainery class where someone took their birth control?
her: i have been in class with that same woman. twice.
me: i know you’re slammed and probably won’t read this till late, but could you tell me something nice?
him: i think you’re amazing and a great friend and you have a funny laugh but aren’t actually very funny yourself.
i recently discovered that the lobby of the greenwich hotel (as well as the lobby of really any boutique downtown hotel worth its weight in distracted, disinterested, too cool for school let alone giving any fucks whether or not you “belong” there strategic foolery) is actually just an extremely tidy public living room with impeccable ambience, complimentary newspapers, and password-less wifi. pro tip = enter through locanda verde, act like you own the place, park it on some velvet, people watch to infinity, eavesdrop and beyond.
yesterday, amy and i (not talking in multiple persons, i have a real life friend named amy who is also smart and funny and resourceful and good at life etc.) took the day off because we both still have lingering vacation days we’re required to take before christmas (xoxo, hr). anyway, in order to maximize a mandatory one day of fun-ness, we did what all tightly wound slash totally game and adventurous women do … we planned.
1. am coffee tawking @ blue bottle
2. brooklyn brunching @ egg
3. aggressive sampling @ mast brothers
4. sketchbook browsing @ brooklyn art library
5. midtown snacking @ little collins
6. big piano playing @ fao schwarz
7. out nerding @ museum of the city of new york
the result was
f l a w l e s s .
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.
why so serious?
do the damn thing.
the only way.
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.
i scratched my eye.
and it was raining.
and it was a monday.
soup soup soup.
cd: they’re in the process of canceling the meeting because the client can’t make it.
me: oh, well. that’s interesting. good to know. thanks for the heads up.
cd: but, you sitting in here, all by yourself, with all this white and your white shirt against the orange … it’s working for you … you look very … important.
is what i imagine
used to be like
a comedian once told me
naturally funny people
are sad on the inside.
THEN HE STARTED TO CRY.
in case you were wondering,
i have been to the beach
zero times this summer.
I NEED TO GET WET NOW.
heaven forbid we get mad at you, ever.
heaven forbid you get your shit together.
when they tell you
exactly what they think is wrong
and how to fix it,
they are almost always →
the illustrations above are from a nsfw(ish) series by grégoire guillemin called the secret life of heroes. of course, i found grégoire’s series just as the office maildude decided to drop a package off at my desk. of course, i was stuck on the one of superwoman deep throating a banana (of course). in other news, my coral plimsoll sneakers arrived.
me: hey! if you’re funny and kind and quick and witty and have a place in mind that you’ve always wanted to try (or re-try), i’m definitely up for a drink in the coming weeks. if you’re undecided and insecure and not into planning or having nyc adventures, i’m busy forever.
1...whatever your walking pace is, speed it up by 20%. if you need to stop, step out of the way.
2...pedestrians run the show so cross like a boss, whether or not you have the right of way.
3...get your metrocard out ahead of time, black strip facing inwards. swipe it like an amex.
4...new york is really fucking expensive and we don’t talk about it so … try not to talk about it.
5...talking about your broker’s fee or how much you pay in rent, however, is totally acceptable.
6...buy smart / weather appropriate clothes that make you feel smart / weather appropriate.
7...do things by yourself as much as possible even if you have a +1 or already know people.
8...i’m serious. go to restaurants by yourself. wander around by yourself. get lost by yourself.
9...make personal business cards. no … not shitty ones. nice ones. heavy ones. letterpress.
10...fold your pizza.
“people are always saying you should be yourself, like yourself is this definite thing, like a toaster. like you know what it is even. but every so often i’ll have, like, a moment, where just being myself in my life right where i am is, like, enough.” - my so-called life
i turned 27 today
and my only plan is
to take parker‘s 7:30 ride
and force everyone to wear
100 party city glow bracelets
cause right where i am
is, like, enough.
the other day i made a spotify playlist of all the albums that got me to and from some of my worst “i don’t want to tell you what i do because i hate what i do and, like, earlier today i was so fed up with my passive agressive co-workers and bullshit work duties that i tossed my blackberry in the sad little trash next to my desk and hoped no one suspected dumpster diving when i fished it out a few minutes later after remembering i needed to pay rent and shit” dayjobs. it’s called worksux.
what’s on your playlist?
don’t be a stranger.
for the record,
work does not suck.
not anymore, that is.
not one bit.
i stole this move
from a pick-up artist.
back in 2000,
i made a decision
to dial the trl hotline
over and over and over
until a real person picked up
and put me through to pacey witter.
not like in one of those
sick, sad, tragic amount of cats
kind of ways.
more like in one of those
imma do different things with my life
kind of ways.
guys! my home state personalized return address stamp finally arrived and i lurrrrrve it. obvs my first instinct was to show you a picture of what it looks like and stuff, buuuuuuuut then i realized that would be voluntarily sharing my exact new york city home address with the entire world wide google-able internet so i’m going to try something new and … undershare.
ed. this post was sponsored in part by the foundation for not fucking it up.
sooOOOooo, as it turns out …
this actually works really well.
officially, i’m going to be:
amy ruth marsh,
associate interactive producer
jwt digital production team.
obvs i’ll let you know
when i officially figure out
what that actually means …
ps – today is my first day and right now i’m either in orientation or trying to procure something healthy + delicious to eat in midtown. if i am still in orientation, i swear i’m paying attention (i drafted this post last saturday). aaaaanywho, like ya do during ye old werewolf bar mitzvah new job honeymoons, posting throughout the next two weeks or so might be a little lighter than usual. take a lap. i’llllllllllll be right baaaaaaack.
this week, i’ve been trying to assess which of my toiletries and cosmetics are more than half empty because next week is gonna be crayzay and i just like to preemtively replace shit (you know, instead of waiting until the last minute when i can’t even shaken baby syndrome a single drop of conditioner and i have to hit up 2 different sephoras, bloomingdales, space.nk.apothecary, duane reade, ride aid, walgreens, and ricky’s all in one fucking day just to replace the essentials). for the record, i also like to make my bed every morning, keep no more than 5 emails in my personal inbox, follow exactly 100 people on twitter, and balance my checkbook whenever i use my debit card no matter how small the purchase so, like … DON’T WORRY ABOUT TELLING ME HOW TYPE-AMAZING I AM BECAUSE I ALREADY KNOW. aaaaaaanyway, the point of this story is that i had to take special note of the colors and shades of the various products i use and i think, together, they paint a pretty accurate personality picture:
honey raven penny lane addictive?
turning heads red no poo alaska intensa?
low poo silver factory lollipop flirt?
theeeeese are mine!
back in november, i decided to do some major gmail maintenance (i had been using abby728 as a login and amyruthmarsh as an alias for about 5 years, but with the purchase of my 1st iphone and the prospect of having to click “send as” every time i wanted to email someone, i decided it was time to let go of abby728 and port everything over to amyruthmarsh). usually, i love these kind of internet time sucks, but i had actively avoided this one in particular because i knew it was going to be such a fucking pain in the ass. i mean, going through 40,000 archived emails (i love gmail, i’m an agressive archiver, i never delete anything, and i had ported all of my college webmail into abby728 before graduating) as well as my entire on the record chat history was not even my twisted idea of fun.
up until this point, i had only imagined how annoying it would be, technically. like, “ugh, copying and pasting and labeling and saving and exporting and importing all of this shit via some super unreliable mail client? life sux.” but the spectrum of terrible widened pretty quickly after i got started and realized every moment of my legal adult life – the good, the bad, the great, the terrible, the awful, the hilarious, the insignificant, the momentous, the honest, the dishonest, the judgmental, the unconditional … everything – had been recorded and stored in the catacombs of this ill-chosen email address. this wasn’t just going to be a painful project, technically. this was going to be a painful project, late night at the holocaust museum emotionally.
sometimes, the emails made me cry (like the ones from my dad i never responded to). sometimes, i didn’t recognize the sound of my own voice (like the ones to my improv troupe a few weeks after i started college). sometimes, i was impressed by my courage (like the ones to a more than a friend asking him to reflect on our relationship and be honest about his feelings and actions). the transfer took about a week to complete and when it was all over, when every email had been absorbed and unarchived and accounted for, i felt totally wrecked. but. but! i also felt totally alive. like … fuck yea! the things i’ve experienced still effect me! i actively participate in the fabric of my life! i’m emotionally capable of getting myself to tomorrow! i’m upset right now! i’m a human being!
ps – i also have a theory about 20-something tectonics and think this tattoo and i are b’shert.
a very, very good friend of mine just lost one of her parents and, knowing a fair bit about my history, asked for some “grief tips.” this is what i told her:
1...everything changed when patrick told me, “amy, you get a pass … take the pass.” right now, you don’t need to apologize for feeling angry or hurt or frustrated or happy or unstable or delirious or whateverthefuck you’re feeling. you get a pass. TAKE the pass.
2...we – your friends, your family, your given support system, your chosen support system – we’re all here for you no matter what.
3...it’s okay to laugh cause, like, this one time jay judah made a joke on the way into my dad’s funeral and when i laughed i realized it was the first time i had felt like myself in 3 days.
then i texted her this.
i’ve recently discovered i can only hang out with groups of peripheral acquaintances i don’t know very well (or care about very much) for roughly 1-2 hours before i desperately want to stop small talking and run away to be by myself for a while. when i first moved to new york, i used to rock the fuck out of these kind of bright awkward social situations by finding my way to the boistrous weirdos who liked to laugh and dance till we made the walls sweat.
i just don’t have the patience for that kind of crap right now. for any kind of crap, really. i mean, not to be that marble-less crayyyzay lady who reads her horoscope everyday and thinks it makes a pretty good point, but … like … all my shit’s in retrograde. basically, i’m not supposed to call, email, text, or broker any business deals until july and one or more of my electronic devices is going to have a tech tantrum and corrupt itself (hashtag … fantastic).
despite impending smartphone fails and the fact that all the things i want the most feel like fuzzy faraways in someone else’s near future, i’ve been trying to convince myself that so long as i keep searching and writing and asking and fighting, there’s probably, mayyyyybe, sorta definitely a good chance everything will work out just fine. you know, like that one show i still haven’t started watching yet says:
okay, i have an announcement. i’m officially over all this micro self help short listing. like, when did we all become soooo unequipped? soooo incapable? soooo unable …
to grow a pair?
to tough it out?
to do the thing?
is it because we’re in the double digit teenage years of the aughts?
because we’re no longer that asexually unaware 2012 in gapkid overalls?
because we’ve sprouted 2013 breasts and caught a nasty case of insecurity?
because i hate you! it does matter! i want to die in my room alooooooone!
if this is the year of our incredible internet bar mitzvah,
i’m skipping the all too lame friday night saturday morning services.
y’all sound the same and i just don’t give enough fucks.
shut up and give me glow sticks so i can daaaaaance.
last week, i let a beautiful woman at space.nk convince me to buy a beautiful opaque lip stain by hourglass. i got it because it comes in “raven” which is my favorite superfuckingbold shade of orange-y red (love) aaaaaaand because it dries so fast it doesn’t even feel like you’re wearing lipstick after initial application (also, love). unfortunately, these two powers combined have turned off that part of my brain that understands if i put this on and then settle into a thumb under chin, fist over lips, lady on her laptop thinking pose a few hours later, i will smear a superfuckingbold shade of orange-y red opaque lip stain all over my face.
this happens mostly in public.
me: yentas! i have a 1st date question & need a straight dude’s perspective.
jj: [ ... straight dude radio silence ... ]
pg: [ ... straight dude radio silence ... ]
me: is it rude to wear red lipstick? like, it won’t come off as “oh, hello. i’m a hipster pain in the ass who’s gonna make it semi-difficult to nearly impossible for you to kiss me?” i just want to be sensibly sexy plus it would really put the period on the end of my black & white 1st date outfit sentence.
jj: i don’t think it’s rude. i think it’s probably actually totally sexy. like, “hey, new guy. i bet you can’t stop looking at my lips.”
pg: totally not rude! & if it happened, who wouldn’t want to show off a smooch from you?
jj: since when is lipstick prohibitive to kissing?
probably actually totally sexy … ?
NOT prohibitive to kissing … ?
waaaa waaaa weeee wah … ?
take good notes.
this shit will definitely be on the final.
last night, after spending 45 super intense minutes with taye (or, as she likes to call it, “tayetime”), i stopped by angelica kitchen to pick up something healthy for dinner (or, as simon doonan likes to call it, “lesbian take out”). my order took longer than i expected and i realized mid-way through my walk home that the halftime show was definitely going to start before i got back to my apartment. since there was NO FUCKING WAY i was going miss even a small part of this and get downsized to a janky, post-stream recording hours later, i decided to pop into the first place i saw that had both the game and the sound on. aaaaaaaaaand that, my friends, is how i ended up openly crying in a laundromat on 1st ave and 11th st.
granted, my tears were caused mostly by joy, respect, awe, and straight up exhaustion through osmosis, it was still a little bit sad / embarrassing all the same. after about 15 minutes of sheer holy shit wtf no she didn’t-ness, sasha fierce did her signature knees up, floorward back bend and concluded the greatest fucking halftime show this nation has ever known. just then, one of the filipino laundromat owners rolled by with a shopping cart full of wash and fold deliveries and noticed that everyone in his shop was open mouth staring at the television. he stopped for a second and looked up at the screen. then he looked over at me (crying). then up at the screen (halftime). then over at me (still crying). then up at the screen (still halftime). suddenly, his eyes got really wide and he said …
THERE ARE RULES FOR A REASON.
did you put in a little effort?
did you suggest a half-decent bar?
congrats! your odds just increased →
why? because it tells me that you are capable and decisive and creative and adventurous and smart and assertive and just fucking old enough to know better than to make me listen to you talk about your extended birthright trip in some lackluster bar that has the lights turned up to asshole. let me be clear. if you cannot suggest a good first date spot, asking me to suggest one for you will just delay the inevitable.
google someone who doesn’t care.
your money’s no good here.
“it’s the sense of touch. in any real city, you walk, you know? you brush past people, people bump into you … nobody touches you. we’re always behind this metal and glass. i think we miss that touch so much, that we crash into each other, just so we can feel something.”
this movie came out when i was a freshman in college and a lot of my newly acquired, ivy-envious social circle thought it was a terrible film. i’m pretty sure, after vocalizing their massive distaste to the group, they had little difficulty forgetting it was ever made. i, however, remember liking it a lot, if only for don cheadle’s opening line. brushing and bumping and not touching and crashing? it’s been like [pause, calculating] 8.5 years since this movie was released [pause, "holy shit. it's been 8.5 years? seriously?"] and i’m still quoting it. c’mon. don’t be like that. this line is gorgeous! it’s about aggressive loneliness. and cruel disconnectedness. and like … having feelingz.
i have all the feelingz.
also, sandra bullock.
story tiiiiiiime. so, as you may or may not know, i grew up in michiana (a classy place named after classy radio personalities who didn’t feel like taking five extra seconds to distinguish between michigan and northern indiana during weekly broadcasts). basically, it was a REALLY small town and a REALLY big deal when friday’s, chili’s, AND barnes & noble all opened up at the exact same time on top of neighboring cornfields in the middle of mishawaka (another classy place named after a native american princess who got stabbed in the boob). wow, wikipedia. just. wow. aaaaanyway, when the time came for my older sister to consider her part-time high school job options, she wisely choose books and newspapers over lukewarm queso and suspender flair. 5 years later, i was more than happy to cash in on the nepotism and opted for the same. let the record reflect, i LOVED working at barnes & noble. the in-store cafe was 50% off, i made a KILLING during christmas (#jewishhhh), and they paid me to wear the six flags clifford couture.
mama was a staaaaaar.
maybe it’s good that i’m tossing, turning.
maybe i need this to be difficult.
maybe i need this to have holes.
to be … [don't] … [don't say it] …
and over thought.
maybe it’s time for me to roll around in my sleep for something.
so if it works out,
if i end up getting it,
i’ll know that i wanted it.
that i actually wanted it.
and i’ll go in there.
i’ll go in there everyday.
kicking so much ass.
just to fucking keep it.
last friday, i decided to be a little bit bold and a little bit brave. this meant combing through my contacts and emailing a small and select (but wise and mighty) group of peers / mentors at the top of my “i have so much respect for what you do and what you’re about” list to let them know i was officially looking for work. wtf / yikes. amirite?
to be perfectly honest, sitting down to recap everything that happened this past year was incredibly cathartic. 2012 was such a wildly empowering and surprising and exciting and scary and surreal 12 months for me. it’s blowing my mind right now that they’re almost over. insane.
anyway, do you want read what i wrote? no? not right now? you’ve got a thing? maybe later? well, according to “the news” i’m a card carrying member of generation overshare, so you don’t have a choice. below is the email in full. MY BLOG.
i know this is a little random, but i’ve been thinking about you a ton lately and i wanted to update you on how my 2012 went down (or up, depending on your point of view). i’m not sure if you remember, but back in november 2011, after working an exhausting average of 60-80 hrs a week for a year as the executive assistant to the vp of the google creativelab, i decided to take some time off to recharge and only do things i wholly, fully, 1000% completely loved to do. basically, i spent my days practicing yoga, updating my blog, drafting an official ny to do list, leading storytelling field trips at 826nyc, painting axes at best made, developing disposable cameras, turning strangers into friends, and re-falling in love with new york many, many times over. thankfully, only doing things in the pursuit of happiness (and not in the pursuit of answering “soooo, what do YOU do?”) eventually led to happiness as well as an opportunity to help produce a levi’s + intel collaboration. i stayed happy and worked on that project from july 2012 until it launched globally (and successfully) this past month.
that was just “a lot” and i felt like it needed an ending (thanks for hanging in there). aaaanyway, i wrote you this email because i wanted to say hello (hello!), wish you a happy new year (happy new year!), and let you know i am actively looking for work right now. i’d also like to ask you for a small favor → could you keep me in mind in case anything of the “we need to hire someone smart, funny, enthusiastic, creative, tech-savvy, social-savvy, people-savvy, and just really f-ing organized” variety happens to pop up on your radar?
let me know what you think.
let me know what’s new.
i’d love to hear either (or both!).
ed. this email was written in the spirit of putting it all out there and just going for it.
- q&a session with lani i took just enough seriously
things are okay and i feel like my tectonics are moving and shifting and changing and getting a little bit better every day. for example, i did two thanksgivings this year which was waaaaay more fun than i expected. i made my grandmother’s seventies-era stuffing (it calls for postwar chicken fat and grinding an ENTIRE box of ritz crackers in a food processor). there were a bunch of emails that went back and forth between myself and my mom and my sister where i asked things like “what does sauté mean?” and, not only did they humor me, they also didn’t seem to mind when i got frustrated and yelled at everyone for not replying all.
anywho, the first dinner was in the early afternoon at a high school friend of a friend’s upper east side apt where a bunch of white, married twenty-somethings got superfull superfast and passed out in front of a flat screen tv. the second one was in the evening at an 826nyc friend’s upper west side brownstone where her holocaust-surviving german bubbie got superdrunk superfast and told me i was “vonderful.” all in all, i had a blast prepping for the first one and attending the second one.
as for fashun, i busted out a dark brownish black printed floor length vintagey dress that i’ve been storing at the back of my closet for just the right occasion and paired it with my cropped leather jacket and combat booties. a 10min wait for the uptown f train was accompanied by a slothy homeless man sitting on the 2nd ave poopdeck staring me down and announcing to no one in particular, “MAN owns woman! MAN owns woman!” over and over and over.