Tag: my so called life

m8, i miss you.


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I bet it was so easy for them to budget cut your weekend service. It’s always so fucking easy when you don’t know, when you can’t remember. But you do, right?   You remember those weekend afternoons you used to pick me up in front of 9th Street and ride patiently while I got lost in shameless people watching and song surfing until you finished that straight shot commute to the West Village?  Crosstown, downtown – that’s all I needed and you did both.  You.  Did.  Both.
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I’m sure, to them, it’s nothing.  Probably because they don’t know it’s just a cold weekday morning now.  The sun’s is barely up, I’m heading one way, you’re heading another, and no one, not even you or me, is looking for adventure.  And we always look away, ignoring each other because we have to.  Because we can’t.  Because we’re running late.   Because we don’t care.
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but you know what, kid?
i remember how it was.
and that is something.

polar butt.


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this is a haiku
about being so sick that
you can’t be bothered.
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ps – except to grow a polar butt.

spacing out.


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Sometimes I feel like I’m running on empty, like there’s no cop out, no clock out, no answer besides yes, of course, will do.  No really, no problem!  Just email me, text me, call me, chat me, tap me, ask me, ask me, ask me.
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how’s my job going?
[i need to steal some pens and
draw the line] just fine.

there’s money in the banana stand.


Agenda 2011. Julie Joliat
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I do this every year. Whenever the final week of December is all “yo, what up girl?” I find myself jamming a fistful of miscellanies into my daily routine. It’s like, if I start doing something different the last week of December and it still scores face time even after all the slushpoo has melted and gone evaps forever, I don’t have to say it’s one of those laaaaaaame new year’s resolutions, but rather just something I started doing because, I don’t know, I’m awesome? And I do what I want? All the time?  Anyway, this time last year I started lying about what I did for a living (and moisturizing). This year?
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Neti potting.

stuck between a menu and a hard place.


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Back in August, one of my co-workers left the firm to go study medieval history at a prestigious graduate school in England. I was really jealous to see her go, not because I had any interest in medieval history (sorry, I just like fonts better), but because I felt completely trapped and lost and had little to no confidence that I would be able to find my way. If it’s any indication of my headspace at the time, this was our last exchange:
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Me:..I’m not as unhappy as I seem.
Her:..I hope you’re not as unhappy as you seem.
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Oooof.  Anyway, she left this note on my desk after she stayed late to pack up all her things, so I didn’t end up finding it until the next morning. When I read it, I got a huge lump in my throat and my eyes started to well up with tears. I really, really wanted to believe what she had written was true, but at the time I just couldn’t so I took the note and hid it behind some papers pinned to my cubicle. I also did this because I knew it would make me cry every time I saw it and, well, crying at work was just sooo 2009.
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Flash forward 2 months —> I found my way. My last day at the firm is next Tuesday and, being the over-zealous pre-planner that I am, my desk was cleared off and my files were put in basement storage right after my first phone interview. Unfortunately, this means I now only have stupid little things left to take care of (don’t forget that mug! don’t forget those snacks! don’t forget this bamboo plant!), so I’ve been trying to make them last all week. As it happens, yesterday was take down all the things I pinned to my cubicle day and this note, stuck between a menu and a hard copy of the office holiday calendar, made me cry all over again. But this time it was for the good reasons.
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The really, really good reasons.

in stores today.


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i got a new job.
here’s a mix to celebrate
i hope you like it.
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liner thank you notes:…dan, eric, joji, lani, justine, aj, ashley, patrick, buster, all the dudes at continuum, the internet, hudson river bike lanes, garamond small caps, steve whitfield, tory fair, esalen, my libertine blazer, cinnamon schoolbook cookies, amex, testmasters, mechanical pencils, whole foods on bowery, 9th street on 10th street, lula’s sweet apothecary, crunch gym, west village housing works, rubgy’s return policy, liquiteria, klean kanteen, dog days, tresemmé hair gel, 3 in 1 pie, the astrotwins, google reader, and you guys.

she’s real, yo.


Everything Epic
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When I was Sally’s age, I used to lie . . . a lot. I’m sure it had something to do with growing up in a complicated family of world class embellishers and accidentally pulling the short straw on a weird ass mid-90s, midwestern divorce (lions and tigers and gay dads – oh my).  At first, my lies were usually just a mild stretch of the truth, but, as time went on, they started to become more and more frequent and, unfortunately, more and more ridiculous. I stopped lying cold turkey after I tried (and failed) to convince my best friend that Alex, the neighbor boy I had the craziest most massive crush on, had just:
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a) serenaded me
b) with his guitar
c) outside my window
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. . . naked.
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I mean, really.  What was I thinking?  Alex didn’t even own a guitar.
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PS – I haven’t lied like this in over 12 years.
PPS – Alex is the one wearing a talking hat.

how is it again?


IT’S OK. Sighn
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One day, I will be financially stable and wisely self-employed with one or two harmless yes men in my entourage.  But seeing as how I’m still a paycheck to paycheck entry-something, I find it hard to survive without having some of the very best it’s okay men by my side.
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I…….L…O…V...E…….Y…O…U…….G…U…Y…S….