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whirlybirds.

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nov. 15, 1971: “it’s that time of year, when ethnic society, homesick for its native accents, gets together to whoop it up,” reported the times … “pepe, as he is called, not only produced a sumptuous buffet, but he also emerged as a superb flamenco dancer. at 2 o’clock in the morning, after having served a breakfast of churros (ropes of cruller-like fried dough) and hot chocolate, pepe danced to the guitars and mandolins, losing his white chef’s toque as he whirled.

may we all lose a toque as we whirl.

always, conditions.

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“more and more i really believe that doing our best isn’t about loving unconditionally but about just saying something truthful. and letting the other person have the rare advantage of knowing what we’re feeling uncloaked, even if it doesn’t make sense, even if the feelings are confused, even if there are conditions. because making things seem uncomplex, making love seem easy and unconditional is just another deception we sweet-talk ourselves into, with all the should-ing that never lasts.

so there i was on the subway, picking feverish fights in my head with some stranger’s self-help book. and feeling like we’re all missing a better point here. a point not about love or conditions but about something simpler. about trying to be good and kind and patient with each other and knowing that there are always conditions, that we’ve all got our knots and bends in our brains, and holes in our hearts.”

– jane flanagan

these two paragraphs,
especially that last part
on being kind, having knots.
that’s where i’m keeping things.

for a while.

now or never or few minutes later.

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chloe: i just saw 826 is doing scrabble for cheaters on may 3rd. maybe we should get a team together.
me: oooooooooo i’m down.
chloe: we should ask anders, too. he’d be seriously brilliant.
me: that is an excellent call.
chloe: on it.

[a few minutes later]

chloe: anders is in.
me: huzzah!
chloe: who would you like to ask? i could also ask my roomie. she’s cool. she works for the atlantic wire. you’d like her.
me: i’d ask my friend amy who is vvv clever and wise (not talking about myself, i have another friend named amy).

[a few minutes later]

me: it sounds like you can only have teams of two …
chloe: oops.
me: ok i think you and anders should be a team because you will kick total f-ing ass and, to be totally honest, i’m actually really bad at scrabble : (
chloe: isn’t that the point? bad player = great cheater.
me: i guess. either way, you must beat peter dinklage!

[a few minutes later]

me: well, i’m happy to be your teammate OR root for you and anders. the choice is yours.
chloe: oh no. this is like sophie’s choice. only different. and with fewer nazis.
me: does anders know there’s a $50 registration fee per team member? does chloe know?
chloe: i think i’ve made it clear that i know the least about this event of everyone.

to be continued …

like it or lump it.

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… i do think, also, that—oh god, now this is really the stuff of shitty women’s magazines and heteronormative nightmare trend pieces—but i think that having it all can be a stumbling block for men, but it’s a stumbling block for the kinds of men you absolutely don’t want in your life. your general togetherness and attractiveness, when paired with a cautiousness and quietness upfront, is really fluffy bunny ass for a traditional man. when you show your sharp bunny claws, though, this kind of man is going to turn cold and turn tail and run. the magazines will tell you to fluff up your tail and play down your giant brain. i’m going to give you the opposite advice. if i were you, i would try flashing the bunny claws earlier, to see what you’re dealing with. is this a bunny chaser, or a guy who likes real assertive happy human women? mutter a few ribald remarks, make your opinion crystal clear, then look the guy frankly in the eye as if to say, “that’s me, buddy. like it or lump it.” many, many men with an eye for a princess will get gone real quick-like after that.

– ask polly: i’m 33 and single. what am i doing wrong?

two birds.

andrew volk3
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time is tricky. you have whole months, even years, when nothing changes a speck, when you don’t go anywhere or do anything or think one new thought. and then you can get hit with a day, or an hour, or a half a second when so much happens it’s almost like you got born all over again into some brand-new person you for damn sure never expected to meet.

– e.r. frank, life is funny

happy birthday, kimball.
happy birthday, uncle mike.

march 20.

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last year, march 20th came out of nowhere and hit me really hard. i had started a new job on the 18th, forgot there was anything significant about the 20th, remembered what i had forgotten on the 22nd, realized why my sister texted me she was thinking about me, excused myself for an inaugural office bathroom cry, and felt mostly fucking terrible about the whole damn week. so this year, in the spirit of leading with realness and taking better care of myself-ness and unapologetically asking for what i need-ness …

(1) i took the day off work.
(2) i texted my sister first thing in the morning that i loved her.
(3) i walked and thought and talked about him a lot.

it was sad.
it was spring.
it was real.

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