Endured Hurricane Sandy
Here’s the thing about “surviving” a slunt of a hurricane named Sandy: It’s exactly like college. The streets around my downtown Manhattan home looked like the aftermath of a massive kegger, littered with garbage and riotous denizens. I didn’t have power (in college, someone would often forget to pay the bill and our home would be left in the dark). My toilet stopped working, refusing to flush.
To all my single lady friends…
It’s true. I’m really a collie.
Gave advice to an unborn daughter →
I’m reposting this for a few reasons. One, I think it’s one of my favorite things that I’ve written on here. Two, got to chatting today with a friend who has a pre-teen daughter about how raising her is going. He’s confirmed most of my worst fears, making this all the more necessary should I ever have a little lady of my own.
Watched the fuse burn down
Relationships are like bombs. A few have tremendously long fuses, which burn for your entire life, never actually detonating. But most have short ones, flaring up quickly and burning rapidly towards the inevitable explosion that is your break up. Sometimes the R-Bomb is sizeable, causing total havoc on your life when it finally blows. And sometimes they’re just like a firecracker, ending with a small, disappointing pop and you saying, “Meh, that was pretty lame.”
Post-explosion, just like a bomb technician, you’re left standing amid a pile of rubble, trying to piece together exactly what happened to cause this. There are a ton of incongruous pieces, charred and mangled, none of which seem to have once formed a complete object. For those stuck in the past, they’ll still try to cobble things back together, attempting to understand the why behind the detonation. But most people mark off the blast area with caution tape, signifying that returning to it could be dangerous or – more likely – sad and depressing.
Debated the intelligence of anyone who dates John Mayer
Hercules: Did you see Katy Perry signing with the autistic girl?
Me: I did. It’s nice. But it doesn’t change my utter disdain for Katy Perry.
Me: Do you think she’s smart?
Hercules: I’m in no position to gauge that.
Me: She dates John Mayer. You’re allowed to make all of your judgments based on that fact.
Hercules: I’m a fan of John Mayer.
My good lady friend is headed to see her long distance lovah tomorrow for a weekend of sexy fun time and good eats (he’s temporarily down in the South). Her sense of humor is bar none, and when we were shopping for cheesy trinkets in SoHo today, she bought a canvas bag to transport a bunch of the surprises she got him. Naturally, she wanted to decorate it…in the style of a love letter from his top celebrity crush, Blake Lively. It’s genius. Enjoy.
This is how I feel right now.
Get it where you can, kids.
(Source: fantasticallyweirdshit, via eyesareshootingsparks)
Labeled me a ‘negative person’
Years ago, I was on a date with a fetching young thing and our outing was going smoothly. Or so I thought. Somewhere around the entrees, she grew quiet and when I inquired as to why, her response was “It’s kind of hard to talk to you. You’re a negative person.” She went on, pointing out a litany of things I’d mentioned I hated, or had called dumb. At the time it was easy to dismiss her; to chalk her assessment up to simply not sharing similar core values and beliefs. However, time - and the additional insight that comes with it - has proven her correct.
Summarized The Past Few Months
I’ve had writers block since June. While this occasionally plagues me, this is one of the longer struggles I’ve had with getting words to leave my brain. Part of the reason is not been able to fully articulate the emotions I experienced over the summer. Part of it’s that the people who’ve most affected and influenced said emotions routinely check this site. But players gonna play, haters gonna hate, potatoes gonna potate and I’m still gonna pontificate. So…
