“Jeff and Susan Bridges met on a ranch in Montana in 1974. He was there acting in a comedy Western called Rancho Deluxe. She was a waitress and aspiring photographer. He fell in love at first sight, but she declined his request for a date. Bridges came back after filming wrapped, “kidnapped” Susan for a trip to Canada. The two married in 1977 and have been together ever since.”—Is this love or Stockholm syndrome?
loners don't get their mack on, they just get free stuff
Since I was dining alone, I thought to eat the single grossest thing I could find: a bacon wrapped hot dog smothered in avo, salsa and sour cream. And! When dinner arrived at my table, there was the unexpected surprise of cheese covered tater tots accompanying my hot dog. I would claim that I still can’t decide if the guy working the counter was flirting with me or not, but, suffice it to say, I didn’t find his number written at the bottom of the paper container, nor did I realize cheese was on my face until I was blocks away.
…You can not help who you love and you can not make any human being love you. I know this sounds literal in my case. I could not help being born from my mother, I could not help to learn language and compassion and how to walk from her, I could not help to memorize her circadian rhythm before I could formulate thought. But it is the same as how you can not help who you fall in love with. You do not chose who your heart desires, for whatever reason. Not for attention, not for affection, and not for attraction. And when these people, these equally naive, fractured, and human people, when they do not realize that you are lovable and worthwhile and brilliant that is not your fault. It is theirs. One day, hopefully, they will realize and lament these mistakes they’ve made. But they also might not. And that is fine. They looked away when the meteor skimmed our atmosphere. Years from now the geniuses with their eyes to the sky will recall how you were ebullient and night-ripping, whereas these failures, these non-awares, will only recall in faded stories how truly bombastic you really are. It is a mistake and that is all it is. It is the same as the bumper you hit parallel parking the other day…
“Sharing passwords, she noted, feels forbidden because it is generally discouraged by adults and involves vulnerability. And there is pressure in many teenage relationships to share passwords, just as there is to have sex.”—
Apparently, “it has become fashionable for young people to express their affection for each other by sharing their passwords. Boyfriends and girlfriends sometimes even create identical passwords, and let each other read their private e-mails and texts.”
If only I had thought to express intimacy with [high school boyfriend’s name goes here] by telling him that WildChica345’s password was hey12arnold instead of losing my virginity on his parents’ couch.
A DAY’S WORTH OF FACTS TO GET YOU THROUGH WIKIPEDIA’S 24-HOUR BLACKOUT BY BEN GREENMAN
1. A triangle is a geometric figure that has three sides.
2. A whale is a mammal, not a fish.
3. The Civil War was the bloodiest conflict in American history, with casualties approaching 700,000.
4. An old form of broom was the besom, which was made simply of twigs tied to a handle, and was relatively inefficient as a cleaning implement.
5. Unlike his contemporaries, Goethe didn’t see darkness as an absence of light, but rather as polar to and interacting with light.
6. Goethe was a talking serpent who lived in Egypt at the start of the eighth century. He had blue eyes, beautiful blue eyes.
7. One is the loneliest number.
8. Trees can speak. They just choose not to.
9. The first ruler of Turkey was, in fact, a turkey.
10. You know that girl you really like? She doesn’t like you nearly as much and never will, unless your interest in her suddenly vanishes, in which case she may well start to like you. This may seem like a paradox, and it is, assuming that a paradox is a medieval weapon of torture.
We’ve been through a lot together. Remember when I had mono and spent over a month glued to your side watching Wings on USA? Or in college when you helped me form my longest lasting relationship as Meg and I would meet every day after class to eat nachos in front of Fox Family programming? And then there was that year in LA - a place where it’s expected of you to have a close knit relationship with your TV if you want to contribute to the conversation at mixers - you always provided me with ample things to say.
Television, I would even say I was raised by you, with help from my mother and Nicaraguan nanny.
But TV, can I call you TV?, right now I’m going through a tough time and I just don’t feel like you’re bringing your A-game. Where are the free trials of Disney Channel you used to surprise me with? Where have all the Top Chef marathons gone? And, I’m serious about this, why isn’t Gilmore Girls running in syndication any longer?
I know we have a rich history, so this is hard to say, but I’m fucking mad at you. I don’t want to seek solace in human beings. I want to be pleasantly brain dead while I eat delivery Thai under a down comforter on the free, albeit wooden and uncomfortable couch in my apartment.
You know where to find me if you want to apologize.
PS. I don’t want this to sound like a threat, but Ashley just shared her Netflix log-in information with me, and maybe I’m going to use it.
“I caught the highlights of Hugh’s broadcast and understood that my first goal was to make him my boyfriend, to trick or blackmail him into making some sort of commitment. I know it sounds calculating, but if you’re not cute, you might as well be clever.”—David Sedaris
Unless you, too, want to start panicking about your unborn children and the time they will spend on the internet and how horrible their peers will be and the subsequent heartbreak you will repeatedly experience as your future baby is torn down and you have to take them out of school and give them mild tranquilizers every six hours while as an adult female you style your hair in a side ponytail.
“My dad was telling us about some negotiation he was handling for the commuter rail agency in LA, and how they’d spent two full hours that day arguing over one single word of the agreement. When he had finished speaking, I looked at him, shook my head and said, “Daddy, I will never, ever be a lawyer.”—
Brian Spitulnik, from his McSweeney’s column: The Chorus Boy Chronicles
My current job, in addition to providing me with an income, is a point of pride for my parents. They are thrilled to mislead their friends into believing that I am in hot pursuit of a career track, and brag that their daughter is a paralegal for a recognizable company. My parents have also threatened that it would just kill them (possible literal usage) if I were to quit and return to barista-ing.
These three simple things: money, making my parents happy and the possibility of incurring their disappointment (something I want them to reserve for my sister) are what keep me a fake lawyer, though much like Brian, I’d like to assert: Ew, offices are gross.
“It’s like a ghost. Once you see it, you can’t deny its existence. Once I found comedy, I couldn’t deny it was what I wanted to do.”—Hilary Winston, from My Boyfriend Wrote a Book About Me and Other Stories…
“Excuse my charisma / vodka with a spritzer,” is not advice Weezy is keeping to himself. He’s giving it to the people for a reason.”—Caragh Poh, teaching me that I, too, want to be the boss bitch of 2012