Went into Duane Reade tonight to buy some tampons and the cashier asked me if I wanted them double bagged as I was checking out. She gave a knowing smile like, “I know how it is,” and I smiled back and said, “Nope! One bag’s fine.” Then we completed the transaction and disappeared from each other’s lives forever.
On the one hand, I get it. Bodies are embarrassing, everything’s the worst, she wanted to do me a courtesy. One million namastes. But on the other hand, blood leaks out of me the same way sweat drips out of your armpits and pee squirts out of your dick tip, and there is not time in my day or space in my heart to have to worry about whether the physical reality of my existing in space is potentially scandalizing some stranger riding the same train as me for fifteen minutes.
I think that’s what adulthood is for me. Or has been thus far. Just not being embarrassed anymore. About anything. Fuck it.
Life’s not embarrassing. Everything happens all the time and it’s weird and ugly and icky and we deal with it and stare at it, mortified, and then it turns out to be pretty fine after all.
I bought tampons tonight and no one died.
i haven’t had to buy tampons in 4+ years ‘cause my birth control’s the shit, but yeah. this exactly.
|white boy sexting:||haha if you were here what would we be doing right now haha ;-)|
Can’t stop cutting my hair
|A:||The terrible sex had made him feel deeply interesting, like a murder victim.|
|A:||The beast, which had represented his feelings, was dead. “I think I’ll do a pushup,” he announced to the sea. The sea respected him for it.|
|A:||[4000 words from the narrator about his feelings on his childhood circumcision]|
|A:||War is hell.|
|A:||He straightened his tie. He had lost, but in a romantic way, which meant that he had won. “I’m going to do a pushup,” he announced to his tie. His tie respected him for it, and secretly wished that it could have sex with him.|
|A:||You wouldn’t understand.|
|A:||He swore curses at his coworkers. He was making a lot of money. Fuck.|
|A:||This neighborhood in New York City was very different from the other neighborhood in New York City he’d just been in.|
|A:||He lit a cigarette. His glass of whiskey lit a cigarette too. “I can only truly love my best friend,” he said, “but not in a gay way. Women wouldn’t understand it. They’re too gay.” Both of the cigarettes agreed.|
|A:||[4000 words about an isolated encounter with a service worker that borders on racist and goes nowhere]|
|A:||“The cocaine isn’t the point. The cocaine is a metaphor,” he explained wearily over the pile of cocaine. She folded her arms. She didn’t understand his cocaine. “Didn’t you read my manifesto?” The prostitute had read his manifesto. Why couldn’t she?|
|A:||This lightbulb is inauthentic.|
|A:||”It’s only the institution I have a problem with,” he explained to the empty bar.|
|A:||The time had come for him to go to war, and also find himself, and also reject the rules of your society.|
|A:||His alcoholism was different, because someday he was going to die.|
|A:||[Nothing happens for 450 pages; receives fourteen awards]|
i’ve been mostly living in the center of your most holy trinity
more lipstick, less bullshit
—Margaret Atwood, “Last Year I Abstained”
— Emmylou Harris on Joni Mitchell (via ilovejonimitchell)
happy birthday joni
this winter’s trend is “ned stark’s bastard chic.” dress yourself in black leather and fur and an inferiority complex that’s haunted you for your whole life
candy-induced food coma