How long can one person sit in their apartment, devoid of all social interaction, before going mad? How much daytime TV can a human consume before losing all faith in humanity, and in modern television programming? And just how much stress can one neurotic Jewess endure before going completely bat-shit insane?
I listened to the red carpet pre-show while pulling the gizzards out of my chicken and prepping it for the oven. No, seriously. How come the hosts always refer to the evening of the Oscar’s as “a magical night in history” and “one of the most eventful evenings in our lives?” I’m not winning any awards, I’m not brushing elbows with George Clooney’s Beard, I’m not dating that awkward guy onstage handing celebrities their awards and ushering them offstage.
I have been obsessed with Les Misérables, the musical based on Victor Hugo’s 1862 novel, since the 6th grade. It was the year that Jackie and I had a math teacher who devoted an entire unit to teaching us the musical, based on life in 19th Century France and all of the miserable people who lived during it. We instantly became obsessed. This is the only time in my life I have ever gotten an A in math.
Cheap recipes from a small kitchen somewhere in the NYC metropolitan area.
In the space between the time that you’re born and the time that you’re married, it’s inevitable that you’ll experience some type of heartbreak–and probably more than once.
“In the end these things matter most: How well did you love? How fully did you live? How deeply did you learn to let go?” – Buddha
I normally don’t take much stock in the news. In my mind, it’s mostly fear mongering and fabricated stories meant to scare and depress people. #communicationmajor. So as the hurricane got underway around 1 p.m. yesterday afternoon, perhaps it wasn’t in my best interest to take a gravity bong rip and finally flick on the boob tube.
It’s not the “not having a job” thing that’s freaking me out, it’s just that I’m not into living a life of frugality. I’m a Taurus, I’m a glutton. I like to be comfortable. I go to concerts, go out drinking, get brunch, take cabs. Quality of life is just as important as paying the rent, and if I can’t have fun then I can’t enjoy life.
UPDATE: According to this article published yesterday by CNN, the man who jumped into the tiger den didn’t do it as an act of suicide, he just “wanted to be one with the tigers.” Translation: He’s a f*cking idiot.
“At this point my body is so swollen from the heat, ankles thick and sweat dripping from my clavicle all the way down to my bellybutton, that the site of myself in the dressing room is enough to bring tears to my eyes. Sweaty tears.”