I’M PUNCHING MYSELF IN THE FACE
another fallen angel
WAHT THE FUCK
f is for friends who do stuff without you
u is for uninvited
c is for clinging onto hope that you wont keep getting forgotten
k is for krispy kreme yum
this is not what i wanted this post to turn out like
one time i got in the shower and came out and no one was home and the lights were off, my entire family went bowling and forgot about me
DOWN HERE IN THE DEEP BLUE SEA
i saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness starving hysterical naked
is there a month between april and june?
you can’t answer your own jokes
“why did the chicken cross the road?” “why” “sorry cant answer my own jokes ur gonna have to find the solution yourself”
“It happened in this building back in 1999. We were doing something for ‘TRL’ and Britney was there, and you know me and Redman like to clown around a lot and we were taking a picture. And if you see the picture that we took I’m leaning over into her cause I whispered something into her ear. I whispered, ‘You got a fat ass for a white girl,’ but no, I meant it as a compliment. And this is how professional Britney is, she waited for the picture to stop and as soon as the picture was over she looked at me and said, ‘Thank you’… And I looked at her like, ‘You’re welcome’. She knew I was telling the truth.”
THIS IS THE BEST POST EVER
Real G’s listen to Britney
Weslin wasn’t one to complain so her head began filling up with animosity for her neighbors. They were teenage residents who thought highly of themselves because they were second-year students at NYU. Their place was one of the loudest. She felt like an old woman at night, going to sleep at nine in order to beat their ruckus and pouting at the glares of the bright lights of whatever they were playing with. It wasn’t firecrackers or strobe lights. It couldn’t have been a lamp. It taunted her. She thought about moving. She thought about sacrificing her investment and moving. There was a quiet area in Queens but it was probably too serene. She didn’t like the idea of living in the suburbs. Perhaps somewhere far enough from the subway but close enough to the 6 line so her favorite bar wasn’t too much of a hike. She had friends who came from the G line where a combination of anti-social working artists lived. It seemed fitting to her limited yet sporadic want for community. The lights went out at two or three-thirty and she’d hit her alarm three times until the end of seen forty-five when she absolutely had to get up. Every second counted.
She slept a bit more on the train but was so afraid of missing her stop it exhausted her. The only thing she found herself appreciating was the limbo between sunset and the end of every university night class. She debated napping each afternoon but preferred watching lineups and old movies instead. And then the music came on and a young girl’s shriek triggered her irritation for ignorant college boys and naïve college girls worldwide. She thought about the grown men who licked their lips while maintaining their balance on the train, and then leaving the subway and never seeing or having any care for her again. She couldn’t bring herself to have fun even on Tuesdays when the soup shop served lobster. All the movies she watched on Hulu and all the little snacks she indulged in equated to her regret for not just taking advantage of taking a nap.
She worked at a marketing firm downtown where she had to wear tight suits and high heels buffed with polish and baby oil. Her supervisor preferred it. The whole company had a “preference” for beyond the better standard. She had a feeling her supervisor, a Russian refuge-turned-citizen, was a homosexual or else Weslin herself was just cocky. The constant invites to Five Guys were becoming pushy. And then there was the night she ran into her at Prospect Park for a non-profit concert of some American-Swiss band. They danced until she and Sharon kicked all the chairs out of the way and then she and the woman in charge of her had their bodies pressed shoulder-to-shoulder and Weslin’s mind danced about peeling away without seeming rude. Sharon was beginning to take Weslin’s rejections personally. Weslin merely enjoyed the mystery of having a work-strict boss who didn’t share anything with her or invite her anywhere outside of the office. She was starting to realize that rejecting her boss was doing more damage than taking them and risking all bad things that come about business and pleasure. Anyway, perhaps it was a culture thing. Her supervisor seemed naturally comfortable, talking with her arms and using her body. It was a characteristic that both made Weslin uneasy and admiring to her boss. Sharon was truly an effortful individual and Weslin believed in nuances of conversation.