I’ve spent the better part of the last week in Los Angeles, packing up my childhood bedroom and uncovering gems I hadn’t laid eyes on in nearly two decades. My brain feels like goo. Moving is physically and emotionally exhausting and, frankly, I never want to see another packing bin ever again. I have plenty to share about this experience: stumbling upon Kodak photos I took of my friends as a teen before digital cameras took over, issues of Elle Girl and YM from 2003, so many pairs of low-rise boot-cut jeans…a lot of really bad pop-punk CDs. But I’ll save that, and all those photos of myself with Snape hair circa 2005, for next week.
Instead, enjoy an array of nonsense:
After an hour-and-a-half-long Uber ride from hell (JFK), I managed to see Fontaines DC’s surprise gig at Warsaw last night. Great show. I saw them open for Arctic Monkeys five times last year, but this felt like seeing them for the first time. Their new song, “Starburster,” is a god-tier track (with an absolutely insane video to match) that will, without question, end up at the top of my Spotify Wrapped, next to an embarrassing number of those new Taylor Swift songs that everyone thinks are mid.
The lads were also fun to chat with after (especially Tom, the drummer). Also yeah before anyone asks, yes, Alex Turner was there and no I didn’t talk to him because I was too busy yapping with other people (hi, Tom).
Saw Challengers and I LOVED IT. I can’t stop thinking about Josh O’Connor’s thigh. The sexual tension? I was buzzing, straight up squealing like a teenager who’d never seen men kiss before. I told my friends that I’m really indifferent toward male homoeroticism unless there’s a deeply compelling story attached, and this movie really did it for me.
One of them stared at me, shocked. “You are a fandom girlie and don’t care about male pairings?” she asked. Great question! The answer is, yeah, basically. There are a few minor exceptions, but either I just really love women (women!) or heterosexuality really has me in a vice grip. Maybe if I was looking at those “emo boys kissing” websites in the aughts while a Trent Reznor soundtrack played in the background, I would have turned out differently. He really put his whole pussy in that one.
Anyway:
I am manifesting owning this Dauphinette dress one day. I’m very aware it might not fit my boobs.
Went to see The Dare with my friend Maria last week. Charli XCX showed up. She’s very tiny and I was toward the back so I barely peeped her. I saw the man who I’ve only bothered to refer to as The Cobrasnake Guy because, I don’t know, is his name that important? I said, “Hey, you’re The Cobrasnake guy, right?” and he said “Yeah!” and I was like “Yeah” and then he took our photo. My 2007 self would have been gagged.
I wish Kendrick and Drake were still beefing.
My friend Ana and I were watching this music video for “A Forest” by The Cure and she said, “He looks like JLo’s husband.”
She’s not wrong.
Not a single day has gone by without me thinking about this tweet:
Copped this hat. It somehow fits my head. It’s giving Hilary Banks, right? Stay tuned.
Most of my Notes App notes look like this, by the way
I’ve gotten into the habit of writing down memories I have of Rob as soon as they come to me, because I’m afraid of forgetting. It’s already become a little difficult to recall the exact tone and cadence of his voice. There are memories that are a lot more grim or private or just so depressing that I don’t feel comfortable sharing. But I’ll share this one: we caught a mouse in a humane trap in our apartment years ago and we released it in neighboring neighborhood because apparently if you let them outside too close to your house they’ll make their way back. Because they’re smart, I guess. Anyway, I hope the mouse made other mousey friends over there, and maybe found God, I don’t know.
I meant to send this to my mom. It went to my friend Emily instead.
Don’t ask me why, but I ordered a shed on sale the other day and as soon as it arrived I immediately regretted it because look at how goddamn big this is. I managed to get it inside the house after like 15 minutes of manuvering and wishing Rob was there to help me but you know what? Feminism won today.
Finding out that Danny Elfman grew up in BALDWIN HILLS (!!!) POST-BLACK FLIGHT is killing me. Like, huh??? What do you mean??? Why didn’t he remind his boy Tim Burton that we exist?
I don’t want to sound presumptuous but this Barbie kind of looks like me a little bit right if my face was snatched? Am I crazy?
Free Palestine. Consider donating and/or sharing the Gaza Evacuation Fund Book Auction that my friend Leen helped set up
that dress is so sick!!!
That’s that me espresso.
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