If I’m ever on the cover of a magazine I’d request to get my armpits airbrushed, my left breast photoshopped so it’s even with my right and I’d possibly get some adult acne removed. But I know, for a fact, I would never want my words to be photoshopped.
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You really shouldn’t leave 5-year-olds on the roof of your car but my dad needed to get the shot. There I lay, one hand gripping the edge of his white suzuki, the other gripping a milk jug filled with water. My cousins began pushing the car back and forth, my uncle yelled “Action” and I began to make it rain.
I was 16 when I tried to commit suicide. I remember standing on the edge of the roof of my family’s home, looking past my toes when my mom stepped out for a cigarette. She made eye contact with me, realized what I was trying to do and yelled:
When I was in high school, I fell in love with a man named Lucas. He was older than me, wore all black and drove a motorcycle. But I knew Lucas and I would never end up together. For one, I was awkward and scared of anything I thought could get me pregnant and for two he was a fictional character from the movie Empire Records.
I am leaning out the window of my childhood bedroom. My hips are propped on the frame and my left hand is planted on the garage roof below. My right hand is holding a cigarette. I know that at any moment my mother may burst in and catch me smoking. If she does, she’ll probably slam the window shut; trapping my upper half outside and leaving my lower half exposed for a good ol’ fashioned spanking. But that’s just the risk I’ll have to take right now.
My least favorite time was when two men were performing sexual favors on each other. What they were doing didn’t bother me as much as the fact that they weren’t listening to me. They were in a dark corner at the back of the room, making sure third base was thoroughly satisfied before they’d leave the bar to hit that home run we all so desperately crave.
I want to make one thing clear: I do not think “journalism is dead.” In fact, I think journalism is the ‘Madonna’ of professions; it will get face lifts until it outlives us all. This is a post about my decision to stop trying to be a journalist.
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“I’m not that kind of girl!” Dan squealed, his eyes twinkling under the florescent lights. We’d stopped for a couple of glasses of wine before heading to Juilliard. I felt like the Queen of New York. Lightly resting his fingertips on the rim of his wine glass, he leaned in to tell me something juicy and wonderful. Read the rest of this entry »
I am sucker for handwritten notes. Any kind, really, but especially ones I find in public. I feel sneaky peaking into someone else’s life through their writing. The notes are usually; grocery lists, nonsensical words, numbers, etc.
Today I found this little treat folded up on top of some moisturizer at a department store in Dazhi: Read the rest of this entry »
“If you were stranded on an island and could only bring three things what would they be?” I hated playing this game in summer camp. Do your parents count as two things? What kind of outlets does this island have? Do they speak a different language? Will there be boys there? The answers didn’t really matter because I always ended up choosing the same things; my parents, beanie baby collection and stuffed dog, Lucky. Read the rest of this entry »
Sprinting through the airport, I vowed to start exercising the second I got to Taiwan. There are multiple reasons why I hate running through airports, first and foremost: my travel backpack. As if my 5′ 2” frame and chronic baby-weight don’t already make me look like high schooler, running with a backpack surely seals the deal. Read the rest of this entry »
Five black dresses hung in my dressing room; two were too small, one made me look like a hussie, one had a curious stain on it and the other one was perfect for emulating the body of a pregnant woman. I went with the dress that made me look like a hussie. Exactly one day and a handful of hours later, I was tugging at that dress in front of 30 people I didn’t know, three people I knew, and a casket. Read the rest of this entry »
He stuck his fist out in front of him and looked at me with a comical sense of seriousness, “Are you with me?” I’d never been in a bar fight before. The situation sounded anecdotally appetizing, but I’d never fully developed into the bottle-breaking, bar-fighting, bad-ass I needed to be for this situation. I clenched my fist even tighter around the little slip of paper as I shoved it into my pocket. Read the rest of this entry »
I started up the steps to Lewis’ apartment, I hate ending things, I really do. Why isn’t this 2002? I could just do it via AIM, but NOOOO I have to be responsible and do it to his face…ugh. After over a month of seeing him, I knew things weren’t going to work out. Read the rest of this entry »
My mother covers the camera on our family computer because according to her, “The government is watching us.” Why the U.S. government is watching two retirement-aged Russians, who have yet to learn how to properly pronounce the letter ‘V’, is beyond me. I try not to question my parents’ antics so I don’t run out of things to write about. Read the rest of this entry »
“I don’t know, ‘Dimitry’ is not a name you can scream out in the sack,” Leslie said looking up from the email I’d forwarded her. “Okay but how do I look in this dress?” I had 15 minutes to get ready for my first (and hopefully last) blind date. If I’d utilized my roommate’s date-reasoning, I probably would’ve avoided my last two nightmarish relationships. Read the rest of this entry »
Dear Mr. Heckler,
I first would like to apologize for not succumbing to your requests. As a comedienne and entertainer, it is my priority that every one who sees me perform – whether by choice or not – enjoy themselves as much as possible.