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.
You’re so cute. Look at you, under all of your umbrella-riddled glory. Oh my god! Is that a peace sign you’re making with your fingers? Peace be with you too. Can a Jew even say that? This one can!
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.
Every morning around 6am I get home from work. I shield my eyes from the sun and scuttle into my apartment. I stare at the computer for two hours before adjusting my glare to the ceiling. Sometimes I fall asleep. Most of the time I don’t.
We were going to be famous. We were so excited about our idea, a second bottle of wine was opened just for the occasion. “We’ll call it 30 before 30!” Tessa yelled as her wine sloshed back and forth in the glass. I was frantically writing everything down. Continue reading