The First Rule of Yaddo is: Don’t Tweet/Post About Yaddo. The Second Rule of Yaddo is: Be Quiet After 10:00 (didn’t see that one coming, did you?).
That said, I don’t observe anyone around me being especially invested in taking either of these rules too seriously, so, here now, for your pleasure, is some Shit My Fellow Fellows Say:
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Sometimes, after a night out, I wake up in the morning and start my day by congratulating myself on how I “didn’t really drink that much last night.”
Then I look at my phone and discover that, at some point during the previous evening, I felt it was not just appropriate, but necessary to take a photo of this:
Who knows why I paused to capture this window display at the Build-A-Bear Workshop in Times Square. Maybe I was being ironic. Or, perhaps, I was inspired by the way the light played off the committee of wee little bears as they sewed and combed and rulered (why would they need a ruler?) the big bear into shape. Or maybe, just maybe, there was a secret part of me that longed to build my own bear and bring it home to my six-floor walk-up and tuck it away beside my various hair products and my newly acquired Skooter Skort.
Whatever the reason, I’m sure it was well intended, if not especially transparent in retrospect. And there’s always the chance that one day in the distant future—in my twilight years, perhaps—I shall look back at this picture of the Build-A-Bear Workshop and think to myself, ‘What an irreverent and varied life I’ve led.’
Of course, there’s also the chance that I shall look back and think, ‘I wonder why no one ever noticed the early warning signs of my now-crippling dementia.’
Sometimes, you (read: I) want to purchase something—a meditation cushion, say—but you’re kind of lazy and you don’t want to go rooting around the city for it. So instead you just find what you want on Amazon:
Pretty, right?
But then, because, in addition to being kind of lazy, you’re also kind of cheap, you find the exact same pretty meditation cushion on some cutesy-named, never-before-heard-of site for $10.00 less. So you say to yourself, “Self, why would I pay $52.00 for a pretty meditation cushion from Amazon, when I can get the same pretty meditation cushion from this cutesy-named, never-before-heard-of site for only $42.00?”
The answer, loved ones, is that because rather than sending you the pretty meditation cushion of your dreams, this cutesy-named, never-before-heard-of site will end up sending you…
…a skooter skort.
Which is awesome for so many reasons:
- Before opening the package that was obviously not a meditation cushion, I had no idea what a modern gal should wear while skootin’ about town.
- I happened to be on the phone with my mother while I was opening this package. “Did you send me a skooter skort?” I asked, because I couldn’t think who else would. “I don’t think so,” she said, “because I don’t know what that is.”
- As you might notice from reading the small print above, this particular skooter skort is “like new.” Meaning “not new.” It’s some stranger’s old skooter skort. Which makes me wonder, what does her new skort look like? Is it cooler than mine?
- As you might also notice from reading the small print above, this skooter skort is “fully functional.” And that’s so important in a skooter skort.
I did email the site about this discrepancy, but so far have received no response. I mean, who do I think I’m dealing with? Amazon?
Anyway, the skort might be mine for keeps.
Don’t even pretend you’re not jealous.
Well, the Olympics are over. And, as non-tv-owner who rarely gets excited over a) sports or b) America, I have only this to say: meh.
Don’t get me wrong, the athletes are majestic, blah, blah, blah, and I did catch a few things here and there: I checked in from time to time on my future husband, Michael Phelps (he smokes pot and likes pancakes and we’ll have beautiful, beautiful babies); women’s kayaking was on at the salon while I got a mani/pedi last week, and while it didn’t exactly inspire me to rush outdoors and take on the rapids, it definitely held my interest over the Us Weekly with Kourtney Kardashian’s lizard baby on the cover; I also saw some table tennis, which was playing on a giant screen affixed to the side of a building across from a bar where I one evening drank $12.00 gin and tonics, and it did actually inspire me to take to the nearest ping pong table (or maybe I was inspired by gin—at a certain point, it becomes hard to pinpoint from where, exactly, the inspiration comes). And, I won’t lie, I YouTubed the shit out of women’s gymnastics, because, though I rarely get excited over sports, I make exceptions for those that put extreme duress on the bodies of prepubescent girls then spit them out broken, disordered, and psychologically damaged, finished and (often) forgotten by the age of nineteen. It just makes me feel better about my own life. Also, that beam work is badass.
So, while you all have been live-tweeting about London, I’ve been firmly rooted here in New York, where I have been engaged in the extreme sport and not-so-recreational recreation of repainting my apartment.
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A couple nights ago I descaled the Nespresso machine, which I guess is something you’re supposed to do to a Nespresso machine every six months or so, though I’ve had mine somewhere in the neighborhood of five years and this is the first time I’ve done it.
Despite the packaging, which looks like something you’d pick up at a spa, descaling a Nespresso machine is kind of a pain in the ass. You have to buy this kit-thing, and the instructions come in several volumes of microscopic print, and there are these pouches full of chemicals that smell like you’re probably not supposed to be smelling them.
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As I sit here checking the quasi-hourly updates on the status of Tom and Katie’s divorce settlement (she must have so much shit on him) and waiting for the newest episode of Bunheads to be available for online streaming, it occurs to me that if I’m going to waste this much time mucking around on the Interweb, I might as well click over here and crack open a few windows in the Havisham House that has become my Tumblr account.
So, voila: New theme, bitches! That’s right, everything’s in a different font now, and all the stuff that used to be on the left is now on the right. Also, new title. And while I am not entirely committed to this new title (everything I come up with for a blog name is so… meh), I think the period at the end really gives it a little extra something. It’s like, boom. Period.
Only time will tell if this burst of middling engagement on my part heralds a 2.0 phase in the life of my Tumblr or if it will merely gasp out a few more ragged breaths before joining ranks with all the other accounts I’ve set up whilst in the throes of various caffeine-induced fugue states and then never bothered with again (see: Flickr).
Until then, here’s a picture I took a few days ago of a cloud that looks like a bunny:
