note to self: you’re going to be good at this year.
imagine what it’s like to get back in shape for football season. like what it’s like to be mentally prepared to play football. their trainers provide sleeping routines. their lives are so scheduled. the preseason is so sloppy.
rebranding on thursday night football
referees have to get back into shape too
do the packers have a kicker?
"find your beach" ok corona
you know what’s funny about watching football? how much the commercials are not targeted at me… such a different experience from watching TLC and MTV but also different from watching baseball. i’m not sure i ever paid attention to what the target audience for baseball commercials is. what am i always watching when i see those money mutual commercials?
to be in love with a football player is to end up a spoiled housewife: so much money but you dedicate your life to taking care of him and i don’t want that to be my life
i love strategy
i truly see being a yankee fan as a mistake like an actual moral decision that people fall on the wrong side of like they watch sports wrong
you have a lifestyle, and i didn’t want to incorrectly assume a role in it—didn’t want to interrupt any other intentions you may have. what’s NSOP mike like?
i have to decide what level of jesse needing me i’m comfortable with because when he needs me it makes me uncomfortable but when he doesn’t need me it makes me need him
i’m lonely, but i’m still scared of people needing on me or counting on me or expecting anything from me
birth control makes my boobs get bigger and oh my god i literally think one day i’m just going to fall over
“That’s right, miss, keep walkin’ like that and you’ll be jus’ fine,” slurs a stumbling, middle-aged man carrying a plastic cup full of change. He laughs to himself, and his slimmer, limping partner sounds equally amused. I hunch my shoulders even further, lengthen my stride even wider, and clutch my purse even tighter as I hold my breath the last two blocks to the PATH station. Once I’m there, I slide my metrocard out of my bag without ever making my wallet visible, and station myself near a younger couple, probably mid-twenties, with the male looking to be in decent shape. Certainly, with his girlfriend present, he’s not a threat to my safety; rather, I adopt his presence as a form of protection.
Taxis wait just outside the train station, but I don’t get in one. Once it gets too late, two strangers often ride as passengers in the same cab, to increase efficiency on trips whose destinations are all within one square mile of each other—that is, any trip to anywhere within the one-square-mile town. I read somewhere that it’s not a good idea to give your exact address to a cab driver, and I don’t even feel comfortable providing nearby cross-streets with a third party listening. Instead, I follow the crowd around the corner.
When I was given the tour of my summer apartment, the owners celebrated their new electronic keypad on the door. “So you won’t have to remember keys!” they bragged, as the entrance to the building itself also requires an electronic passcode. As I hurry through the rainy streets, I realize this means I no longer have the comfort of cold metal pressed between my knuckles. I make a mental note to return my school keychain to my day-to-day purse, to avoid similar walks home unarmed.
My apartment is three blocks west and ten blocks south. I continue to follow the crowd: stay on busy streets, someone’s voice reminds me in my head. Just stay where other people can see you, and you’ll be fine. I realize as I walk that I’m surrounded by men who appear to have worked late, all in button-down shirts and dress pants. They all have headphones in. Don’t wear headphones, another instructor reminds me, or you won’t be aware of everything that’s going on around you. You know what else sucks about those men wearing headphones? If I were to scream, they might not hear.
I couple-surf my way home, passing from one ineligible male to another. I can feel the lovers’ pity—that poor girl shouldn’t have to walk home alone—but I’ve recently begun to admit to myself that with mistreatment comes mistrust, and I simply have not recovered enough from past trauma to allow someone new too close, even if it means living without a bodyguard.
As I turn the corner onto my block, I see a cockroach scurrying across a crack in the sidewalk. I don’t scream, but smile, as if I’ve just spotted the bunny which used to live in my backyard surrounded by a white picket fence in a New Jersey suburb. I’ve made it home.
I showed this to a friend before submitting it to the school paper anonymously. “Don’t tell anyone it was me,” I request. “Otherwise guys won’t want to sleep with me.”
i still have stitches in my mouth but yesterday i got laid.
i am a queen.
today my PATH train horoscope was “things are slowing down; this is a necessary break in action. it’s not permanent” which is so weirdly exactly what i needed someone to tell me all weekend—this past weekend was my first plan-less weekend all summer i think and it freaked me out a lot but i think my body and brain etc really did need a break.
PATH horoscopes are always so dumb but this one was a good reminder.
but i still think my thoughts are worth keeping. who knows, maybe i’ll never use this, but certainly i spend more time in front of my computer than in front of my journal. i can also type and watch tv at the same time. so here’s a running list of thoughts that come into my head while i watch the mets game today.Read more