Que Sera Sera

Dear Tupac Shakur,

According to my email news headlines page, it seems that you’ve released yet another single. Here are my feelings on that, Mr. Shakur: If you are dead, you do not get to release any more songs. If you faked your own death, you still do not get to release any more songs. That is called having your cake and eating it too. Jim Morrison faked his own death, but did you hear him releasing any singles that sampled Elton John eight years later? No, you did not. Mostly because he probably died his sad bloated real death about six weeks after his faked French bathtub death, but still. This means that the Lizard King, the man who filled wine goblets full of urine while completely passed out, the man who wore the same pair of leather pants for an entire summer tour until his bandmates complained of the stench, this man has shown more respect and restraint than you have. So please, either show yourself or stay in the ground and shut the fuck up.



Yesterday I was afraid I’d bounced the rent check and had a horrible head cold and was bummed to be back at work after my long weekend with Laura, and was just generally filled with seething miserable bile, and therefore was so inspired to make the following list with my colleague Aaron Abrams:

People Who Should Watch Their Backs If I Had a Gun and a Time Machine

Joe McCarthy
John Wilkes Booth
Scrappy Doo
entire cast of Charles in Charge
Mssrs. Abercrombie and Fitch
maybe one Tyrannosaurus Rex, just for bragging rights
Kate Capshaw, circa Temple of Doom
Jeff Foxworthy
Thomas Jefferson
The Gin Blossoms

Then I went home from work and took a long bubble bath while drinking a whiskey and lemonade from the skull of Dakota Fanning, and felt a little bit better. And then today Emily’s mom was in town and she took me to lunch, and man, the surefire cure to a rotten mood is getting to eat lunch with your best friend’s mom, and she buys your lunch, and then hugs you and tells you you’re doing great. AND THEN I came back from lunch and emailed Emily to tell her how great her mom was, and she wrote back, “Did she tell you stories about Omar and Nacho?” and I said, “Uh, no, who are Omar and Nacho?” and she said, “They’re the two dudes who are laying the tile in her new bathroom. She gives them cookies and Dr Pepper,” and now I’m probably in the best mood ever.

Names I Yelled During an Alcohol-Fueled Game of Trivial Pursuit When I Could Not For the Life of Me Remember the Name "Seabiscuit" But Then the Answer Turned Out to Be "Trigger" Anyway

Nugget Butter!
Dairy Field!
Shoe String!
Chauncey Jones!

Things for which I am thankful, 2004 edition


Last week I went to Joshua Newman’s Homecoming '96 party, where you were supposed to dress accordingly. I couldn’t remember how I dressed in 1996, so I used Rayanne Graff from My So-Called Life as my inspiration and wore black nail polish, lots of eyeliner, fishnets, Liz’s German army boots, a plaid Catholic schoolgirl skirt, and carried a backpack full of liquor bottles. I spent the whole night kicking myself for not dressing like this in 1996, and if there was some way I could pull this off now, I’d probably try, because it was really fun. Anyway, today I started wondering exactly how I did dress in 1996, so I pulled out my college photo album and OH! Oh. That’s how I dressed in 1996.

This was taken during Thanksgiving Break my freshman year of college. A few weeks earlier, I had let my roommate cut off five inches of my hair, which was fun for about three days. Here I am wearing someone else’s sunglasses, and my little brother’s sweater. He was 11 at the time. That’s kind of weird.

I know what you’re asking yourself right now. You’re asking yourself, "is she wearing overalls and a scarab necklace?" But no, I’m actually wearing SHORTALLS and a scarab necklace! What else do you wear to the Widespread Panic concert? Apparently you also wear some sunglasses that were the bastard issue of Jackie O and Bono. I don’t wear sunglasses anymore because they make me look like an asshole. I also don’t wear polo shirts because they make me look butch. Fun fact.

I found the top half to my dad’s old silver and burgundy Adidas tracksuit from the early '80s and started wearing it in 1995, thus marking the only time in my life I’ve ever been ahead of a fashion trend. So far ahead of it, in fact, that my friends made fun of me and would ask me not to wear it out. Here I seem to be pairing it with pajama pants, wool socks, Birkenstocks, and the orange headband I would use when I washed my face. I think I’d actually been sick in bed all day and was headed out to buy cough syrup in this picture. Someone put that creepy Calvin Klein poster on our door as a prank the first week of school and we left it up all year.

This is me on the phone during sorority rush. I really, really did not want to attend sorority rush. In fact, my mother and I had some pretty heated arguments about it, but finally she won and I had to go, and the only good part was that I got randomly paired as rush roommates with my now best friend Laura, who did not want to be there either, so we’d spend the evenings when we were supposed to be socializing with the other girls locked in our room, eating vending machine food and listening to the Pogues. We were not supposed to have any contact with the outside world during rush, but that phone was right there in our room, begging to be used, and what better way to give a giant fuck you to sorority rush than to use that phone on the sly? Here I’m sporting Laura’s Meat is Murder T-shirt, cut-offs, a silver scrunchy around my wrist, and, given the hand gesture, a giant chip on my shoulder. Sidenote: Jesus God how I long for the tan legs of my idle 18 year old summers.

This picture can’t really count as what I wore in 1996, because I think the only thing I’m wearing that’s my own here is my jeans. I seem to have collected my friend Alex’s fleece vest, my friend Tony’s shirt that says IDAHO, and my friend Brian’s boots. Sadly, the hat is mine. I look like I’m about to down some Dew and snowboard out of a helicopter. I call that look “drunk.”

This was what I wore to the Screw Your Roommate dance in November 1996. You can’t really tell, but that babydoll dress ends above my knees, and then I paired it with some unfortunate heels made of black satin ribbon that somehow laced around my ankle or something. I bought this dress because it cost $30 and it matched the nail polish I wore religiously in 1996, Chanel Vamp. The best part of this photo is the stuff in the background. What’s up, Johnny Cash poster? I see you, Kamel Reds! And why the fuck are you even there, hot rollers? This was back when I had straight hair.

This was taken right before I spent the evening driving my brother and three of his friends to their first middle school dance. I borrowed my dad’s car and my brother insisted we play Weezer really really loudly, which was more than okay with me. This was back when I thought it was really cool to cut the hems off of my jeans and then fray them by hand. Also, in the fall of 1996, I wore only two pairs of shoes: the black boots pictured here, or these 200 year old clogs that made my feet bleed. I think later that winter I jazzed up the roster with some dark red platform loafers. However, it’s the coat that really sums up best what I wore in 1996, because I wore it EVERY FUCKING DAY. You can’t really see it here, but it’s dark brown corduroy with a fake fur collar. My friend Christina bought it at a thrift store for $5. It smelled like somebody’s grandparents’ couch, but in a good way. About five minutes after this picture was taken, my brother grew nine feet taller.

The Coat, again. Paired with a lime green shirt and a wide suede headband. Sure, why not? I was always jealous that Emily could pull off scarves so effortlessly.

This is my college boyfriend Joey modeling The Coat, along with my Jackie O/Bono spawn sunglasses. It’s a shame you can’t see his sideburns properly in this shot, because they were truly a thing to behold. I also wish that you could see the Van Gogh Starry Starry Night print hanging next to the Trainspotting poster on the opposite wall. Ohhhhh, 1996.

Best mess

Person (looking through my medicine cabinet): You get migraines?
Me: Yeah.
Person: You should be careful with prescription drugs like this. They don’t really tell you what they do. I don’t think you should take these.
Me: Aren’t you the same person who was just going on about how gross smokers are, and how you’ve never had coffee and don’t drink soda—
Person: Only when I mix it with alcohol.
Me:—but earlier when we left the bar, you called your coke dealer?
Person (holding up old bottle of cough syrup): Hey, codeine!
Me: That’s all dried up. It’s dregs.
Person (filling bottle up with water, shaking, downing): No, see?
Me: I’m gonna call you a car now.
Person: Yeeeaaahhh, I know.

Junior Miss Unfit Parent

I realize it’s old news to do a post based on a search string that brought someone to your site, but I have to ask a question to the person who arrived here by googling “pictures of updos for baby girls:”

You named her Brielle, didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU.


I’ve been reading Gore Vidal’s American Chronicle series over the past few months, and I’ve learned a lot about American political history that’s fascinated me, but the more I read, the more convinced I’ve become that most of what happens in politics and in governing our country is completely unknown to us, and completely out of our control. It’s been sobering and sort of depressing for me to realize that, but I just finished the last book in the series today, and for that to coincide with the election results made me more frustrated and full of dread and anger and helplessness than I’ve felt in a long time.

Fortunately, I have a lot of good things on the horizon, the first of which is my parents arriving in town. They’ll be here for a few days while my dad runs the marathon, but the best part is that they’re coming with ALL OF MY THINGS THAT HAVE BEEN IN STORAGE FOR THE PAST THIRTEEN MONTHS. Bed, books: I’m just warning you right now: expect some hot threeway action.

Slutte! or, "... and somehow my tongue got in her mouth a little bit... "

Reason #47 That I Can Never Seek Public Office: Now with photographic evidence!

I would just like to say, in my (our?) defense, that as we squeezed onto that photobooth seat in the back of the bar around 3 am, someone named Sarah said, “Let’s pretend to kiss!” and then someone else named Sarah said, “Okay!” and then both Sarahs closed their eyes and leaned in and bam! It was a dirty photo finish with very chaste intentions.


Here Lies The Plug
Nov. 2002 – Nov. 2004
See you at the crossroads

Copyright © 2001–2012 by sb
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