you make me want to write down words that turn into sentences that turn into stories until the sun comes up and shines down on the black ink staining the paper. you make me want to cut and paste until my fingers are stuck to my clothes are

yes, true, he is not the boy for me and I am not the girl for him and we knew that a long time ago. it was planned that way. still, for four months it was nice to belong to someone. have a safe trip home Mummy Boy.

Five lessons learned this weekend5. before going out to play softball for seven hours on a sunny day, apply sunscreen.4. also, stretch3. never chase a 40 oz with a fifth of Jack2. art galleries are closed on mondays. as is the Central Park carousel.

crazy crazy thursday fun with regurgitators and stink bombs and anarchy and tired tired tired on friday. no time to sleep, Meg2's in town! hit the 'hood with Meg2 and Peter and Shawn at delicious FoodSwings for vegan fast food, then into the city to

one a.m., sitting on the L train at the end of our mindbending G train adventure after the Against Me! show:Me (pleading): I just want to go home and sleep! Mummy Boy (gleefully): New York! The city that never sleeps! Because you can't fucking g

so after the madness that was the Against Me! show, we went to the G train to head back north to my neighborhood. now anyone who's familiar with Brooklyn or Queens knows that the G train is perhaps the worst train in all of New York City. it is slow

last night I went with Mummy Boy to see Against Me! play a free show at Pratt. the night involved folding chairs, a man coughing up 8 balls, goldfish kidnapping, a 50-year-old grampa drummer, wannabe hip hop renegades, crowd-surfing gorillas, stink

so Mummy Boy leaves town in two weeks to hitchhike around the country and not work and polish his anarchist tendencies. with the end of my winter fling within sight, the countdown to me becoming more neurotic and boy-obsessed again has officially b

we are all fighting against time to claim things we will inevitably lose.

a few months ago I submitted a short story I'd written to the lit mag story quarterly. today I got a response from them. it reads, in part: Thank you so much for sending us your good story, which we found both interesting and well written. The story

Three Nicknames I've Been Given3. megatron2. miss megan1. little megThree I Wish I Hadn't3. princess contessa2. vulgarity gerrity1. buttonsI'm Not Sure What All The Hype's About: BandsTV on the RadioPretty Girls Make GravesRyan AdamsI'm Not Sure W

I got my film developed and the photobooth pictures scanned in from wednesday night's birthday extravaganza at the lakeside lounge. okay, so it wasn't very "extravaganza-y," but it was fun and I was happy to see everyone who turned out. and

back in high school, Meg2 and MikeB were often at odds, locked in battle over... well, no one really knew, least of all them. but whatever it was, it always escalated until one person was covered in rice krispies and another person had snot blown in

from the ever-pithy Liam:MEGAN! HAPPY BIRTHDAY, YOU GERIATRIC FUCK!!! Love,Liam

today is my 29th birthday. happy birthday me! while I don't have that creeping dread of 30 that characterized my parents' generation (30 is the new 16 after all. especially if you're dating people six years younger than you), the end of your twenties