“There are no grown-ups. We suspect this when we are younger, but can confirm it only once we are the ones writing books and attending parent-teacher conferences. Everyone is winging it, some just do it more confidently.”—What You Learn in Your 40s - NYTimes.com
“Do you know how profoundly torturous it is producing a long and/or book-sized piece of writing anymore? I BLAME SOCIETY. All I wanted was a Pepsi, etc. That’s not true at all. Writing was always that torturous, we all just think we’re so fucking special.”—TL;DR: Choire Sicha « Full Stop
“Blush is the make up of heightened emotion. Excitement, embarrassment, & fear. The only make up that could possibly be better would be synthetic sweat and they haven’t invented that yet.”—Remote Outposts: E. CONNER - Top Ten of 2013
I had convinced my sister to come with me to Drybar to get our hair did before “prom.” Really, I wanted her to come because, while I had a dress, I didn’t really have any accessories.
"What do you mean by ‘accessories,’" she asked.
"Well, like jewelry. And a clutch."
We had a long conversation about whether the appointment should be at 11am, or 1pm, based on how long our hair would stay did and also how long we’d need to shop for said accessories.
I remembered in a flash I had bought a handful of dresses on a JCrew run that had been sitting in my closet unworn, including a purple one I finally have the right bra for. So I packed these up, along with some blue suede heels from another JCrew run, and off we went to Drybar.
When we got there, Drybar Flatiron was in the process of shutting down. Like, for good. There was a kiosk near the front desk, where I attempted to access the internet to book us an appointment at one of the other three Drybar locations in Manhattan. It bonked. I looked around for human assistance. None.
Suddenly the IT team showed up and disconnected the internet and started powering down the electricity. A very tan woman with long fingernails appeared, picked up the appointment book, and put it in a box to take away.
Taylor Swift appeared briefly and without plotline.
To add to the stress, my personal trainer (ha ha) told me she was buddying me up with someone from the Junior American Runners Club to train for a 1-hour, 10-minute race where you run down a beach with a cocktail in your hand at the end of March. “You really think I can train to run nonstop for 1 hour and 10 minutes in two months?!”
This is the moment that we always envisioned our soul age would finally match our age-age. Seeing as we always considered ourselves, you know, super mature. Wise, even.
Maybe there is wisdom in red wine (and sugar and cheese) hangovers. Last-minute deadlines. The dread of new business pitches. Not being certain one has the right clothing for a 50-degree day in the Pacific Northwest. Literally, a day. “Now your exit row seat has a limited recline. Are you ok with that?”
Do I have a choice?
Happy Birthday to the insecure person with questionable hygiene habits and an increasingly discomfiting skepticism toward techno-utopianism. Happy Birthday to the person who cashed her birthday check from grandma before calling her to say thank you. To the person who gave her dog a Greenie even though he didn’t finish his breakfast. To the person who tried, and somewhat failed, to have a nice time on vacation with her parents. To the person who should try harder? Or who tries too hard? Lacks discipline? Needs it?
“Things just aren’t the way they used to be. No one speaks French anymore. The kids don’t even play with kites. There are no wooden spoons in the little paper cups of ice cream like there used to be. There aren’t even lightning bugs anymore, too many lights in the country. There are no more drive-in movies, or old time ice cream crank machines. Corporal punishment at school. Country dances. Brooms. People don’t sweep anymore.”—La Prairie des Femmes: Le monde fait pu ça.