Writing

And when you are riding your bike down 6th Ave, and you pass a woman crying, think about stopping. This young, distraught woman whose loveliness is stifled by despair might need you. But remember, she is not your friend. You can console her, hug her, maybe, but don't kiss her forehead and refrain from massaging. Listen, of course listen, but proffered advice is not always welcome. You can't just say, “Perhaps it's time to cut out all films dealing with cancer.” For that matter, why go see any movie with death in it? Or pain inflicted on animals. Or anything to do with addiction.

In the last week, I have come across the word “ubiquitous” within the first few chapters of three different books. I think the word “ubiquitous” has become ubiquitous.
Crissy Powers, my bike, is too heavy to carry up and down three flights of stairs every day. However, when there is a large pile of vomitus disgustus marinating outside the elevator, it is amazing how light she becomes.

Let me take a minute from my diatribes about my silly dating life and give a shout out to two of my favorite people on this planet. One year ago, on August 14, 2010, my little sister Vanessa married my best friend Alaine. This was a momentous occasion on so many levels. First of all, they were married the week that California repealed Proposition 8, known as the Marriage Ban.

Dear Feminine Half of the Cutest Couple in all of Manhattan, Thanks for welcoming me to your city. Your home. I know some people think peer pressure is something that no longer concerns us past the age of 17, but you have proved that wrong. Exhibit: Lacy.
You are surrounded by friends that adore you, but sometimes I feel like they do not even know how much you deserve to be adored. But I do. And I love you.

And so last night I went to see Bon Iver live at the Prospect Park Bandshell, which is an incredible outdoor venue inside an incredibly beautiful park in Brooklyn. And while everyone stood around me, swaying and clapping and even dancing (and oh how cute they are, those two, my friends, the ones dancing with hands clasped and eyes closed, almost old-fashioned the way they move, and really they are the best looking couple in all of New York City, especially because they are quite lovely people on the inside, too) I stayed on the ground.

Mary the alcoholic was wondering if she could come over. She used to wait for a proper invitation just like her mother taught her like she knows to be appropriate but she is tired of waiting and wondering so she has jumped the gun, so to speak, and was hoping you would have her over for dinner. This week. How about tonight?

There is something about New York City that feels familiar, like you lived here once before, or spent summers here playing stickball in the streets using potholes for bases and rinsing your sweaty head off under the rusty drinking fountain spout. And yet you are new to the city. These streets are not yours and never have been and let's get serious, you have never played baseball in the street using a stick. But walking from Avenue to Avenue, sticking to the shady side of the street feels so normal and ingrained.

I am enough for you, but are you enough for me?
Take this, and a little more, but you should know
you are not taking anything at all.
That wasn't me, you see,
And today, this me is merely.
What surprises me is that you are pleased with the slice I have served you.
The sample I have given you is enough for you
and it is enough for you to take it
without wondering if it is enough for me.
You take and you smile and your grin lengthens into a gaping cavern dripping dark,
at least that is what I see,

Happy Birthday to my Grandma Betty. To Grandma Elizabeth Bird Lake Stablein. Grandma Buttsy. The woman who will always remain in my mind as slightly chubby and jovial and blessed with a head of thick and lovely hair. Seeing her now, light as a child and just as helpless, it is hard to envision her as a bustling busybody shooing the kids out of the kitchen while she adds more butter to the giant bowl of mashed potatoes. Grape soda. Grandma Buttsy always had grape soda on hand for us, even if it was sometimes flat. She loved to watch the news. She taught us how to gamble.

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