Don't worry, we gave the extra bottles to the bums on Bowery

Oh hiiiiiiii.


I got a desk today.
Jeylan helped me.
Thanks Jeylan.
For the desk and also for making me laugh for about 6 blocks straight on the walk.
Made me feel back to life.

I hate the episode of Seinfeld thats on, the one with the lady George dates who makes papier-mache hats.
I think I spelled that wrong.

I'm not going to complain about anything for this whole post.

I'm going to join the gym on Ludlow.
I'm not doing it to lose weight I'm doing it so I can stop crying.
I think working out stops people from crying, just my opinion.
I guess that means I have to get gym clothes?
I might actually have to purchase something from American Apparel.
And new sneakers!
I'm thinking:



air stab.

Or maybe these:



You have to be a reeeeaaaal asshole to leave this shit on the steps of the Salvation Army. Your patchouli ass hippie sandals and your once white turned gray socks are not a donation.
They are garbage.


I want to take the opportunity to say I love you.
Because if I'm gonna do this no complaining thing I think I should dive right in.


I love you.
I love when you suggest things to fix me.
Because they are usually correct.
And you never make that face I hate, the face of disdain.
You understand that friends don't need to cuddle.
But sometimes.
Its not that bad.


I love studying.
It means I don't have to think about boy(s)
It means I get to write really small in my favorite notebook.
That fact that I have put this on my blog means I have admitted to the public that I'm a faggot who reads tarot and bases plenty of decisions on astrological hoopla.
In case you were wondering, I'm good at it.
So secrets out.
And I love telling my secrets.


I love the way you did that.
Its so rude that it reminds me of myself.
Like a little god.
Thumbs up one human. Thumbs down another.
You complete me.


I love you, destruction.
Whoever set this motorcycle on fire last week should probably prepare to marry me this week.
You can hardly tell it was torched, but at least you can see it lying there sadly.


I love the way even when you are texting, it looks like you are knitting a magical pair of baby booties.
And smiling just because you're still alive.


I love your art that looks like an apple core but is not at all a picture of an apple core.


I love how when I ask you to stretch-lunge in your shiny leggins...
You immediately comply.


I love that I can always. Always. Depend on Jason to pick his mustache when I see him.
And I can always depend on Chiara to wear something I need to see, like a an extraordinarily light denim jumpsuit.


I love the sound your petite feet make when we put little plastic cups on them.



I love how I always seem to have emotional breakdowns when I go to New Jersey.
Because the only person who will always forgive me is my mom.
Then I cross this bridge over the river, this same thing I saw so many times for so many years, and its still one of the most shockingly beautiful places in the world.


I love a lot of things.
Especially horses.
And kissing for the first time.
And punching people.

I'm sorry about that last one, it just happens to be true.