Emchap's Shit from the Internet 5/03/17 🍠
This was a weird hard sad week because yesterday was the four-year anniversary of my mother's death and my graduation from college, which I didn't post about on Facebook because the responses to performative grief make me annoyed more than anything because I'm awful, so I instead elected to go home early after getting a stress migraine, order 8,000 calories of Papa John's, and burst into tears after opening OKCupid, the way god intended.
Once I'd finished crying, but before the pizza arrived, a work friend who's in from out of town messaged me about the fact that the people next to him in a dollar pizzeria were planning a threesome, complete with Very Dumb Code Words, and stayed through four slices of pizza to send me what was basically a line-by-line transcription of the entire, horrifying conversation. There was a discussion of bike helmets and duct tape and I hope in my heart that the college kids had a good time because their conversation provided my an emotional bright spot on an otherwise very sad day.
Shit to read
I have recently decided that one of the things I want in the men I know is that they have actual friendships with other men rather than just leaning on the emotional labor of female friendship. It has been an interesting thing to look around for. As a result, I enjoyed this Alana Massey joint on One Direction and the gentle affection of boys.
I am a Tinder Guy Holding a Fish and I Will Provide for You is a beautiful piece and I am grateful it was sent to me.
One of the things that was really valuable for me in my last few years as a former smart kid who never needed to work very hard at things I was bad at was getting into improv, something I wanted to be good at and instead sucked super badly at for a long time. Failure—constant, low-grade failure—in a safe space is beneficial. For the author of this article, the solution was surfing, rather than improv.
I have stock equity now and it's worth money and I'm scared of fucking it up and owing money and money and money to the feds, and my brain shuts down and wanders and looks at clothes, instead. These clothes and the interview with the woman wearing them were particularly soothing.
I finished my first-ever viewing of Sex and the City this week, and am still sorting out how I feel about it. This piece (sent to me by the same woman as the Tinder Fish above) about how SATC was one of the first shows to really allow its characters to change over time—often in ways that made them more frustrating—is really, really good.
Shit to eat
After a somewhat traumatizing pantry cleanout where you discover roach eggs (so many) on an Upper Shelf, pull out a still-sealed pack of ramen that is, somewhat conservatively, two years old.
Fill a medium pot nearly all the way with water.
Raise it to what you think is a rolling boil and then wait two more minutes because you know that isn't really one.
Reduce heat to a simmer, and drop in an egg.
Boil a cup of water in another, smaller pot.
Drop in half the ramen, a bunch of sesame oil, and a smaller bunch of soy sauce. Toss the seasoning packet.
After five minutes, take the egg out of the first pot and rinse it in the sink by tossing it back and forth between your hands while running water over yourself and the egg to avoid burns.
Cut the heat on the second pot.
Toss in some chopped scallions.
Carefully crack and peel the egg.
Toss it in, too.
Transfer everything to bowls you got from your friend who has since moved to San Diego, where things seem sunny and nice and someone can buy a house.
Go sit in your armchair by the window with your ramen and your soft boiled egg and decide that things are okay.
Shit to listen to
In honor of the week, listen to this Kimya Dawson song, which I cannot listen to because I will burst into tears. The first time I ever went to Athens, GA was to see Kimya Dawson live with my high school best friend. We got badly lost and drove back roads the whole way there, and at the concert she made all the men stand in the back so the short girls could see. It was a good time.
Shit to buy
I am obsessed with this shawl jacket. There's some future where I just pay someone to buy me all new clothes and I get this and I know how to buy pants that fit and I do a lot of yoga, I think.
Also obsessed with these origami enamel pins which may have been in an old newsletter and I don't eeeeeven care.
I am dreaming of beach days and carrying all my things to them in this tote. Join me.