On converging circles of friends
Today was weird.
raison d'être
this is how happy you make me - heidi braids and a flower in my hair
On my summer so far
I am a New York Media Intern. It feels strange saying aloud, as it carries some almost mythical connotations. The coffee-wrangling, receipt-nagging, purposely silent figure traipsing around the city in black flats and a totebag. Immortalized in The Devil Wears Prada (if only I got free clothes out of this deal), and oft-remembered perhaps not fondly, but as a passage of necessity by most professionals in the industry, this period of my adult education is one I’ve happily predicted for years. Yet now that it’s here, I cannot say I’m welcoming to its outstretched, sweaty palms.
I find it’s easier to fill the role of outsider in any situation than it is to make an honest attempt at assimilation. I’ve already hedged myself against the other interns in the office, which isn’t the best situation to be in, but it wasn’t intentional. They just started to gravitate towards each other - especially the Monday ones - and left me out. I’m not bitter, as they still keep me privy to their conversation - the other day, Southern Sorority Sister #1 told Southern Sorority Sister #2 that she had a CRAZY AWESOME time at the Village Pourhouse this past weekend! I like one person at work - one of the PAs, Enzo. He went to Penn State and is round and white and all smiles. He’s nicer to me than any of the other interns and it makes me feel special. Probably because I told him that I didn’t feel comfortable around all the other women in the office, to which he responded, “That’s the most honest thing I’ve ever heard anybody say here.”
Today, I was writing down the timecodes for a shoot of Lara Spencer stand-ups in Times Square. There was much debate over whether or not the jewelry she was sporting conveyed a certain “gravitas.” Apparently, pearls are very gravitas-y. Who knew? I found it quite silly that the term “gravitas” was being tossed around as Lara read off the prompter, “The latest from the Michael Jackson autopsy report: were there needle marks all over his body?!” in the best mock-seriousness she could muster.
suck it bitch
On mixed-up memories
Her: So remember when you were seeing “Fast Eddie” and you left me on the boardwalk by myself to go meet up with him somewhere?
Me: Yeah, but I don’t remember leaving you there by yourself.
Her: Oh yep, you did.
Me: I would never do that. There had to have been another person.
Her: No one.
Me: It was stupid. We met up by 12th street and he was drunk and pissed on the beach as I watched.
Her: I remember you telling me that after you found me again.
Me: Oh.
I honestly don’t think I left her alone. Did I?
Look at this potential threeway.
