Charters were... not crappy. Made $120 in tips in the 11-2, met the father of a BU frosh rower (the enemy!). Next sail, from 3-5, was a bunch of crazy-ass Germans that were like every stereotype of Eurotrashy people rolled into one. Omigoodness, insane. But one was HOOOTTTTT. My goodness. Too bad I looked like shit, so flirting was limited to me ( Read more... )

I'm putting this here just so I always, always have this ( Read more... )

Schedule for tomorrow, my 20th birthday ( Read more... )

Steffan left.

Don't know whether or not I'll go visit him (or push for going to visit him). There's too much potential drama with his mommy dearest (and I do mean the no wire hangers! kind).

Starting a new story (novel?) about my house. We'll see how it goes.

When I'm with him, I'm happier than I ever have been. The casual way he'll reach out and ( Read more... )

Um, I think Steffan and I are done fighting. For now. We'll see.

Summer's entering its homestretch. Depressing. I don't want to go back to school. I'm really, really fucking apprehensive.

Me to Steffan: "One of us has to be the grownup so good luck tomorrow [on your chem final ( Read more... )

I like my new default. I have a lot of love for BSG, purely through the TWoP recaps. Now I need to actually, ya know, watch it. But I got intro Roswell through DJB's recaps way back in the day, so this can only be good ( Read more... )

At work, procrastinating. I've actually made good progress on the manuscript I'm reading... marking it up more than I have. I like this work, though I still think I'd rather be an editor than an agent. I just know something about reading and then--here's the important part--marking it up, helping to make it better, excites me like nothing else. As ( Read more... )

Long time to talk, eh?

Spent the night at Steffan's after my OBSCENE workday: 8:30-12:30, 3-hr break (2 hrs of which spent napping in the cabin and having bizarre dreams about being underwater), 3-9:fucking:30. (I wasn't *actually* working until about 9:30 a.m., but I'm counting the ridickkk 40-minute subway commute from Grand Central to Fulton ( Read more... )

Can I just say, that my ultimate goal in life is no longer to work at Vogue, but to work at New York Magazine? Oh my goodness, the snark of that mag abounds. It's clever (a little big too much so sometimes, but all forgivable), witty, charming, a taaaad bit pretentious (eh, who cares), and centered in the cultural elite of my favorite city. What's ( Read more... )