Feels Category
Life begins at the end of your comfort zone, and mine ends somewhere around paint-ball
Posted on April 30, 2014 Leave a Comment
Last weekend I made the (totally conscious and sober) decision to go paint-balling with 20 friends, a couple of ex-boyfriends, one ex-boyfriend’s younger brother and some strangers. Anyone who knows me well knows that, while I have negative athletic net-worth, I am (kind of) rich in inner rage (and only kind-of kidding). Hiking aside (not my […]
What it’s like to go viral
Posted on April 23, 2014 17 Comments
“Lol speak for yourself bitch. Stay classy!” – Megan McCunt, lolnowhodoyouthink@lolno.com Going viral is a lot like skydiving. I’ve always wanted to do it, but was never quite sure I had the balls. One day, the Internet pushed me out of that shaky, hypothetical airplane (without warning or a parachute) and the free-fall was equally terrifying, incredible, exhilarating, and awful. Two weeks […]
What it’s like pocket-dialing a dead parent and being emotionally triggered by Five Guys
Posted on April 17, 2014 7 Comments
Update: Four months since this was published and I’m still emotionally triggered by Sister Act. Death is kind of like a bad break-up. There’s a lot of ugly crying, fetal position dry heaves, binge drinking and subsequent after-hours spent reaching for the phone. The only difference is that, this time, there’s no chance of reconcile in the corner of a […]
Treat yourself: An open letter to the Class of 2014
Posted on April 8, 2014 118 Comments
To the Class of 2014, This is it. One month ’till May and, odds are, you’re feeling numb and nauseous. The walls are closing in, all rugs have been pulled out and you’re compulsively spell-checking your resumé (while simultaneously snapchatting, putting off that ten-page paper and planning your next pregame). In six or so weeks you’ll be […]
I’m a writer with nothing to write about
Posted on April 1, 2014 1 Comment
Except dancing on an Alphabet City bar stage to Salt n Pepa, posing outside of Irish Exit because “we’re 21 now…wait, we’re 23,” losing the head of a screwdriver to the cork on the inside of a wine bottle, and that guy from OKCupid who said, “If you were a triangle, you’d be acute one.” Okay, okay. I have […]
An open letter to my tolerance
Posted on March 6, 2014 Leave a Comment
It was midnight on a Saturday as I sat upright, dead sober and straight-faced at a small-town Brooklyn bar. My friends fed money to the tip jar and the jukebox (all rap songs removed by the bar-owner) while I forced back a Bud heavy like it was cough syrup and sulked. This gruesome public display of depression was (and always will be) worse […]
An ode to baggage and “being yourself”
Posted on February 7, 2014 1 Comment
“How far are you from your folks’ place?” asked a way-cooler-than-me 29-year-old punk(ish) band member I was interviewing over an expensive cup of coffee and apartment-talk in Greenpoint. Using the term “folks” made him instantly cooler. That, and his off-center nose ring. “Oh, both my parents are dead.” Thank God this wasn’t a date. His face […]
Sometimes I forget she died
Posted on January 21, 2014 8 Comments
Sometimes I forget she died and it’s not until I stop everything I’m doing that I remember she did. It’s not until I see the president speak, work sixteen hours straight or consider ordering French Onion Soup. It’s not until I find that emory board she was always looking for or the wedding pictures I never […]
Dear Notebook: a seventh-grader’s guide to abortion, Good Charlotte and the real world
Posted on January 20, 2014 3 Comments
Moving is hard. I knew that. I’ve seen Casper. I saw it coming. What I didn’t see coming (besides the blizzard that fucked my U-Haul)? It being ten times harder (times the square root) when you’ve got your own shit, your parents’ shit and their parents’ shit. Three months, 50-something garbage bags, 25 reinforced boxes […]
“Is that mold?”: the two week live-blog of my first apartment
Posted on January 15, 2014 4 Comments
DAY ONE: The family before us fled to Egypt, locking the only set of keys inside our new apartment and prompting me to cry in front of a locksmith because it’s New Year’s Day, management’s closed and “God damnit I pay to live here now.” They left us 60 cents, two wine glasses and a […]
Meaghan McGoldrick 