molls...she wrote

speaking of killing yourself, here's a hypothetical for ya...

nobody@vox.com(molls) — Mon, 25 Aug 2008 10:29:13 -0700

Let's say you took half a Xanax around 5 yesterday and then forgot about it because you were working and you're generally forgetful about such things.

Then let's say you didn't really eat all day because you were at the beach and working and it didn't particularly come to mind until late night that you were kind of starving.

Then like, perhaps you went to go hang out with this dude you used to date who you still hang out with sometimes and to whom you feel this weird attachment because you make each other LOL a shitload and he occasionally ignores you, which is your weakspot in this hypothetical situation.

Then pretend that you sat around for a couple hours watching The Best of Will Farrell SNL DVD and drinking beers and it was going pretty fucking well.

So then maybe his roommate comes home and he's eating a hamburger at the dinner table and it's around that time you realize that you're not buzzed, you're not tipsy, you're practically Puketown wasted.

Then you smoke a bunch of cigarettes and pound another beer, 'cause when you're too drunk the only solution seems to be to just keep drinking.

Then for some reason, you start mouthing off a whole bunch. Not that you aren't usually a back-talking, smartass, know-it-all (and you are!), but like, just basically being particularly venomous for no reason other than you're blackout drunk and kind of in a weird place in your life.

Then the blackout that you kind of knew was coming sets in and you don't really remember anything happening for the rest of the night other than the roommate with the hamburger telling you to be quiet when he was watching Cloverfield. Using logic you are able to piece together that whatever was happening up until that point involves you talking. Probably very loudly. About God know what. You kind of remember saying something along the lines of "Fuck Michael Phelps" at one point, but that might be just because you've been saying that a lot lately. Saying "Fuck Michael Phelps" is kind of your new bit. Because he's an American Hero or whatever. Anyway, this is hilarious to you but no one else almost all of the time, so it probably didn't go over too huge when you were blasted on a Sunday night with an old flame and his roommate who just wants to watch an impossible J.J. Abrams movie.

Sooooo. If all of that happened, what do you think the odds are that you're a good person without any sort of substance abuse problem?

Strictly a hypothetical.

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a conversation between friends

nobody@vox.com(molls) — Wed, 30 Jul 2008 22:17:06 -0700

Picture 28

Do you have a best friend who will kill for you?

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this is the dream i had last night

nobody@vox.com(molls) — Wed, 09 Jul 2008 23:20:55 -0700

My mom and I have to sleep in a room on a double bed that is next to another double bed in some room I've never been in before. When I check into this particular dream, my mom and I are already laying next to each other in bed and about to fall asleep. That's when I realize that in the next bed my ex boyfriend and his friend who happens to be gay are trying to fall asleep, too. It was awkward, but for some reason we either didn't want to or couldn't leave and get our own room or find different beds that were not near these guys.

So, I spend the night in that room and when I wake up (dream within a dream!) my ex boyfriend is giving his friend a handjob. So I look at him and say "[Redacted]! What the fuck are you doing?!?" I'm not upset because it turns out that my ex-boyfriend was probably jacking off his friend the whole time we were seeing each other, but because my poor mother is sleeping next to me and about three feet away from them.

At this point the friends crawls out of bed and runs to the bathroom. I'm left alone with my ex who I'm kind of having a stare down with. He has this genuine look of hurt on his face and he says "God, Molly. I was just doing what I had to do!" Then he stands up with the comforter wrapped around him like a cocoon and starts to walk out the door. Right before he leaves he turns to me and says "Beside, we've been over for awhile."

And I'm left laying there in bed wishing that I could explain that I'm more upset he was getting his friend off in the same room as my sleeping mother than I am about the implication that he was prostituting himself to his gay friend for God knows what.

I honestly have no interest in looking up the interpretation of this dream.

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maturity

nobody@vox.com(molls) — Wed, 04 Jun 2008 01:00:59 -0700

The older I get, the more I realize that the kind of men I am most attracted to aren't particularly cute and treat women like shit. As in, I'm into chubby or manorexic dudes that don't call the girls that they hook up with back and/or talk shit freely about their own mothers. For some reason, that's sexy to me.

I've come to the realization that this is not necessarily their problem or mine as much as it's just something I need to be aware of... as if that really makes a difference.

Anyway, I think this shows at least a small bit of maturity on my part.

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looking glass

nobody@vox.com(molls) — Wed, 07 May 2008 13:57:41 -0700

Today I was responding to random reader emails and this nice girl emailed me about the dress I made a couple weeks ago.

After I replied, she wrote back with the following line. It made me smile big time:

Also, this is probs creepy/TMI, but sometimes when I am watching shitty television in my pajamas/thinking about the girls my ex-boyfriend is nailing, I look at pictures of Wagandstuff and it cheers me up, for reals.

Real cute, right?

If it's any consolation, your ex-boyfriend is probably a fucking asshole.

DSC07595

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music in the third dimension

nobody@vox.com(molls) — Tue, 15 Apr 2008 12:05:50 -0700

Kendall and Molls: Memorable Music

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fanboy

nobody@vox.com(molls) — Tue, 11 Mar 2008 19:13:41 -0700

I went on a date with this dude like a month ago or something and we were in his car and he was all "Do you like the Pixies?" and I was all "Yeah, definitely" and he was all "Good". The way he said it really got under my skin. What if I didn't like the Pixies? Was I supposed to be dishonest? Had I said no was I supposed to get out of the car and never call him again? His investment in the Pixies bothered me. It wasn't even his personal investment that was the issue, it was that he cared so much about whether or not he liked them that I had to like them too. I had to meet his Pixie Approval.

What's funny about this is the dude I am talking about is not the only person to ask me about my enjoyment of the Pixies in recent months, so there are probably a couple people who will think I'm referring them. If you think I'm talking about you, I'm probably not. Unless you're an aggressive jerk... then I'm definitely describing you.

The Pixies - Where Is My Mind

Pixies

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a dick to the face

nobody@vox.com(molls) — Tue, 11 Mar 2008 10:51:21 -0700

Picture 9

Thank you, Facebook. Without the "Relationship Stories" mini-feed feature, I would be completely unaware that I have been single (on the record) as long as mini-feed has existed on Facebook.

I swear to God it was a choice at one point.

(Just a quick update because upon rereading this entry I realize that I sound desperate and/or pathetic. I am neither. I definitely could find a date if I wanted one, I just hate everyone I know beside the people I like. People are insanely disappointing. Got it?)

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a conversation between friends

nobody@vox.com(molls) — Wed, 27 Feb 2008 22:03:25 -0800

click twice to enlarge

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um, the best.

nobody@vox.com(molls) — Thu, 07 Feb 2008 11:30:19 -0800

Valentines day massacre

Any takers?

If you're in the NY area, I strongly suggest you sign up for this... He says: "I'm really just looking for a cute, freckle-faced girl to talk with."

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