According to Google, there are twelve independent bookstores in upper Manhattan, the section of the city I call home.
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It felt like I was coming face to face with someone I’ve known my whole life: a trusted confidant, a wise neighbor and teacher and principal and professor.
But regardless of his insistence that I follow his exact instructions or else something might go Terribly Wrong, I’d come too far to go back now.
When I get a job, I will have a brand-new wardrobe to match my brand-new job. I’m not sure where all these new clothes will come from, but most likely Olivia Pope’s closet.
As soon as we walked into West Park Presbyterian Church, we were already in the wrong place.
Bobby pin located by companion, lock picking commenced. She picks. I pick. The lock is deemed unpickable.
I can distinctly remember my life before I knew what Delilah looked like, but I cannot go back to that time.
So there you have it: my NYC role models. Here’s hoping I learn from their mistakes and also make some non-fictional friends ASAP.
The most concerning aspect of this new policy is that it does not leave any room for thoughtful, spirit-led discussion and potential disagreement.
Eventually we’ll we end up here, at Martha’s, on a Tuesday, past our bedtime. For sweet treats, those blessed and treacherous confections.
“All the lonely people / where do they all come from? All the lonely people / are they actually as lonely as they look or are they just having a bad day?” – Paul McCartney and me
+10 Christian points and +1000 Calvin points.
I have spent the past few months reading and laughing and feeling a part of a larger community of people who frequented the site. The Toastie community is known for its camaraderie.
I don’t pray anymore. I feel like I should want to, but I don’t. I bow my head in church and before meals, but those are more habits than prayers.
You wanted to see if you could get an appointment soon?! Like, within the year of our Lord 2016?! Don’t you know how busy we are?
She is polite, she is professional. She has never met you before, and probably won’t interact with you outside of formal setting, or ever again.
But where do our clothes actually come from? Before they get to the mall or the boutique or the bargain bin, before we buy them for their comfort, style, or perceived necessity in our wardrobe. Sure, the tag lists a country, but what does that really mean? Who are the people who make them? What are their working conditions like? Are they paid a living wage?
“Galentine’s Day is about celebrating lady friends,” said the holiday’s founder, Leslie Knope of Pawnee, Indiana. “We leave our husbands and boyfriends at home and just come and kick it breakfast-style.”
So, in the immortal words of Usher and St. Augustine, these are my confessions. Fellow lit lovers, I have failed you.
In a world overwhelmed by possibility, sometimes it sounds really great to have someone else make your choices for you and put them in a neat little box.
So how did we get here? The short answer: a bevy of resources and good old-fashioned guilt. We got married, and suddenly there was this room of pots and pans and spatulas and measuring cups and blenders and spice racks.
I’ve been married for two months, so I know pretty much everything there is to know about my husband. Everything except for, you know, what he’s like in the morning.
So we turned our backs on the ocean and found one of the last things we expected to find on the beach in France: a ping pong tournament.
Like I said, I worry a lot. My husband tells me that about 50 percent of the time that I feel bad about something, I shouldn’t. Our honeymoon was no exception.
As I mentioned, equality is huge component of our relationship, and this post is no exception. So, without any further ado, I give you the future Mr. Mitchell Kramer.
The moment brought me back to reality: I know nothing about these people. I was more bothered by this development than I should have been. While I knew these people didn’t live in the little box I had created for them, couldn’t they at least wait until I left the beach to step out of it?
The clever phrasings, the lilting harmonies, the bone-soaking sadness, the hard-earned joy—it fills me up with the subtle satisfaction of uncertainty.
It has even worked its way into my eating habits. That sandwich is the best on the menu, you say? The one with a lot of things on it, yeah? Okay I’ll pass.
I foolishly believed that my love of the concept of the Tiny Desk Concert would be enough to make me love the majority of the Tiny Desk Concerts. I was mistaken.
For each item you own, hold it in your hands and ask yourself, “Does this spark joy?” If the answer is “yes!”, you keep it. If the answer is “no,” you get rid of it. It’s that simple.