the worst.

Dear marc,
I’m sitting at a bus stop listening to a cover of ‘forever young’ and getting SENTIMENTAL. I had to leave the bar because I’m tired/old/drunk/hungry/OLD, which is the saddest thing I’ve ever admitted in public.

help a bitch, srsly. 

And of course the bus is 20 minutes late. I WANT TO EAT THE CHOCOLATE MY MOM SENT ME. Happy easter, you cunt.



dear marc,

hey. how are you? you’re doing great? your business has never been better and you’re actively running 3 or 4 companies? i’m so happy for you.


i’ve become everything i never wanted to be: i’m single, penniless, MOSTLY SOBER BECAUSE I’M SO PENNILESS, and living with someone who yells at me if i wash my face or make toast after 930 pm. AND I HAVE TO TAKE THE BUS, MARC. THE BUS. do you know what that’s like? feel free to read this insightful socio-anthropological study about bus people in Seattle and then picture yourself all up in that asshole. IT ISN’T PRETTY. IT SMELLS.

and my life has become a series of panic attacks because i either can’t stop thinking about being unemployed or, more recently, why a job i’ve interviewed for three times didn’t pan out because i’m a ‘cowboy’ and ‘too creative.’  so i spend most of my days walking to calm myself. i walk right when i get up in the morning (afternoon), when all the people who work from home are running or pushing strollers and it makes me even more depressed because it makes me wish i was unemployed and still in London, where the only people out during that time were homeless people and nannies who took their charges to the park just so they could secretly smoke behind their backs. i also walk at night, which is the witching hour for fat chicks who don’t want people to see them run, and hormonal youths who eat each others tongues at the bus stop two blocks away (YOU ARE TERRIBLE KISSERS). i also keep my eyes out for Lucius, Wyatt, and Gordy:


HELLO, REWARD MONEY. i’ve thought about calling these people and telling them that i have their precious pet, but i won’t let them have it back because finders-keepers, just to stir the pot.

and i’ve found that i’m doing this thing that i do when i’m really depressed and have no friends, which is eat really fibrous foods and then lie, silent and bloated, in my bed watching 3rd Rock from the Sun thinking, ‘i’m so glad i don’t have a bunch of friends who are always asking me to do stuff, because i would definitely have to turn them down tonight, i’m so gassy.’ i usually pass out right before the Solomons sit on their roof and muse about that week’s adventure.

but before you go doing something silly, like OFFER ME A JOB or go cry on your EGYPTIAN COTTON BEDSPREAD WITH HAIND-STITCHED SILHOUETTES OF YOURSELF (i’m assuming), everything isn’t lost. i’ve been pictured on a couple blogs looking like the piece of trash i’ve become, which is obviously nothing new but it keeps my spirits up and my name in the papers.

i’m getting desperate, marc. REALLY desperate. tomorrow i might apply to work at a grocery store just so i can save myself from needing to go to the emergency room when my bedsores get infected.

please, marc. please get me out of here.

let’s remember

dear marc,

i know it’s been too long since we spoke, but i’ll change that, i swear. i felt i should write you today because i was looking for something to listen to while i drove around and smoked and low and behold i found jewel’s pieces of you in my lazy susan cd holder. let’s take a moment to realize that it has been FIFTEEN YEARS since this epic, whiny gem entered our lives. yes, my dear marc, fifteen years ago i was a chubby 8-year-old requesting the RADIO version (yes, the album version is completely different) of “who will save your soul” at the rollerskating rink with my kind-of-girlfriend, mallory, probably wearing something like this:
oh god. the JORTS! the CASUALLY-KNOTTED-ABOUT-THE-WAIST, OVER-SIZED SWEATSHIRT! the BLACK. HIGH TOPS! i was so now, so patriotic. marc, hire me and get me out of indiana simply because this photo says, “i’m here. i’m secretly gay. and yes, i saw michelle pfeiffer wear her sweaters like this in up close and personal and i KNEW it was right for me, too.”
take this day to reflect, marc. take this day to listen to “painters” or “adrian” and think about those we’ve lost.
i swear i’ll keep in touch.

poop poop bashoop

dear marc,

last week was a BIG one and my balls still hurt from it. i got to see the SS ’09 line at reiss and LET ME TELL YOU it’s a gem. i finally want to start wearing the clothes. too bad i’ll be gone by the time all the good shit comes out.
the real drama/splendor of the week comes from the event we had with GRAZIA magazine on wednesday. everything was great at around 745–people were coming in, having a few free cocktails and spending drunk dollars on okay-looking things. great. THEN at around 930, when all the customers had left, my co-workers and i discovered that there were about 30 bottles of unopened champaign just sitting around, waiting to be guzzled down. AND GUZZLE WE DID. after i drank my weight in champaign, i headed out for a smoke, but not before drinking from a random bottle of vodka…that’s where it gets blurry. things i remember doing/saying:
–‘let’s get the fuck outta here, motherfucks’
–moving to the bar down the street and falling a little bit
–‘oh my god, i love you guys so much’
and then…NOTHING. the next day i woke up on my polish supervisor’s couch.
AGA(in a robe):Matt, darling, we is leaving in an hour.
ME(in my underwear):oooooooooooooooooooh my god
i thought i had sex with her for a minute. then i looked at my clothes from the night before and realised that aga just took pity on me because CLEARLY i was vomitting everywhere. and then i had to go to work, which was just awful. i was throwing up all day and randomly passing out on piles of clothes. i haven’t been that hung over since i got kicked out of kappa kappa gamma’s formal for throwing up on people. ug.
but really, it was all worth it. despite the fact that everyone keeps asking if i feel better and keeps giving advice like, ‘maybe you shouldn’t drink. ever’ i think i really bonded with my co-workers and made some flimsy friendships that should last until i leave london in february. and isn’t that what partying is really all about?
’till next time, darling.