Re: Mrs. Manganelli, who in spite of her puppy hair and Anne Klein loafers, really was an excellent math teacher. If only I could have appreciated her explosive mathematical prowess by having been good at math, being good at math, and continuing to be good at math (sorry SAT, GRE, SAT II, tipping in restaurants, calculating discounts on leather leggings at the Barneys Warehouse Sale). She was also a total heinous cunt, and slammed David with like eighteen demerits for cutting off Sara Gilli's hair when she fucking told him to cut her hair and he responded affirmatively. But extreme fear equals extreme love equals lust equals oh man teachertime, and I will never in my life forget the impact Nora Manganelli had on my fantasies, my songwriting, my home life, my effusive self-loathing. I feared her even in the confines of my playhouse, tumbling slideward wondering if I'd forgotten to staple a homework assignment yet again. Or did I miss a page on my pop quiz? Did I say the Lord's name in vain? OH YOU BET I DID (NOT) DID (NOT) DID I?
I also got in trouble for writing a Mother's Day Card haiku about fetal alcohol syndrome. But this was a different teacher with a manbeastier haircut and a labcoat.
I still don't know how to number pages.
The moral is, instead of inheriting the earth, as a meek person is wont to do, I am eating the earth with my cruelty and insensitivity, and then spitting it out a masticated disaster. I mean, not really. I'm not even remotely that important.
In the vein of our late friend McQueen, who will never design a pair of tartan drop crotch trousers again, other things I'm tired of, but delight in relating to you so much they make me never, ever want to pull a McQueen (and yes I said McQueen twice (now three times, count them!) in the same sentence):
-nondescript indie pop masquerading as something other than nondescript indie pop. Why why why are the Shins still played at parties? I do not get it. At. All.
-Taylor Swift (like wtf? Why is she famous?)
-The Sartorialist/Garance Dore/other short-sighted, narrow-scoped street style blogs
As soon as blizzardfest began last Tuesday night, I turned to Ryan and said: "I can't wait to see puppies jump around in the snow!"
So, here I am, forever lame and crying at meowing kittens and wee birds. If you're ever in New York, you should check out the wee bird (a parakeet, I think) at Assembly on the Lower East Side. You'll also find (some) really super awesome clothes. They have a leather shift dress that fits like a dream. If I were wealthy (cough: had any money whatsoever) it would be in my closet right now. With the Quoddy boots and over the knee Chanel boots I fantasize about on a semi-daily basis.
UGH what a mess. Hangover city.