So THAT’S where all of those came from.

(Source: kitschyliving)

Beyoncé may or may not be in labor. Either way, it’s always best to have some Beyoncé-oriented birthing puns at hand for when the time comes. Allow Lauren, Mary and I to help you.

Knowing that one of my favorite people on the planet is moving a few thousand miles closer to me makes this season of darkness just a little more bearable.

Horse Piano

The idea is to get a horse, a Central Park workhorse.

A horse who lives in a city, over in the hell part of Hell’s
    Kitchen, in a big metal tent.

You have to get one who is dying.

Maybe you get his last day on the job, his owner, his
    tourists.

You get his walk back home at the end of the day,

some flies, some drool. You get his deathbed, maybe.

And then, post mortem, still warm, you get the vet or else
    the butcher

to take his three best legs. And then you get the taxidermist
    to stuff them

heavy, with some alloy, steel, something.

Next day you go over to Christie’s interiors sale and buy a baby-grand piano,

shabby condition but tony provenance, let’s say it graced the
    entry hall

of some other Vanderbilt’s Gold Coast classic six.

And you ask the welder you know to carefully replace the
    piano legs

with the horse legs, and you put the horse/piano somewhere
    like a lobby,

and you hire a guy to play it on the hour, so that everybody
    will know

how much work it is to hold anything up in this world.

— Anna McDonald

"Once, a duck she was cooking caught fire, and she threw it in the pool."

Michael Stipe on Gwenyth Paltrow, from The New Yorker’s Best of the Talk of the Town 2011.

There’s An IUD in the Pelvis

It’s been over 13 years since I was first diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease. A year ago I enrolled in a drug study that has finally controlled my digestive issues. Six months ago I began experiencing crippling joint and muscle pain. My Neck, My Back would be a hilarious go-to theme song, except it hurts to laugh.

Things haven’t been very funny around here lately despite my best efforts to assure everyone I am fine. Mainly because I’m not.

I’ve got a team of doctors to help manage whatever this is. So far, all signs point to spondyloarthropathy. Essentially, my body is inflamed and does not know how to properly handle itself. I can’t take it anywhere.

A lot has happened since I was initially hospitalized in 1998. Back then, texting did not exist. Britney Spears was still a virgin. So was I. It would be a few months before I built my first website. Now, test results are delivered over the Internet. I send all caps emails to my rheumatologist in the middle of the night.

Last week I received the above analysis. While it all comes down to a series of endless details not pictured, one thing is clear: there is an IUD in the pelvis.

At least we can all sleep easy knowing there is an IUD in the pelvis. Are you hungry? Well, we could order out, or there’s IUD in the pelvis. Ladies and gentleman, do not be startled, but there is an IUD in the pelvis. Come n’ get it, fellas, there’s an IUD in the pelvis.

I have had that one sentence, which means nothing to my diagnosis, stuck in my head for days. And the IUD, it continues to sit in my pelvis. My uterus, to be exact. I’d laugh out loud, but it hurts. I suppose the IUD is laughing right along with me, on the inside.

Jacob: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/45658362/ns/local_news-seattle_wa/#.Tue04mPNm-U

Me: ARE YOU KIDDING ME WITH THIS RIGHT NOW? SERIOUSLY?

Jacob: what? He looked cool.

Me: that dead seal is named Al. This is the most depressing thing in the world.
 
Jacob: he lived a long nice life and has a son.
 
Me: read the article! It is not his son! It is just another furry seal. On loan, even.
 
Jacob: it says he is “survived by,” doesn’t that mean they are related?
 
Me: they cohabitated, but Al was not biologically related to his seal son.
 
Me: like if you and I were married and you died you would be “survived by” me but we’re not releated. We would just live together like SAD SEALS.

Jacob: sad seals together.

Sometimes a little effort is all we can ever manage, Daily Mail.

I feel silly essentially reblogging myself, but I just want to thank everyone for their wonderful response to Vintage Smith College. I love digging through archives, hunting down alums and getting to know who is looking at what.

Keep on submitting and sharing your stories. Thank you, thank you.

Old Loves

As you fall asleep tonight, I want you to remember that:

• Molly RIngwald dated Adam Horovitz.
• Michael Caine fell in love with Natalie Wood.
• Bette Davis held hands with Howard Hughes.