“I think we have a responsibility to make [gays] acceptable. We have to get past all this bullshit, so that some gay kid going to high school doesn’t get the shit beat out of him just because he’s gay. And like, what is this hang up with gay marriage, you know? Who cares?!”—
Not once in my life has my uterus ever ached for a child.
To all you people that keep saying, “Oh, you’re 28, you’ve been married for 4 years, your sister has two beautiful little girls, when are you going to start having your own?” um, fuck you, I’m too busy living/working/playing/etc to even think about procreating.
“Stern and stoned and confident, coming up towards the jukebox.
Born into the only songs that everybody finally sings along.
B-1 is for the good girls,
It’s Only the Good Die Young.
C-9 is for the making eyes,
It’s Paradise by the Dashboard Light.
D-4 is for the lovers.
B-12 is for the speeders.
And the hard drugs are for the bartenders and the kitchen workers and the bartender’s friends.
And they’re playing it again.
Ellen Foley gives us hope.
Certain songs they get scratched into our souls.”—
The Hold Steady, Certain Songs.
I love bars with old school jukeboxes filled with solid songs. See, e.g., Kettle of Fish on Christopher Street.
Thursday it was “Hmmm… a little too cold to really hang out outside, that wind can come out of nowhere and really cut you to the core” and now we’re at “dear fucking god, it is so hot outside I don’t want to move.”
The good news is that it’s, as the man Maddie and I met on our walk said, “Not bulldog weather” and Maddie has appropriately responded by chilling out and doing almost nothing but sleep for the past two days.