What is a couched and fat-ankled preggo lady supposed to do while half watching Midnight Run in the late afternoon? Why google the past, obvs. And sometimes you come across charming discoveries like this, which my friends put together a long time ago, when I was not yet a fat-ankled preggo lady, but just another fat-ankled ingenue/writer/drunk with big New York dreams.
Also, there is this, written by one of my favorite people of all time, a bridesman at my wedding, a collector of ephemera and bittersweet oddities, a man who entitled an email to me “hells yeah i’ve had sex on a tire swing. and that shit was good”, a tenderheart, my true friend and personal physician, Mark Whoslastnamemustnotbenamed.