“When you hold me there are words for that. I do not remember the words for that but I remember that there are words. There are not words for when you do not hold me. I remember that there are no words in the world so I say them.”
Ladies, I am holding out my hand. Do you trust me?
I need you to open Google Maps. Locate your nearest mall. Get in your car. Drive to Yankee Candle.
Past the seasonal pumpkin display, near the back of the store, you will find a trash pile Man Candle section. You will see candles called MMM, Bacon!. Riding Mower. Man Town. (I’m not kidding. Man Town.) Stay strong. Not in this section, but likely very near this section, you will find a candle called Mountain Lodge.
Hold this jar in your hands like a talisman. Close your eyes and picture a man.
I want to be clear: I’m not talking about a Hugh Dancy. Or an Andrew Garfield, a Ben Whishaw, even a Tom Hiddleston. This exercise requires someone in the Chris Evans weight class. The Richard Armitage department. Someone with smile lines around his eyes who could chop the cedar for your bower with his own hands, strangle an alpha wolf, carry you home when you sprain your ankle in the woods, bench press your entire body. Picture this man in your mountain home with a full beard, a slightly grimy white henley, a fond half smile he reserves only for you. Now open the lid and smell Mountain Lodge.
Steady yourself on the man candle display. Give yourself a second. No, you’re not wrong. Yes, the Yankee Candle Company has just eliminated the need for men. This medium tumbler Mountain Lodge candle jar is now your boyfriend. The Yankee Candle Company has effectively replaced the need for contact with the male half of our species with a compact and clean-burning candle in a jar.
"Do you like this one?" the cashier asked, ringing me up. "Every man should be required by law to smell like what this candle smells like," I replied intensely. "That’ll be $12.01," she said.
The bride took her husband’s last name. The bride took her mother-in-law’s bracelet. The bride took six gold candlesticks from the reception hall. The bride took her sister’s dignity and her cousin’s eyes. The bride was last seen heading north.
The bride is keeping her last name but has forsaken all else. The bride no longer answers the phone after the sun goes down. The bride wears an eyepatch and stays indoors when it rains. The bride is giving away her earthly possessions on the front lawn of the wedding chapel every Sunday for the foreseeable future.
The bride is keeping her last name but has forgotten the rest of it. Started with an S, maybe. If found, please return to the bride.
The bride took everything, and now there’s nothing left for us.
The bride is keeping her name in a golden casket locked in a cave by the sea. The bride’s name is guarded by a beast with no eyes and three hearts. No man born in Christendom can find the cave; no man baptized in the name of Christ can defeat the beast; no man raised on free soil can open the casket. The man who finds her name will receive his heart’s desire.
You write, “It’s like I keep figuring this shit out, and then forgetting it immediately.” That’s not your strange little personal problem. That’s not what makes you uniquely fucked. That’s a universal truth, a fundamental dimension of the human condition. You know who feels that way? You, me…
9:17 p.m. Earlier I said these mozzarella sticks taste like garbage. I would like to amend that statement. They taste worse than garbage. I would prefer to eat garbage, because then there would be the chance I would get to eat a bite of something good someone started to eat but couldn’t finish, or paper.
The water outside TGI Friday’s is black now.
9:23 p.m. I keep thinking I hear people say “Caity.” I write down in my notebook that I am “definitely hallucinating.”
I put my head near the table to write more and the scent of old marinara and burnt rubber fills my nostrils. I sit back up.
9:36 p.m. A waiter tries to give me another table’s Boneless Buffalo Wings. Do not tempt me, Satan.
i don’t care about what trends men hate. tell me what trends women love. how do i wear my eyeliner so a girl will want to kiss me. what color lipstick makes her think about moving to a cute house on the beach with me and getting 5 dogs. do ladies like peplum dresses and platform heels or not. come on.
i was literally just lying in bed thinking “oh my god, i am so inexplicably sad right now, it feels like ive been hollowed out and am going to be sick” and then i sat up like “wait. thats hunger. i have yet to eat dinner”
“I love borders. August is the border between summer and autumn; it is the most beautiful month I know. Twilight is the border between day and night, and the shore is the border between sea and land. The border is longing; when both have fallen in love but still haven’t said anything. The border is to be on the way. It is the way that is the most important thing.”—