I mean, besides party. Well, among other things, I became strangely obsessed with finding out all I could about a circus train wreck memorial in a cemetery near where I grew up, and after I finally went to visit it I wrote a short piece about it for my friends at Gaper’s Block.
Speaking of stuff I’ve written elsewhere: the new issue of BUST is out now, and my first Pop Tart column is in there (as well as an article by this lady). I’m working on the next issue’s column now, so it’ll be quiet around here for just a little longer.
But when I come back I think I’ll have a few things to say about where I’m at now with this journal, about what it means to tell a fat girl story, and about how the story I’m trying to tell keeps changing on me like a crazy fourteen-year-old kid. Like a chubby, crazy fourteen year-old kid who decided to dress up punk rock on the last day of seventh grade. I feel I had a summer that started like that–not like I’d know how it feels to go around in the middle of June being weirdly exhilarated even though your hair’s full of that nasty black hairspray you get at Walgreen’s; oh no, not me.
