I’m Amanda. I’ve got wide eyes, a smart mouth, and a MetroCard. And I’m not afraid to use them.
Dude, it’s such a small world, like for reals:
AUSTIN - A University of Texas student found a substance that has tested positive for ricin, a potentially deadly poison, in a roll of quarters she was using to do laundry in her dormitory, officials said.
Sometimes the ones you love will do you a favor and give pieces of yourself back to you.
They will forgive, and instead of forgetting, remember how hard times were, shake their heads, and keep loving you despite your tendency to be a fallible human being.
Someday I hope somehow says to you, “You know, I really wanted to hate you and stay angry, but I want to be your friend. I’m going to be your friend.”
Disclaimer: I do not think cancer is funny. The crux of my joke is an IMAGINED rivalry between Sheryl Crow and Lance Armstrong over a cancer diagnosis. They recently broke up, he’s known for those yellow Livestrong bracelets, perhaps he wants to keep all the limelight for himself. If Sheryl Crow made headlines after getting a bike endorsement or qualifying for a prestigious bike tour (read: doing something Lance is known for), I’d have made a similar joke. This entry is meant to be tongue-in-cheek, and I know it takes an irreverent sense of humor to laugh when terminal illness is any part of the joke. That being said, I believe writing is meant to provoke emotion and action. Sometimes it’s positive; sometimes it’s negative. Thank you for reading and responding. 
It’s now been announced that Sheryl Crow, that leather-faced former arm fixture of Lance Armstrong who’s written a few too many songs with inane lyrics, underwent surgery for breast cancer this week. The last headline she had on Yahoo!, of course, announced her split with Lance Armstrong, that yellow bracelet peddling, testicular cancer remissioned, Austin cyclist who’s won the Tour de France a bazillion times.
My dad and I went to see “Altar Boyz” at the Dodger Stages Monday night. This musical will not change your life. It rests on a number of oft-repeated jokes, mainly hinging on the flamboyant homosexuality of the “closeted” boy bander Mark. (The character Mark is, of course, the peppiest, most darling little queen that you ever did see. And maybe the actor is, too). This musical doesn’t even skewer the Christian machine and expose it as an industry as much as I would, but…
I have one of these now. Her name is Gladys.
Occupation: Businessguy in a small investment banking firm (I don’t know his official title). This was a second date.
According to the NYC public school calendar, mid-winter break began last Saturday. I, however, have been on a mid-winter break for a few weeks. There’s been a lull, because students have completed (and likely bombed) the state English language Arts test and have had time before the state math test. Starting Monday, students and teachers will reluctantly return to school, ready for hasty and ill preparation for another test.
My dad has been in town the last few days, and I’ve been more places and eaten more meals in this time than I have in a while. It’s not that I let myself starve or fester in the apartment, but there are nights when I just eat cereal and read myself to sleep. O, ye glamorous New York life!
I spent some time yesterday on Fashion Avenue, surrounded by the of the minute window displays at major NYC department stores, and I’m disgusted.
The scaffolding from the facade of the church on my block has finally been removed. Reverent walls brightened my walk to Broadway this morning. The sidewalks pulsed with life, veins in concrete weaving at storefronts. Somewhere a jackhammer pureed a melting sheet of ice.
