People. People who need people...

Everyone in New York seems to be in love these days. How do I know this? I ride the subway with all the lovers. A morning commute into the city is not complete until you have had an impossibly hip duo of lovebirds wedge themselves into the train car,  insisting that be the moment they put their tongue in the other person's mouth, while you sit below them silently wondering why life isn't fair. 

A particularly insufferable duo stood above me this morning. The lady complaining, "My roommate doesn't even put her nail polish away after she's done doing her Pinterest nail art," while her impossibly hip boyfriend comforted her by saying, "Well babe, that's the economic tyranny of not being able to afford living by yourself." After I retrieved my eyes that had rolled all the way to the back of my head, I realized something about these ninkumpoops-- they were the other person's person. We all need our people to share our inane thoughts with, and that usually comes in the form of a lover of some sort. A lover who will love you despite your absurdity, and listen to your theories about how your fridge might have a monster inside it. That's what your people do for you, they put up with you. 

Without a Boris to my Natasha these days, I find that my own inane thoughts have nowhere to go. If they aren't accidentally being texted to ex's (Tragic, don't do it. I know you want to, but just don't. It's not worth it. There's a reason you two broke up and it's probably because you share too much. Just don't.), they usually come out in the form of absurd text messages to my friends, who entertain me slightly by pretending to give two shakes of a leg about the thing I saw, or the thing I did, or the thing that I just need someone else to know in case I'm eaten by a rat in the middle of the night-- but we both know it's not their job. That's the job of a boyfriend.....or a therapist, a very patient and well-paid therapist. Or ya know what? A blog. I have this blog sitting right here, why don't I just get some of those things out. 

(Photo credit: Courtney McLean. Sorry I was ignoring you, girl. I was probs texting someone something they didn't give a poo about.)

TEXT MESSAGES MEANT FOR A BOYFRIEND: 

-Can you OD on soy? I think I'm od'ing on soy. I love soy. 

-I think my leg is broken. I'm walking on it and it totally feels broken. 

-I made a hat out of feathers and noodles! Wanna see it? 

-Is quinoa a thing you can do for breakfast? You know what, I'm just gonna do it. I'm doing it! ....How's your Mom?

-I saw a dog who looked like a man outside my apartment today. I should have taken a picture. I didn't. I hate myself....How's work? 

-Is it too early to listen to "The Christmas Shoes" song? 'Cuz I just turned it on, and I'm loving it. I want a wonton. Get me a wonton. I love you. 

-I found a lone tap shoe on the ground. I took it home. Tell no one. 

-Would you rather ride an elephant and have it talk to you, or pee in space and float in your own pee puddle? 

-Some kid was doing hip hop on the train and I was really into it--UNTIL HE KICKED ME IN THE SHIN! ...How's your day?

-I sat on my own donut. 

-If plants could talk, do you think they'd thank me for watering them? Or do you think they'd be like super prideful about it? I'd like to think they'd thank me. 

-Does your mom know I exist? I emailed her and she hasn't responded. I love her. Tell her that, ok? Ugh. Whatever. 

-I'm eating KALE!!!!!!!!

-I love you a lot. That is all. 

At the end of the day, we all need our people. Our people forgive our neuroses, they might actually even consider them charming. Without our people we feel lost. So in a city of 8 million people, there's bound to be one person who wants to be someone else's people, right? I'd like to think so. Until I find one, I will keep to myself the fact that I keep sitting on my own donut. 

xo, 

MaddeBelle