You can read about my memoir and collaboration with Marc Jacobs (book), as well as articles (press) related to the site and its contents and
my own writing (clips.) There are mini films I've created (video) and a list of other sites I love- or love the people behind them (links.)
After the door slammed and her heels sounded on the marble staircase, I started sobbing.
Jenga-boy tried to calm me down, but all he could say—what the Monageque would say—was “what’s wrong? I don’t understand, you were fine a minute ago. What’s wrong?”
It was only Jack who didn’t ask me questions, only gently instructed me, “Calm, please breathe.”
“Nothing,” I said as I pulled on Jenga-boy’s Nirvana t-shirt to resume our game. He tugged on his corduroys and remained shirtless as he settled Indian-style on the floor next to the stack of blocks. “You’re insane,” he said laughing, “Thank G-d, you’re so beautiful.” I got that from her too.
“Dessert,” the housekeeper yelled to us. From then on I brought different boys down to dinner, but we always came down right when she called.