… and I’m not talking about sinking my 3s this time. 🏀

But it feels like an important reminder sometimes.. to myself, and maybe to people around me if they feel like they wanna hear it.

The whole “life ain’t as cute as Instagram depicts” is a cliché by now. I know, you know, the world knows, that life is like a silly little seesaw, teeter-tottering in whichever direction depending on the weight you’re carrying that day. And let me remind you: the seesaw doesn’t just teet and tot on its own. You usually need someone on the other end.

It’s the same for life. Some days you’re sitting on the seesaw heavier than the norm, and your friend gets right there with you on the other end to lift you back to balance. Other days the tables reverse, and it’s your friend that needs you to hop on so they’re not stuck sitting at ground level alone. And naturally, there will be times when the heavy hits you both at the same time.

The silver lining then? You’ve got options:

A. You can both get on the seesaw, and it’ll still stay balanced; the heavy creates an equilibrium point. You can sit in the loudest silence together at the tippy-top, without ever touching the ground.

B. You can call in an assist. And if I were actually trying to drain those threes 🏀, I’d prefer teamwork and an assist over forcing it solo too. You don’t need to be everyone’s lifeline every time. Distribute the weight. It’s okay, I pinky promise.

You know that song that goes, “if we go down, then we go down together?” Love so hard on your people that you can prove what the Chainsmokers preach.

Anywho, I digress..

You SEE? You SAW? Now go conquer by checking who’s waiting for you at the park.

I take the long way to work. The Bryn Mawr Red Line to the transfer at Fullerton to a short walk is an option; instead, I take the nearly hour-long ride down the 22 bus. Most of my co-workers fall into the “10–15 minute walk from the office” bucket, and I commend the logical choice of a quicker commute when we’re in-office five days a week. My slow & steady commute is a choice, and I’d choose it over and over again.

I’ve gotten better at holding myself accountable to stay unplugged on the way to work, respectfully ignoring the urge to obsessively check Slack. It gives me space to clear my unread texts, maybe squeeze in a FaceTime, or send a few voice memos to love on my friends the way they deserve.

I’ve also found ways to make the ride feel wholesome. A couple of weeks back, a five-year-old named Phoebe sat right next to me. I forget what got us yapping; with kids, for me, it usually starts with a little wave and a soft smile as they’re people-watching and we happen to lock eyes. Most of the time, I just get a shy smile back before they hide behind mom or dad. But other times, like with Phoebe, it wins me an interaction. Lovely, really, ‘cuz sitting silently has never been a strong suit of mine.

Phoebe and I yapped for about 35 minutes until her stop. She told me all about her love for dragons, especially in Wings of Fire. Starflight was her favorite; she even had a special voice for him as we read through snippets online. She decided Morrowseer would be the dragon most likely to be my friend. She didn’t have a reason, and when I asked if it was because of alliteration, she looked at me like I was a little cuckoo-cuckoo. Truth is, Phoebe taught me more about dragons than I taught her about English. Turns out, little ones are often better teachers than we are.

Before she got off, I gave Phoebe an Only Humxn sticker. In a bittersweet voice, ever-so different from her Starflight one, she left me with a soft, sweet “Bye, Marty!” as we parted ways. I really wish adults could channel their inner child more when it comes to stranger danger. Like, when I awkwardly wave and smirk at you slightly, that’s my signal that maybe we could be something in each other’s lives. Let’s yap next time.

Yesterday, during my commute, I went all in on the people-watching, trying to gauge what everyone else does as they meander to wherever they’re headed. I observed an entire side row and here’s my take on the lineup:

• Rider A: definitely texting a crush, maybe still stuck in the dating app DMs. The giddiness was too good to be anything else.

• Riders B & C (a very straight couple): I usually barely care about straight love; naturally, I get more feels from the gals, gays, and theys I empathize with in our ongoing fight for why love is love is love is the light we need in this daunting, dark world these days. But even watching these two reassured me that you gotta love love. Rider B was your Vineyard Vines-wearing golfer bro. Rider C was his boo, the SoulCycle girliepop in her matching yoga set. The way they stared into each other’s eyes gave me the cringe, but also kinda cute cringe, in my judgy review.

• Rider D: chatting away with her BFF on the line. Likely Italian, given how her arms were swinging as much as her words.

• Rider E: an older gentleman who, at every other stop, warned any passenger across from him about the leak dripping from the front row seat they’d just taken.

• Rider F: a nice ginger guy bopping to whatever was playing on his ‘pods. My guess is Miley Cyrus’ Party in the U.S.A.

I don’t fully know what I’m trying to get at with this post. But maybe, it’s that from time to time, consider taking the long way home. It just might fill your cup a little extra and fuel you more for the day ahead.

I went for a run today. It’s recently felt good to be putting my very expensive Pride-edition Brooks Ghost running shoes to use after they’d been collecting dust for a hot minute.

After hitting the 1-mile mark at Foster on the lakefront trail—and feeling (and fearing) the return of what I consider the worst injury of my basketball career: shin splints—I pulled over for a much-needed stretch.

I found myself in a random patch of grass near the path, Pursuit of Happiness still playing in my ears, and I settled into a seated stretch facing south… half-watching two kids kick a soccer ball around.

That’s when I noticed the dandelion directly to my right.

I’ve been thinking about getting a dandelion as my next tattoo. So, while realistically speaking, I definitely poured more sentiment into the little, gently-swaying dandelion than it likely warranted, it felt like a sign. I paused my stretch to jot down my feels right then and there. In retrospect, it might’ve just been an excuse to mission-abort my stretch (what I need more of in life often overlaps with the parts of working out I prefer to avoid).

I thought about blowing it out and making a wish. Then decided I’ve already done exactly that a few too many times lately. So I left it.

I felt compelled to give it a name, at the very least.

Danni the Dandelion was the first thing that came to mind. The alliteration gave it a nice ring, and Danny was the last person I texted before my run, so I’m sure there was some recency bias surfacing there too. Danni also felt gender bendy in a way I liked, especially with no one I know spelling it with a double n and i. Yes, I recognize giving it a name was silly and extra.

I’m going to try to find myself on more runs to that exact spot: 41.9765010, -87.6487025 (per my pin) and see how long Danni sticks around. My guess? Not long. I had to play goalie three times as the kids’ soccer ball came rolling my way, nearly trampling Danni each time. (Only one of those three kicks actually went in the direction I intended in my attempt to kick it back.)

Whether Danni goes out by soccer ball, by the inevitable gusts of wind that blow a little extra harder near Lady Michigan, or by a stranger who needs a wish more than I did today, there will be no hard feelings.

I’ll just remember that in that moment, it felt good to let my fingers do some writing. To imagine a new tattoo. To kick a soccer ball wildly off-course. To give entirely too much meaning to a tiny inanimate dandelion—just for the sake of slowing down. And to simultaneously avoid the stretches I should probably get back to now. 🫠

10/10 would recommend making friends with your local neighborhood dandelion.

Years ago, my BFF Lena coined June 9th as Martha G Appreciation Day, for no other reason than knowing the sexual innuendo would inevitably exacerbate the awkwardness we already know we radiate back into the world. 

Just to clarify: we’ve really leaned into owning awkward as part of our personal brand identity. Like, when people say, “It’s only awkward if you make it awkward…” it usually just tempts us to make it even more awkward than where it began. 

I think we don’t always give enough credit to the arbitrary and the potential it holds. June 9th was completely insignificant for most of my life — until this random date was slapped into my world as an annual recurrence (without consent, mind you). It became a date that might always age well, even if the emotions of the day don’t. 

So while this post is to be continued, I’m writing this with the goal of holding myself more accountable to lean into the underrated potential that the arbitrary can bring… a promise to flirt a little harder with the beauty behind the arbitrary. With the nonsense that becomes ritual. With the random moments and dumb jokes that, in hindsight, might actually be the ones that reroute your entire life. 

Because if there’s one thing June 9th has taught me, it’s this: keep the people who bring out your unhinged. The ones who double down on the bit. Who see awkward joy as art.

And finally, here’s to June 9th — the date that somehow turned a sex position into an annual holiday where people feel compelled to profess their love for me, and where another BFF slipped into my life on the same day. Because that date was somehow always meant to bring a little more good — and a lot more chaos — into the mix.

Throwback to that one time we almost started our friendship a couple weeks sooner. I texted you—what my poor memory can only imagine was something like:

“sup? in the hospital. crippling pain ‘cuz of pa(i)ncreatitis and suddenly wondering why they don’t actually spell it with an ‘i’ to give it a proper definition through a literal lens. hbu?”

You replied, “well I lost my dog.”

And f*ck—suddenly my pain felt a lot less relevant, knowing you had it worse.

It’s wild knowing she and I just missed meeting each other. I bet Marty & Mika (M&M) would’ve been quite the entertaining duo. From what I do know of Mika, she left her mark on all of us. I see it in the way you talk about her—and all your chosen fam do too. Trust falls and all.

And while she keeps chasing squirrels into the trees (that we can only hope doggy heaven holds plenty of), just know I’m here for your trust falls, through and through. But if you’re ever planning to test them in a literal sense, you better triple-confirm that my attention is locked in—because you know how easily distracted I could be, even by a falling leaf. Just like Mika would’ve been if a squirrel ran by.

Although “good grief” might feel like an oxymoron—like it’s impossible to feel the “good”—I’ll try to point out at least one that might wipe away some of the hurt, even if only temporarily. Kind of like those Oxy wipes that got rid of pimples… until they inevitably came back. (Admittedly, that’s my worst line in here, but it felt funny. Might delete later.. Lolz.)

Here’s the full-circle moment I hope shifts at least some of the sadness into the slightest smile:

You probably don’t remember, but around this time last year, I sent you Emily’s For the Grieving poem (see cover photo screenshot). And yes, scrolling through our entire Insta DM history was a total time suck, but absolutely worth it for the picture proof.

Not too long ago, an entire team of us found ourselves in the most perfect March Madness cabin, collectively sobbing as we read through all of Emily’s poems one-by-one. Fast forward: Only Humxn now has an original piece by Emily—the first collab of its kind. One that perfectly intertwines your original Stay; campaign with everything we know about the love between friends. And it went out into the world during Mental Health Month.

You’re going to feel sad today. I know that. Let it pour—because only the best storms are followed by a rainbow. And hey, we’re only eight days away from Pride Month. 

So to tie this all up in a beautiful bow, in Emily’s words:

“I’ll [forever] keep reminding you, I’m here and I love you and I’m sorry.”

Emily is a best friend of a best friend.

And I love that Mika is exactly that to me.

FULL F*CKN CIRCLE.

Welp. 281 days have passed since my last blog post. Anyone still here?

I’m not promising it won’t take me another 281 to post again, but if you’re hoping for more, know this: it’ll take individual high praises, persistent check-ins, and an aggressive number of high fives to hold me accountable. I respond extremely well to praise. Just sayin’.

I don’t know if you all remember, but 2,429 days ago (wow, time flies), I wrote a post about how fall is my favorite. And in reflecting—and in retrospect—that sentiment may have been a tad too strong… and a tad unfair to the other seasons. I’ve also started to fear that my shitting on summer in that post is gonna bring me some bad juju or something. So, with apology and love, I’m here to formally retract the blatant favoritism I showed to fall in 2018.

I’ve been trying to reframe some of my more judgey ‘tudes lately too—to lead with happier, smilier faces. And I’m reminded of that commitment by one very specific moment: this one time last year, a rude dude in a big tough guy truck yelled at me to “move the fck faster!” while trying to make his left turn onto Ashland from Catalpa. Never mind that I had the green light to cross. (Pardon me for thinking pedestrians have the right of way. Oh wait… they do.)

Anyway, just a few hours before that encounter, I’d been released from the hospital. I was walking across the street to pick up my pain meds from Walgreens. Internally, this man made my blood absolutely boil. But instead of reacting, I smiled and gave him a little wave—hospital bracelet and all—hoping he might see it and feel something human.

So thank you, rude sir. In being so rude, you reminded me of something important: that kindness matters, especially in a world that doesn’t always feel so gentle.

All that to say…

Summer, you’re a sweetie too. Sorry for playing favorites that one time. This one’s for you. 🫶

⸻

CHICAGO SUMMER IS ALMOST HERE.

At least that’s what I keep telling myself… despite waking up to a “feels like 34 degrees” situation this morning. And the 90-degree day last week isn’t helping, other than reminding me the weather might be just as bipolar as I am. So I guess… this is some kind of mental health advocacy post too???

I’m stoked for summer szn, y’all. And if you’re not yet on the same page, I hope the reasons below help shift your mindset.

In the past, I’ve referred to summer as the season I never quite feel ready for: sand in my pants, dodging major swamp ass, never quite feeling beach bod ready.

BUT THAT MINDSET IS NO MORE.

Bring on the swamp ass! If you can’t stop staring at my booty, just admit it—you’re probably experiencing some wet in other places too!! Lolz.

(Suddenly really hoping my coworkers don’t read this, but they do follow me on the ‘gram sooo… apologies for the awkiezzz in advance, Pie peeps.)

There’s so much to love about summer—beyond the obvious stuff like street fests and getting a tan.

WNBA season. NWSL season. Basically all our fav gay sports are back, bbyy!

And I am so here for it. Find me playing streetball at every opportunity—and really channeling my sporty spice energy with any other sport that’ll have me.

Also, every time I visit my parents’ place in summer (hi Mom, hi Dad—really hope you never find this, but if you do, I’ll definitely blame my more conservative cousins for showing you), I throw on long sleeves and compliment their aggressively efficient AC system just to hide my tattoos. And it’s in moments like that I’m reminded: summer is queerness on full display. The tattoos are out, the hair might get a big ol’ masc chop, the carabiners are dangling, the shorts are short, and the croppy toppies are crop-toppin’.

My job is literally to cure social isolation (another plug 🔌 for Pie); but has anyone done a wellness check on Lady Michigan 🌊 since last summer?! Imagine the loneliness she must experience without a bunch of crazy kids jumping in for months! For real though…

Patios are also back to having a purpose, which we love. I still remember my birthday in 2021—deep in the Covid era—celebrating in an outdoor bubble on the patio at Pilot Project. It was “feels like -17” degrees out. So yeah, patios are ready to get more action again.

And let’s be real… we all are.

Summer makes us lighter. Fewer mood swings, more park swings. More action in the day-to-day. Winkety-wink. 😉

And sure, in my old fall post I talked about how fall dates are hard to beat, but… let’s be honest: summer dates deserve to be on the leaderboard too.

You could come play streetball 🏀 with me. Or just show up as a sweaty spectator. Your call.

So Summer… I’m sorry. Truly. You deserve more credit. You bring the heat, the chaos, the carabiners. You bring the queer joy we need now more than ever.

You know what they say: sun’s out, sapphics out.

Here’s to you, Summer.

Fall may remain the stud of the seasons. But you, my friend—you’re bringing the sexy back. 🌈

⸻

PS: If you made it this far, you’re my favorite.

No pressure, but feel free to call me, beep me for the high praise, high fives, throw singles at me, etc.

Otherwise… like I said, might be another 281 until you hear from me.

xoxo,

Gossip Marty

I solemnly swear to make my post after this one more light-hearted to get some giggles out of whatever silly people go out of their way to read this. until then, pardon the sappy.

a few years ago, I wrote February 19th. that date will forever be ingrained in my brain. rereading the blog post, I realized how much I beat around the bush in writing it so here’s the harder, more straightforward truth: I was fired from a job I poured so much love into, was hospitalized, and diagnosed with bipolar all in the same day. (for real y’all, I recommend spreading that shit out if you can). the serendipitous, good karma of February 19th hit me this year when i started working at pie that very date, and suddenly, i really feel that singing “Kill em with kindness” on repeat all these years paid off (shouts to Selena Gomez – an also having bipolar baddie).

I feel like I’d be doing a disservice not to resurface these words:

To my friend — my gritty, beautiful, loving, inspiring, irreplaceable friend: take your time. Let it pour. Give this place the most beautiful storm it has ever seen. And when you’re ready, I’ll come find you.

Love, 

Happiness

I’ve been feeling really, really happy lately. and I want to knock on all the wood in the world right now, not to jinx losing this feeling that took so long to believe in and feel again. at the same time, i would take every ounce of happy in me, and give it to my friends that could use more of it today than i can. i promise I’m not saying this in an attempt to sound heroic, or to paint a false narrative that’s actually physically impossible. i just truly get joy by giving.

recent conversations have really led me to believe that there is no better way of loving anything or anyone than by telling the truth. the more I reflect on this sentiment, the more it resonates; the more it resonates, the more i see it rippling through my life more than ever these days – in my friendships, in my relationship, in reading my visit summaries after each doctor visit… truth feels scary sometimes; but there’s so much truth in love and vice versa.

I feel compelled to share the parts of my story that don’t always surface when I’m posting all smiles on the ‘gram or when I’m surrounded by my favorite people and also can’t help being nothing but smiles. the truth is, i struggled for years. i still do sometimes. and when I do, i listen to the same ~25 songs on the repeat in my “feels” playlist, including Superbloom by Misterwives that I’m missing seeing performed live right now, in this very moment (loving you a little extra, Katie, for FaceTiming me in). Today, I’m adding another song into the shuffle. To my friends — my gritty, beautiful, loving, inspiring, irreplaceable friends, this one’s for you:

so much creds to my sidebraid sister.

…because of the free furniture on the side of the road.

…because of strangers who will play a card game together to show that we’re not really [strangers].

…because of the shiny silver “you’re beautiful” stickers I see as I stroll.

…because I get to work hard and laugh at work.

…because I realized kindness is the number one thing that makes us bright.

…because the sun shines.

…because of disposable cameras’ & snail mail’s comeback.

…because inflation somehow dodges Costco’s food court.

…because of random friend FaceTimes.

…because of the rise of women’s sports.

…because brat.

…because of new & old besties becoming bestie-r by day.

…because style is part of my self-care.

…because “I just want to feel like myself again” sits in my past.

…because of the most uplifting three words that got me through then & now:

proud of you.

♥️

As I write, I’m actively people watching from the patio at Hexe (pronounced a bit too much how it’s spelled – second E is not silent apparently). I have a perfect corner spot in the shade to see the entire court😎. Here’s what I’m seeing:

12 tables are taken.

4 have laptops up.

3 people are ridin’ solo, myself included.

That’s enough for the stats though; the 3 x 4 = 12 of it all feels right for the reporting.

I’m only in eavesdropping distance to one of the tables. I’ll take what I can get though. This table has two dudes sitting at it. As one approached the other, they did the basic “bro” handshake and then proceeded to say “dude” back-and-forth five too many times. Dude 1 is giving Dude 2 a Notion 101 lesson. And tbh, as a Notion newbie myself, I super +1 this convo; notion has been keeping my work life in order and I love me a sharp project management platform. Dude 1 has a speaker attached to his laptop and is wearing a Kingston Mines shirt; I wonder if his day job is music adjacent.. I don’t have any curiosities about Dude 2; seems like just your average dude.

Now for the couple sitting to my left. They’re giving me Gen Z vibes. One is reading a textbook that looks bland, long, and boring. (I wish I could see what he’s reading, but I did just come directly from an eye exam and my ever-worsening vision isn’t doing me justice in the moment). The other is locked into her laptop, doom-scrolling the latest fashion trends. Scroll on, friend.

Speaking of friend, next to them is probs my top choice human I’d be happy to befriend, and yes, it’s mostly cuz I sense some queer vibes. The tattoos, kavu, sports bra, checkered vans, cannondale bike combo is only reaffirming my assumptions. Seems to also be actively people-watching; shit we just locked eyes. I digress …

Summertime Chi is here, and it feels like it’s gonna be gone before we know it. I could do away with the 80+ degree heat, but I can’t help but lament the impending end of peak patio, people-watching season. As I observe with unending curiosity about the people around me, I can’t help but wonder how to strike up a conversation at a coffee shop without it feeling awkward, especially as my phone’s battery reaches its final breadth and I need to land on my next form of entertainment. Feels like a friends of friends vibe solution could be a nice solve one day…

I recently squeezed my way into a sold out Moth storytelling show where the topic for the night was guts. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since then. Sometimes I dream of getting up on the Moth stage and spewing a five minute story, but then I remember how public speaking makes my voice tremble, literally. And so I resort to my next best option, writing, even as I need more peer pressure to return to my writing roots. At the Moth shows, they accept audience submissions that are read aloud by the MC between the stories. At this show, they asked: when’s the last time you chickened out? So I answered by writing: “when I wore a long sleeve to my parent’s house in the 95 degree heat to hide my tattoos from my homo & tattoo-phobic parents.”

My most recent ink makes me insanely happy; it’s a cracked lightbulb with a bow inside, representing the ebbs and flows of creativity – what I consider one of my greatest gift at times. Exposing my tattoos to my parents will take guts. While I fear just ripping the bandaid off, I’m also eager for their reaction; if it exacerbates their already existing disappointment, it’ll only reinforce what I already feel and strengthen the love for those I do have.

In the meantime, here’s what I want more of in my life to lighten the loads of the hard shit:

I want more photoshoots on the beach in a sandstorm after a game of beach volleyball. I want more champagne popping in June for all the queers living their best lives and even more for those that brave coming out so we could welcome them in. I want to dance my heart out at my friends’ weddings this year even though I really can’t dance. I want impromptu interviews with a mini mic in hand, especially when it’s been nearly a decade since a friend has gotten a chance to practice one professionally. I want to destroy a piñata to crush people’s soul-sucking grief and to find a way to bring them a softer surprise they didn’t see coming. I want spontaneity of pressing “purchase flight” or a roadtrip to Iowa to see Chappell Roan perform or to Indianapolis to see Caitlin Clark play or to a cabin to watch the serenity of a creek. I want the ebbs & flows of creativity to keep kickin’. I want to go on a book tour with the writers in my life. I want to give tours of my city to experience new things. I want more platonic just-because-I-love-you parties. I want to feel all the emotions that Inside Out 2 reminded me of, that we really can’t change, but those that shape me.

I believe that gut-wrenching moments and hard conversations will shape us. I believe that taking on the trembling voice head-on takes time and vulnerability. I believe that we can love harder by celebrating the little moments that are actually really, really big. At the core of it all, I whole-heartedly believe that joy begets more joy, and we will love harder as we face the things that take guts to help us grow.