Life is hard. Here is someone.

My name is Meaghan O'Connell.

I live in Brooklyn and work at Kickstarter.


or here I am on Twitter.


Stuff on Tumblr I like/d.
November 29
(via scout) I’ve found that telling other people all the things you have to do this week is about as annoying as listing everything you ate today and describing your dreams. But we still tell each other and I guess it’s a great exercise in friendship generosity. One of those things were you totally listen to other peoples’ recounting of their dreams and their to-do lists literally only because you need someone to listen to yours. Also I think one of the greatest social handicaps is when you have a big ol’ crush on somebody, and you keep bringing them up to your friends constantly, “Joey likes turkey sandwiches but only on the weekends, did I tell you that?” NO AND I DON’T CARE. But you gotta tell it, it’s pressing, you’re at brunch and they’re all you can think about. And even as you say it, you know you’re doing The Thing. You know it’s going to be the dumbest story ever told, you know your friends won’t care and they’ll just pity laugh, but you can’t help but tell them about Joey’s bike or Joey’s hat or the way Joey parts his hair when he gets out of the shower. I have this problem SO BAD and I always have. You can ask my mom, who I have regaled with infinite detail every interaction across gender lines since about 1995. Whoever I like at the time becomes a topic of every conversation we have, and sometimes she will ask for “The <guy’s name> Report.” Oh, the shame. I really feel bad for anyone who knows me, as they also know every fucking detail and every little thing every guy I have ever really liked has ever said. So to bring it full circle, a few weeks ago I was home and in the car with my mom, and we were silent, late to a wedding. And all of the sudden she turns to me and goes, “Meaghan did I tell you So-and-So’s boys were in the gifted program?” Here was my chance, to reciprocate the years of bullshit she endured to me. The eons of pretending to care. This was perhaps my maturity test. A test of my adulthood. Generosity. Sympathy. Compassion. Faced with the ultimate reflection of what I am afraid is my greatest personality flaw, my entire body filled with the fury of 10k men and my jaw went tense and I said, “No, because I don’t care,” in the snottiest brattiest most 13 yr old tone that has escaped my mouth in 10 years. I stared in the rearview mirror, proclaimed how perfect my sideswept bang looked, “LOOK AT THIS FABULOUS SHIT, MOM” and put on more lipstick and decided I deserved that zit and I deserved to be going to this wedding with my mother and I am the worst daughter in the WORLD.

(via scout) I’ve found that telling other people all the things you have to do this week is about as annoying as listing everything you ate today and describing your dreams. But we still tell each other and I guess it’s a great exercise in friendship generosity. One of those things were you totally listen to other peoples’ recounting of their dreams and their to-do lists literally only because you need someone to listen to yours.

Also I think one of the greatest social handicaps is when you have a big ol’ crush on somebody, and you keep bringing them up to your friends constantly, “Joey likes turkey sandwiches but only on the weekends, did I tell you that?” NO AND I DON’T CARE. But you gotta tell it, it’s pressing, you’re at brunch and they’re all you can think about. And even as you say it, you know you’re doing The Thing. You know it’s going to be the dumbest story ever told, you know your friends won’t care and they’ll just pity laugh, but you can’t help but tell them about Joey’s bike or Joey’s hat or the way Joey parts his hair when he gets out of the shower.

I have this problem SO BAD and I always have. You can ask my mom, who I have regaled with infinite detail every interaction across gender lines since about 1995. Whoever I like at the time becomes a topic of every conversation we have, and sometimes she will ask for “The <guy’s name> Report.” Oh, the shame. I really feel bad for anyone who knows me, as they also know every fucking detail and every little thing every guy I have ever really liked has ever said.

So to bring it full circle, a few weeks ago I was home and in the car with my mom, and we were silent, late to a wedding. And all of the sudden she turns to me and goes, “Meaghan did I tell you So-and-So’s boys were in the gifted program?”

Here was my chance, to reciprocate the years of bullshit she endured to me. The eons of pretending to care. This was perhaps my maturity test. A test of my adulthood. Generosity. Sympathy. Compassion. Faced with the ultimate reflection of what I am afraid is my greatest personality flaw, my entire body filled with the fury of 10k men and my jaw went tense and I said, “No, because I don’t care,” in the snottiest brattiest most 13 yr old tone that has escaped my mouth in 10 years. I stared in the rearview mirror, proclaimed how perfect my sideswept bang looked, “LOOK AT THIS FABULOUS SHIT, MOM” and put on more lipstick and decided I deserved that zit and I deserved to be going to this wedding with my mother and I am the worst daughter in the WORLD.