hot ghoul diary 7.0
went to the park in a plaid skirt again
friday
1:34 PM: i’m in the living room, supine on my pink chesterfield, reading lit tok sensation tori akers’ new book “Revolutionary Algorithms”. according to modern medicine, reading is the best way to escape a long period of writer’s block. sadly, the free spirit in me has always preferred a less academic approach (texting a grown man from my past until i’m listening to sharon van etten and chain smoking again). but as we all know, these days i’ve been making a Genuine Effort to avoid mischief—save for the occasional midnight jaunt around my neighborhood where i straddle a stranger’s lap and suck on their fingers outside a gluten free restaurant.
1:49 PM: tori’s book is excellent so far which is no surprise if you’ve read her substack, watched her hilariously incisive tik toks (video essays that answer the question “what if fran leibowitz had better opinions and was a beautiful mermaid living in brooklyn?”), or had the pleasure of sharing a nice meal together. she’s also a lovely human in addition to her razor sharp writing skills, and said nice meal is a testament to her kindness (i arrived 28 minutes late and ate an entire loaf of sourdough towards her).
tori and i met on tik tok—very “on brand”, as someone with a slicked back bun would say. speaking of a slicked back bun, that’s how i did my hair for her book launch party so no one would know i’m unemployed. whenever i put my hair up and wear a dress with no cleavage i feel like i’m giving a ted talk. can you imagine if i had something to say?
7:14 PM: winged liner is on, cream blush has been patted into place. in about thirty gorgeous minutes i’ll be meeting my college friend ava for cocktails at the only cool bar i know.
when i found out ava was living in brooklyn i immediately reached out. there’s nothing quite like getting a drink with someone after nine years of being pen pals (liking each others’ instagram posts). we met in a bathroom my senior year of college. i miss the days when friendships could form so easily. now if you drunkenly yell through the stall that you like someone’s shoes you get kicked out of Target.
7:18 PM: i squeeze my thighs into a pair of cheap tights and head out the door. they should invent clothes my body doesn’t rip to shreds.
8:13 PM: i’m a drink and a half in, trying hard not to overshare about my grandfather’s funeral. not that i think ava would have minded, but she has the aura of a snickerdoodle and i really wasn’t trying to turn our little reunion into a grief counseling session. so naturally i find another way to talk about myself. ava listens. her tomato red sweater makes me feel like it’s still christmas.
people who love winter are the closest thing we have to angels.
10:34 PM: back home. thanks to the giant unused halloween candle i have sitting on my shelves, my apartment always smells like cinnamon upon entry. i love feeling like i just casually have a pie baking. there is a version of me who never moved away from the north hills and now owns a big old house with a big old kitchen where i spend my days eating pomegranate seeds straight from the fruit in an off-white sundress. my cabinets are stocked with homegrown herbs and the only lover in my life is a tall man with scoliosis who sells jam at the farmer’s market. he fucks me viciously on the counter top like three times a month and then i stare out the window, ignoring him when he asks if there’s anything in my house that needs fixed.
10:36 PM: i almost burned my ass on the heat pipe in my bathroom again.
saturday
2:32 PM: in other breaking news, i have what critics are calling “a boyfriend”. his name is doug and we met on hinge. sooo manhattan laptop vibes.
i was literally supposed to be having a hot ghoul fall filled with pointless first dates and sloppy dive bar makeout sessions. but sure enough just as i think i’m about to have the “girl writer moves back to the city” era of my dreams, i meet someone who makes me laugh (and cum) until i cry.
right now i’m getting ready to go over to his apartment for dinner. he’s making meatballs. i can’t wait to drink three glasses of wine and then eat enough spherical beef to see the devil. i also can’t wait to apologize for eating a lot at once and then him having to reassure me that hunger is normal. dating me is a gift <3
3:44 PM: i’m at doug’s place for the first time in world history. it’s cozy, lived in, with his paint-and-sip creations hung up on display like the mona lisa. i don’t think i’ve ever met a man who treasures wholesome activities the way doug does. at least not one with cartoonishly broad shoulders, tobacco breath, and a thick new york accent. he’s like the lovechild of tony soprano and winnie the pooh.
doug gives me a tour of his well-traveled life through the trinkets on his shelves. i try to hide how much i want to know him, but i’ve never been great at being dishonest in small spaces. any time i stand too close to someone it starts to feel like a sleepover and i try to share secrets. in this case it’s stories about portugal. i don’t know how to say “it makes me happy that you’ve lived such a full life” so instead i start behaving like a perv.
6:13 PM: laying on a man’s bed while he plays the piano is so criterion channel. but what can i say, i’m a little slut for a minor key. doug is an exceptional pianist but speaks about it with the humility of someone who went to guitar center once and banged around on a keyboard. right now he’s playing a song i often have on in the background while i write. things feel calm and simple, which makes me think of my grandfather. i cry. doug comforts me. with him, even grief feels easy.
7:51 PM: i’m wine drunk playing video games and doug is mashing raw meat with his giant hands. i’m wearing one of his t-shirts like a girlfriend in a movie, but it’s not super big on me thanks to my heaving breasts. queering the space, i fear.
8:13 PM: the meatballs are ready and i’m feeling happy to be alive. life rules.
sunday
2:25 PM: despite the january gloom, doug and i are meandering around prospect park, stomachs full of pancakes and nicotine. i’m wearing my outfit from yesterday—tights, black turtleneck, and a short plaid skirt that is the furthest thing from weather-appropriate one can imagine. while i’ve never been good at dressing for the winter, i do know how to dress to make sitting on a park bench look as horny as possible.
2:47 PM: we stop near a frozen-over pond to watch a swan inch across the ice. such beautiful creatures. they make sludge look picturesque. i take nineteen photos like it’s times square. not to sound like mr. rogers, but is there any better feeling than a sunday afternoon?
3:04 PM: i’m sitting on a bench with my legs over doug’s lap. it turns out wearing a tiny little skirt feels the most fun when you’re thirty one. i tell him about the book i’m writing, then look at him with stupid pouty lips. the sun hits us both in the face. i keep forgetting it’s daylight.
-Rachel Elizzz
🫰🫰🫰🫰
you're a sweetie and a genius and i can't wait to hang again 😈