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Sloane Crosley Biography

Sloane Crosley (born August 3, 1978) is a writer living in New York City and the author of the collections of essays, I Was Told There'd Be Cake and How Did You Get This Number. She also worked as a publicist at the Vintage Books division of Random House and as an adjunct professor in Columbia University’s Master of Fine Arts program. She graduated from Connecticut College in 2000.

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Sloane Crosley Quotes

If I go into a sandwich shop or anywhere that features 'Today's specials' on a chalkboard more than 10 feet away, I have to ask for a printed menu. I smile at people I don't know on the street and ignore those I do. When at home, I often find myself grabbing my 'back-up' glasses to search for the better-loved pair I have left on top of my dresser.

Feet, Glasses, Home, Ignore, Search

Picture it in your mind's nostril: you get in a cab in time to catch twin thugs named Vomit and Cologne assaulting a defenseless pine-tree air freshener.

Air, Cologne, Named, Thug, Time, Tree

Out of all artists, authors are the least trained for the spotlight. Wanting attention isn't a requisite part of the package.

Artist, Artists, Attention, Authors, Spotlight

Air travel is the safest form of travel aside from walking; even then, the chances of being hit by a public bus at 30,000 feet are remarkably slim. I also have no problem with confined spaces. Or heights. What I am afraid of is speed.

Afraid, Air, Chances, Feet, Space, Travel

Because this is the beauty of strangers: we're all just doing our best to help each other out, motivated not by karma but by a natural instinct to help the greater whole.

Helping, Instinct, Karma, Natural Instinct, Strangers, Whole

In my lame pescetarian defense, it's very hard to be a girl and say you won't eat something. Refuse one plate of bacon-wrapped pork rinds and you're anorexic. Accept them and you're on the Atkins. Excuse yourself to go to the bathroom and you're bulimic. Best to keep perfectly still and bring an IV of fluids with you to dinner.

Defense, Eat, Girl, Pescetarian, Pork, Rinds

I am starting to like LA, but the concept of a place you have to get used to so much seems a little weird to me. I have been to many foreign cities where I didn't have do acclimatize as much as I did to LA

Cities, Littles, Place, Used

It's never good to fall in love with someone whom you'd have to stab in the eyeballs to elicit a response.

Falling In Love, Fall, Eyeballs, Response, Stab, Love

You feel like telling him you're not single in the way that he thinks you're single. After all, you have yourself.

Break Up, Like, Thinking, Thinks, Way

If you have to ask someone to change, to tell you they love you, to bring wine to dinner, to call you when they land, you can't afford to be with them.

Afford, Ask, Being Alone, Being Single, Love, Love You

Being a writer is an endless study in human transition and lessons learned or forgotten or misapplied.

Forgotten, Lesson Learned, Lessons, Misapplied, Transition

Because, ten-year-olds of the world, you shouldn't believe what your teachers tell you about the beauty and specialness and uniqueness of you. Or, believe it, little snowflake, but know it won't make a bit of difference until after puberty. It's Newton's lost law: anything that makes you unique later will get your chocolate milk stolen and your eye blackened as a kid. Won't it, Sebastian? Oh, yes, it will, my little Mandarin Chinese-learning, Poe-reciting, high-top-wearing friend. God bless you, wherever you are.

Believe, Kids, Law, Specialness, Teacher, Wherever

We've come to expect so little from online privacy measures that public displays of concern about the matter are more or less for show. Being devastated to discover you've been tagged in somebody else's photo has an air of the melodramatic about it at this point.

Air, Displays, Expect, Littles, Matter, Show

Sometimes in New York, you're walking down the street and you realize there's a girl walking in front of you whose thighs you could hit a golf ball through, and maybe that makes you depressed.

Front, Girl, Golf, New York, Thighs, York

There's just no concept of layering a thick-sleeved sweater under a coat in L. A. A coat is more of a gesture than a necessity. You know, in case the temperature goes down to 55 degrees.

Coats, Degrees, Down, Necessity, Sweater, Sweaters

Ladies. Large masses of girls are often prone to this salutation. I hate being mollified with this unsolicited "ladies" business. I know we're all women. I am conscious of my breasts. Do I have to be conscious of yours as well? Do men do this? Do they go, "Men: Meet for ribs in the shed after the game. Keg beer, raw eggs, and death metal only. " I would imagine not.

Beer, Girl, Hate, Know, Mollified, Shed

I do think New York prepares you for the crossection of personalities and realities on display when you leave the country, and I'd live somewhere else if I had a reason or burning-the-the-point-of-discomfort desire to do so.

Country, Leave, New York, Reality, Think, York

At the end of each year, I sit on the floor and go page by page through the old calendar, inking annual events into the new one, all the while watching my year in 'dinner withs' skate by. When I'm done, I save the old calendar in the box of the new one and put it with the others on a shelf.

Calendars, Events, Floor, Save, Skate, Years

There is one thing you know for sure, one fact that never fails to comfort you: the worst day of your life wasn't in there, in that mess. And it will do you good to remember the best day of your life wasn't in there, either. But another person brought you closer to those borders than you had been, and maybe that's not such a bad thing.

Borders, Comfort, Facts, Fails, Person

I love giving people advice on what to do with their books, but I don't really know how a Kindle Single gets covered.

Book, Giving, Kindle, People, Single

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