Archive for the ‘excerpts from the h of c’ Category

Clouds moving by(e)

Whilst your ash(e)


Onto your hands

That have aged

At age twenty-four


The clouds

Moving faster than I thought they could.

So fast.

The way a globe spins for a fourth-grader.


I realize

Lots of things.

You’re happy.

You’re confused.

It. Is. Ok.


I listen to my beloved friend(?)’s voice

And feel clear;

Sinus, slam-the-door clear.


Breathe, you dummy.


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I am currently on Megabus en route to Boston for the weekend.  Needless to say, I have four plus hours to kill and I am so happy I decided to bring my computer.

Here is the soundtrack for my trip.  I suggest you take a listen:

I am finally and legitimately going through my e-mails and such for the first time in probably six months.  Doing so has allowed me to laugh, feel uneasy and be bummed out all over again.

BUT, I did come across this e-mail that was between myself  and one of my best friends from home – we shall call her “Newanda”.

I love this correspondence because it reminds me how much I freaking love living in New York Citaayy, something I was thinking while the bus was driving from Midtown, through Harlem, and past Yankee Stadium.  I was thinking about how I have not one single regret or second-thought about moving here and how ridiculously happy I am to be here.  Projecting into the future, this is a post I’m going to need to revisit when the Big Apple is rotten and I’m feeling self-loathing and small.  Anyways, this portion of our message chain is me recapping an epic weekend that will now be a constant reminder of how pleasantly fun and lovely Brooklyn can be.

This weekend was a fucking blast and New York honestly keeps getting better and better.  I will try to summarize Saturday as best as possible because A LOT of funness went dooowwwwn.

-J.H. (who I literally spend 6 days a week with) was turning 24 Sunday night
-I planned a surprise brunch for him but turned it into a picnic when I found out it was going to be 70 degrees.
-I also was going to a bday party at a rad bowling alley for French Matt, one of Bec’s friends from Clark who I fell IN LOVE with when we met
-Jeff sleeps real late so I figured I could make picnic, bowl and he would just be waking up.
-He woke up at 11 like a mofo so I had to scheme.
-Lied and said R.P. and I were going to get juice and left the house for 4 hours

DAMN IT this is so no abbreviated.  I’ll try this

Bowling B-day = sunny bike ride. mimosas. mini cupcakes. beautiful French-speaking New Yorkers. seeing old friends. knee socks. lipstick. hugs. dance offs.

Picnic = Freestyle spoken word about Patrick Swayze’s pubs and boogey boarding in a bath tub and scalping grandmas (R.P. and I were champagne brains). running into N. P.  who came to NY as a surprise.  making new friends.  watching hipster babes play football.  yummy food.  J. being so mad but then seeing the trickery and then falling in love with me all over again.  pear mimosas. joints.  abundant sunshine.

Post Picnic = fire pit in R’s backyard of her apt where she lives with SEVEN other people. Noah spray painting a crocodile with a bball cap.  earning a bruce spingsteen mix cd. debating patty smith.  beer. smores. J. LITTLE.

Post fire pit = meeting J. to get drunk and dance the night away. freestyle rapping about crescent moons and trash cans while on bikes en route to bar. pass z. smith on the street. tequila shots. huuuugs.  90s dance music and hip hop.  BABE bartender with best cheek bones. appearance of mon amor French Matt (who is dating a wonderful gal named V.) who proceeds to tell me that he fell in love with me on the same day as I him and that we should wait another 5 years to see each other (bc I haven’t seen him in that long) and then maybe we should wed.  I say Oh Mathieu and then we go outside, share a cigarette, kiss romantically but in a non-cheating way (ie no tongue?) and he whispers sweet French nothings in my ear (what is my life?).  more dancing. falafel.

Post bar #1 = go to bar down the street where other BABE bartender friends work.  drink for free.  flirt my bum off.  best dancing of my life to fleetwood mac gin blossoms et al.  flirt more but then realize that I am bad at flirting bc when people may be into me I play TOO hard to get and then get nothing.

Post bar #2 = 40s. fruit juice. a pear. recreational drug use.  wig wearing. music sharing. SLEEP

soooooo pretty much the best day ever.  Annndddd when you come to New York, you can have your very own Brooklyn adventure 🙂

I can’t wait to see your face!!

xxoo BMC

Sigh.  I’ll see you tomorrow night, NYC.

P.S.  I realize this post may seem extremely vain, but what can I say, I’m happy as a clam.  Sorrynotsorry.

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I have not seen a sober sunrise
since I moved to New York,
like lava erupting across the sky
clouds moving so fast.
There are few times I look back
on my college course
“weather and climate”
and am aware that I’M ON EARTH.
And in a flash
it’s done.
The sky is strictly blue again.

Happy 49th Birthday Papa Bear.

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It was recently brought to my attention by the folks at Storycorps that my post about my recent and infamous habit of sleeping late and losing jobs doesn’t exactly put me in a favorable light.  So, I figured I should update and clarify my behaviors.

After exactly one year of being in New York City –  a year that I’ve been told can “make or break you” and indicate whether or not this city is the love of your life  – I’m gradually returning to my old self.  My scholastic, self-deprecating, under-slept self.  But in a good way.  I’ve sewed my wild oats, as they say – or at least most of them.

I’m at that point in life where I need to start focusing on the things I love and want to accomplish more than anything else.  Hence, why I applied for this internship and nailed it (despite them reading my earlier blog posts about irresponsibility, tardiness, and termination).

I am returning to that feeling of excitement, thrill and fear that you get when your brain can’t stop inventing and creating.

And I am so damn excited about it.  Wish me luck.

For your viewing pleasure

Q & A

(insert tissue box here)

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Veronica Sawyer at the end of Heathers



Granted I’m going to have to explain my costume to practically everyone, I don’t care.

I thought of the idea in January* and I’m sticking to it.


*This was while I was going through a phase of inviting cute boys I met in bars (or outside my apartment) to come over and watch the movie.

Probably not the best pick-up line or first impression.

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Within the past month, my apartment has become mildly infested with mice and cockroaches.  I know in New York City this is a common occurrence, along with bedbugs and disappointing hookups, but I am beginning to feel as if the seven plagues are usurping my home.

The interestingly morbid fact about these incidents (though less disgusting than these impostures impeding on your turf)  is how each of the roommates in apartment 1S have decided to go about killing these creatures.

N is the responsible fatherly type who sets traps like a “normal person” would do.  He knows to use empty cracker boxes as decoys and where to put sticky traps.

(I for one think sticky traps are a cruel way to catch mice specifically, and if I see a dead one in the traps, I leave them for N.)

H follows a similar route to N – she takes them into account, kills them if she has to and then leaves a note saying she has done so.  (Mom)

Now move onto the Wednesday and Pugsley Addams of this family.

I myself used to ignore the cockroaches.  I would open the cabinet, reach for a wine glass, jump back, and re-close the door.  After a week or so, I cringed more at the thought of a cucaracha crawling on my face while I slept than I did at killing one.  I resolved to kill her (for some reason it was a she) as swiftly and as far away from her as possible.  Scanning the kitchen for something that would suffice as a weapon, I found a scrap piece of plywood next to the trash.  I picked it up, hovered above her while she experienced her last few moments of scanning my linoleum floor, and dropped the board on her from four feet above the ground.  Only a cartoonesque “SPLAT!” would correctly describe the action.

This may seem cruel – I could catch the bugger (get it??) and set it free to terrorize another person’s overpriced apartment, but what would that solve?  It’s quick, painless – like pulling the proverbial plug.

Thankfully, I have yet to run across a mouse.  If so, not sure how this Clue-style murder scene would go down.

R on the other hand…she is a sick puppy.  This free-spirited, magical being is the most cruel murderer of us all.  She has taken the prolonged approach of starvation as a means to end these insects lives.  Yes, this main seem like the easiest and least labor intensive method, but still, too much for me. Thankfully, the mouse she came into contact with evaded her lengthy death sentence, but the cockroaches have yet to be so lucky.  She simply plops a coffee mug upside onto of the sneaks, and let’s them sit there and think about what they’ve done until their death a week later.  The only plus side is that R uses their carcasses in installation art projects, but the process is still quite eerie.


The whole point of me telling this story is because it is interesting how people respond when faced with the act of murder.  How we handle the subjects has nothing do with who were are as people, on a day-to-day basis.  I personally have a very hard time killing anything – ant, centipede, human, et al.  There are all of those hypothetical scenarios given like, if you were trapped on a desert island, and you had to kill one person to save the others, how would you choose who would die, and could you do it?

Let’s just hope R and I don’t travel together anytime soon…


(Kidding!  You are my best friend and I love you!)



(But seriously.)

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