Tag Archives: goals

blog is getting a juice cleanse;

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hey ya’ll.

if you couldn’t tell already, this blog has been needing some serious r&r.

it needs a face lift of sorts. maybe a tummy tuck. maybe a juice cleanse. who knows, but i’ve been thinking about doing it for months.

inspired by my dear friend jenna’s recent blog overhaul, i realized i can re-brand this space as much as i want. whenever i want. often i’d think i had something to “owe” to someone, but that’s a bunch of baloney. and uber self-righteous. and i’m not down with that.

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if anything, i feel like i’ve outgrown this little space like an old, dried out cocoon. or one of those shells that $5-side-of-the-road hermit crabs live in.

 

in a way, i feel like i’ve outgrown “personal” blogging. “lifestyle” blogging. whatever you call it, i can’t seem to get a handle of it.

in short, i’m not very good at lifestyle blogging, because i’m not very good at lying or fabricating perfection out of my normal days. which, in their own ways, are perfect to me, but odd or dysfunctional seeming to the outside world.

i’d rather tell stories about how i once made two dogs so excited they peed themselves at the same time. or how i dated a guy who ended up dumping me because he thought he was allergic to me. or how i made the most horrible cake ever. or how i dropped out of college once. or met swedes in san francisco hostels. that’s the stuff i thrive off of; those are the stories i want to tell.

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in short, my life doesn’t look like a j.crew catalogue, and it’s all too easy to make your blog life look like that, i know. and i’m feeling the need to step away from that sort of world. or at least back off for a bit.

i’m also too private for that. you know how people in the olden days say photographs steal your soul or something? i feel like blogging about various experiences that i treasure so much would make them less of my own memories and more of something that people could critique or strive to have happen in their own lives.

and guys, i don’t want any of you to strive to emulate any one else’s lives. whether it’s the stationery they use. or the pug they have. or the damn duvet cover they have. i feel like it’s very easy to fall down the rabbit hole of self-perfection. and i think i have the responsibility of presenting reality to you all.

with that said, i’m taking the next few weeks to create a new space that will not only be a good place for me to share things in, and i hope you all stick around for it.

year twenty-two;

IMG_4211perform stand-up.
move somewhere new.
post-grad corgi????
pierce the schnozz/nose. make it sparkly.
watch the entirety of doctor who.
sing in public.
say nope.

graduate (!!!)
bike around a new city.
learn to read crochet patterns (achievable goals, ya’ll.)
read at least three children’s books auf deutsch.
go to a mormon church service.
go rock-climbing.

go see a show at ucb.
do at least three levels of improv class.
write more letters.
self-publish my collection of awk short stories.
go see the sea ponies at chinctoteague island (8 year old dream, gah!)
get a real, big girl job.

here goes nothing, ya’ll.

all the happy tears;

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{josh ritter at cabaret du mile end, montreal. february 2013}

we interrupt this blog of corgi lovefangirling, and nerdy gifs to bring you an overly dramatic post about the first love of my life, josh ritter.

guys, i got to see him the flesh this weekend in montreal. my years of adoration and dreams of one day touching his suspenders are over. i was ten feet away from him for two hours of my life, and it was all i could dream of and more. if anyone cares to know, he was only singing to me. it’s whatever. sure, i didn’t get the butt pinch and suspender grazing night i was planning for due to the montreal metro, but i will still tell my grandchildren that i got a handful of his goofily-decorated suspenders and he complimented my silly glasses and he gave me a wink or four from the stage. please don’t tell them otherwise.

i remember hastily listening to him in german class my senior year. one ear bud shoved in my ear, the other in my lovely friend estefania’s earbud. we listened to “the temptation of adam” with half the sound but all of j-ritt’s signature manboy charm. i’ve since watched live at iveagh gardens in 28 awkward parts on youtube, and am always in the process of just can’ting (as in “no, i just can’t”) whenever i maniacally spend hours just staring at him smile so gleefully in his signature vests and schoolboy smile. i should have been conjugating verbs, but instead i just got smitten. it happens.

guys, i’m still sobbing inwardly over how i got to see this man in the flesh on friday. i’m still shaking with the words of “new lover” and running past bouncers to get out of checking my coat for two canadian dollars, because i am the cheapest person on the face of this earth and hellbent on getting a good spot in front of my lover boy before everyone else. and it was worth it to hold my puffer coat to see those man-boy dimples, so big you could hide something inside of them. and he’s still the only man who can make me cry about a puppet romance.

he was perfect. i just, ugh. i just still can’t. i will be over to the side in a dark corner, just beside myself with the same schoolboy smile on my stupid little face.

corgi-laced dreams;

i’ve got a sickness and the only cure is a post-grad corgi.

…or five corgi puppies…laboriously moving their chubby corgi stub arms towards me to shower me with wet corgi kisses, lovingly hugging my gangly frame with their proportionately dinosauric limbs. 

as i said last week i graduate this coming fall, and am moving out of boston promptly after.  my dear roommate’s boyfriend is highly allergic to furry bundles of joy and shrieking, happy puppy whimpers (and their tendency to fart on their siblingscan’t blame ‘em, i mean wut?),  so once i’m done with school and get a jibby-job, i’m planning on going where the wind blows/where the buffalo roam/where the corgi-friendly landlords roam. if any one knows of any apartments virtually anywhere that allow enough space for corgi babies to virtually burst out of each corner, please let me know.

i’m pretty sure this will help the pre-grad slump i’m working through, as well as get me hella tons of  people using me for my midget puppy. i’m also banking on it getting me tumblr famous.

currently fielding applicants for godparents for my future corgi (tentatively named “beanball”). must not attempt to murder me in order to gain full custody of unconditional chubby-midget-dog love.

i just want to wear all the hats, please;

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{my preferred means of studying}

i’m gonna whisper this really softly in case i startle any of you.

i figured out i don’t want to apply to grad school. not this year at least. maybe not even in five years. maybe not ever. whatever.

in the spirit of 2013: the year of “nope” i’m saying nope to running wild with ideas i’ve half-convinced myself of going forward with. i’ve always loved learning. i sometimes will exclaim it to whomever is near me. “siiiiiiigh, i love learning,” which is usually met with an eye roll. the fact that i was never on the scripps spelling bee when i was in middle school is still a weak spot for me (i would definitely be one of the little dweebs that writes the word out with her finger and the back of her number pinned to her mom-picked-out-polo.)

 in typical mackenzie fashion, i get a really romanticized image of the future and run maniacally with it clutched in my grubby, little paws. and this is all looked nice when i put this on me.  it was convincing and comfortable and fit me well.  this image was of me wearing tweed and classy-lady blazers, stacks of books in hand, trying to get people into poetry by super pissed off american women in the 20th century (my favorite), glasses sliding down my nose, as my head falls in between the crack of a book.

and that’s cute and whatever, but then i got this itch. it was along the lines of “mackenzie, but you would have to go to grad school somewhere for six years minimum, you effing HATE sitting still, ya turd” and “goodbye, time to read teen chick lit,” as well as a simple “ugh, when would all the sleeping happen?”

because when it boils down to it, i’m afraid i won’t keep learning new things. which is actually stupid, considering on my year off i taught myself pre-calculus, bought a german workbook last summer, and read james und der riesenpfirsich last spring. to say i’ll never learn new things is like telling myself i will never eat a whole cookie pie by myself (#14 best decision of my life, actually.) i rushed into this tweed-filled daydream of mine because the younger mackenzies thought i wouldn’t hold up my side of the bargain, to always learn things.

i’ve always liked to wear many hats. happy mackenzie rushes from babysitting (paper hat, made by charley) her favorite two year-old homegirl(“i get to listen to ‘sweet baby james’ when i go poop on the potty!”- charley, on her love of the music of james taylor) and bakes orange cinnamon rolls (ratty white target beret), and reads poetry when she wants to, for fun (still the beret, but turned to the side all fancy-like), and ya fiction, for fun (let’s be real now), and picks apart things stories, and crochets absurdly thick scarves (ten gallon hat, to change things up), and sings when she does the dishes (a top hat), and makes horrible jokes (a bowler hat). and shedoesn’tliketoplananythinginadvancethankyouverymuch (no hat at all.)

and at this point my hat collection is wide and varied and  and going to grad school in the next year or two would be like wearing the same beret every day for the next year, and gosh darnit i want to wear a sombrero.

{feed the mackenzies} snickerdoodle ice cream sandwiches;

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snickerdoodles, i feel like you don’t get the air time you really deserve. sure, you bring to mind an era of 50’s aerosol hairsprays and garish floral couches covered in plastic protective coverings, but you really are an awesome anytime-of-the-year, any-decade-where-cookies-are-eaten (curse you, frantic fat-hating, 90’s)  kind of cookie.

 who cares if you’re not a chocolate chip cookie (truth be told, i always pick the chocolate chips out, i much prefer the brown sugar-laced cookie). and like, sure you’re not the best cookie variety i’ve ever had (that goes to the german chocolate cookie i got at whole foods over the summer. holla @ dat cookie).

  but besides all of that, you are a damn good-enough cookie. and you know what makes you even better? putting two of you silly little cookies around a loving dollop of ice cream. ghost of barry white, be praised, ’cause all i wanted to do after i made a couple of you guys today was say “awwwwww yeaaaaah.” 

ahem. right. so, let’s just get to the recipe, then. ahem.

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 recipe: 

 your favorite snickerdoodle recipe (i used this one from the ppk, but less chai, ‘cuz that shizz is nasty).

 + your favorite ice cream (even though i heartily enjoy eating dairy now, i unabashedly looooooove the coconut milk + soy milk ice creams from tj’s.)

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 1. congratulate yourself on this genius idea by taking webcam photo shoots with a half-eaten cookie.

 2. since no one is home, why don’t you put on liquid eye liner?

 3. and a green polka dotted bow?

4. and red lipstick?

 5. and you should put on the pretenders, right? right.

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5. spin around in your rolly desk chair at least six times. more web cam photos are recommended at this point.

 6. oh yeah, snickerdoodle ice cream sandwiches. that’s right.  damn it.

 7. yeah, so just sandwich two of those bad boys around a mound of your favorite ice cream. ugh, the happiest of sandwiches it will be. ugh, so happy. easily the happiest moment of your life, f’real.

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no need to thank me, guys. this one’s on the house.

2013: the year of “nope”;

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i am a yes girl through and through. i say yes to new friends because, hey, new friends! i say yes to babysitting new kids for new families because, hey, money for me to blow on overpriced decaf americanos and concert tickets and ingredients to bake speculoos cookies! i say yes to including not-the-nicest people in my little world that might not be paying the adequate amount of rent money to inhabit that space, because yes is always best, right?! especially in this twenty-something female blog world, i can’t tell you how many times i’ve seen a twee little “say yes to life” message riddled among blog posts. and you know what?

nope. just….nope.

don’t get me wrong, i love that i am agreeable. i love that i can easily get myself excited about doing things that the people in my life love to do, because if they love it, what’s not to love? i love that excitement is something i can easily tap into, like a little maple tree that’s overflowing with sap a bit too much.

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but then i get tired. and i keep saying yes. because that’s who i am. and who would i be if i said no every once in a while? ergo, my inability to say no. my inability to say “ya know, i kind of wanna go by myself to this concert, if that’s okay” to the cross-armed wet-blankets of my world. my struggle to stay in, stay put, and stay still, wondering what might be going on in the city of beans. “what’s so wrong with having internship, class and babysitting from 10am-10pm on tuesdays?” i’d say to myself, stress-eating bowls of microwaved pan-asian noodle bowls and 50% of my daily sodium intake. and then i saw this cute little drawing and it all made sense. 

such things only get harder when you spent an semester interning and making event calendars, where your only goal was to glean the internet for the funnest of events going on outside (murder mystery scavenger hunts inside museums! ladysmith black mambazo concerts! oktoberfests out the wazoo!), bombarding you with things you “must” say yes to.

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this is to say i will say yes to only the things that add, not subtract. saying yes to baking speculoos cookies to the tune of the ronettes than overworking myself to hyper-rory-gilmore-ic tendencies (and we all know i tend to do that). yes to the worthwhile things (new issues of ploughshares read on the t, tacqueria dates, and my favorite two year olds). no to the  things that wear me down until i am cowering under my electric blanket with a bag of sweet potato chips and twilight zone episodes acquired from sketchy dutch tv websites. i’ll still be a yes lady, but with a couple dashes of “nope”.

appreciators to the right. haters to the left. its the year of nope, ya’ll, and you’re welcome to join along.

seven year old selves, a playlist;

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{click above picture of three year-old mackenzie for playlist, because seven year-old me had an unsightly white girl ‘fro}

like i said before, the sads don’t typically prey upon me in the winter, i’ll admit. but i also have a pretty unfair advantage for combatting the nasty little case of blues that seem to hover above  most people post-january 1st by having a conveniently late-winter birthday (ahem, march 7th. ahem. i’d love this sriracha sauce iphone case, ahem).

but sometimes, like most people who live in cities where the days look the same at 4am as they do at 4pm, it hits me. it really does. it sneaks up and settles in and asks to stay to take the chill off in my living room and i’m sometimes to nice to shoo it away from my threshold.

and i’m all about honesty on my little space on the internet. i get bummed, despite tales of lady-dates, dance parties, and lit-up bicycle rides. i get sad.  i feel like andre the giant is sitting on my chest at times. i wish i didn’t have #anemicgirlproblems and could feel the tips of my fingertips when gallivanting out in the cold. you know, the usual. nothing out of the ordinary. we all get it.

i sometimes think the origin of this sense of sads we get is when we get disconnected from whoever sits comfortably at the seat of your soul and monitors the goings on of things. i’ll notice i get disconnected to the little seven-year-old mackenzie that inhabits somewhere between my heart and my spleen (whatever, it’s prime real estate there). she’s the original, core mackenzie. she’s a fledgling mackenzie, but still the most authentic. the girl who knew more about  the proper way to attain skinned knees (rollerblading into mailboxes because she didn’t know how to stop, real talk),  than how to order replacement books of checks (ugh, the worst).

she gets angry when she doesnt get to break free and crunch on the snow, watch a disney channel original movie in the safety of her grandma chair, and eat a spoonful of marshmallow fluff right from the jar. spunk without inhibitions and thoughts of compensation, consequence, or outer perception. and she’s been bogged down lately. and its time to shake off the dust and get seven year old self to stretch out her legs, preparing her for another round of roller-blading mishaps.

so, if you’ll excuse me, seven-year-old mackenzie is getting very impatient waiting for me. classic seven year old self. so classic.

seven minutes in (book-smell) heaven;


okay. so i technically had twelve minutes in heaven with this sassy little number, fisher fine arts library at upenn.

and what a sassy broad she was.

and yes, i definitely had to ask a nice little dad, who was in the middle of taking his daughters up and down the spiral staircases, to take my photo of me not once, but twice (the first one was heart-wrenchingly blurry. i didn’t want to relive my uc berkeley experience. i still get the night terrors of not properly documenting it).

three week road trips are all about shame, guys. and a newfound love of face-wipes, carrying as many snacks as a soccer mom named pam, and awkward back tans.

so, twelve minutes before closing i got.
oh, and you best believe i sniffed those books.
and stifled happy tears.

best-smelling library on my list by far. by far. 

adventures in bike commuting, june;

so far, millie, the bike, and i have….

biked to the kooks concert. a cake + two door cinema club concert. and a laura marling concert.

gone to castle island on a group ride with common wheels.

gone through (literal) hundreds of miles around boston. all around cambridge. all around somerville. all around brookline. in the rain and random cold snaps and the sun.

added three new stickers to my already festive hot pink helmet. a new bike bell. and i’m already swooning over some new bike baskets for all my books and produce for the autumn. and a cup holder for a coffee tumbler. and maybe some flowers for my handlebars. i should stop now.

gone back and forth from swing and contra dancing. back and forth from potlucks and baking parties and lady dates.

covered my hands in bike grease and pen markings of street names.

pedaled to farmers markets and the harbor and the library and the museum of fine art. in boat shoes and hiking boots. rain boots and bright, peppy flats.

biked classily around the city in a corset (literally, i had to be fancy for laura marling!) in a bright yellow rain jacket. in bike shorts and my favorite dresses.

made squirrel friends while reading in the common (note: that picture was not zoomed in any way. that squirrel sat on my shoulder. once again, i am a squirrel whisperer)

made friendly with the bike shop dogs (my favorite one attempts to sit on my lap at all times. even when i am standing. he’s a charmer) one too many times (pesky right brake).

…i have a sneaky feeling millie and i will be continuing this tradition into the fall and hey, who says winter has to stop the bike party? bring it.