things you learn by 25.875;

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okay, so you still don’t know how to make bread bowls {and thus cannot eat your dishes.} that’s okay. cut yourself a break. it’s been a weird and funny three years. there’s still time.

25 has been really dope. ups and downs, sure, but generally a good 82% on rotten tomatoes and i’m on month 10. there’s still a chance that a hologram of prince barges into act 3 and totally ups this to 94% but regardless, i’m chock full of shit i’ve learned:

1. don’t let anyone {ahem, anyboy} “pee” on you! i don’t mean this literally, because maybe you enjoy that and who am i to judge?! i mean it in the way where {typically dudes} mark their territory on you via emptily flirting, inviting you to eat a lot of pizza and truffle fries and you’re like, “whoa, how nice to be sharing truffle fries with a nice guy! maybe he’s digging me as much as i dig these here fries” and then he just doesn’t. you’re just friends. whoa, right? so you think, okay. just friends. that’s cool. neat. but no! it keeps happening in a way that toes the line between “super cool female friend” {which you are!} and “girl i take along to do things i might do with a girlfriend but my normal girlfriend isn’t into it and this girl is fun and i don’t owe her anything like my love or  respect or anything”. so you’ve landed yourself as a surrogate stand-in girlfriend, covered in all this metaphorical urine, getting stupid late night texts and coffee invitations and bike rides that end with them buying you a fuckin’ SMOOTHIE {come ON} and that’s not enough, ladies! as a survivor of being “peed on” too many times, know that you deserve more than this. dudes that really dig ya won’t just pee.

2. in a similar vein, the heart is a complete fucking idiot of an organ. the spleen is infinitely smarter and more efficient, to be honest. sure, your friends might think you’re making some stupid ass decisions, you’re a bit unhinged, or you’re holding on a bit too tight to things like you’re gollum but with a bit more eyebrow pencil. and maybe it will take you 3 months, 2 weeks, or *ahem*, 2 years too long to get over those things, but those 2 years are a vest full of girl scout patches you desperately need to earn. staple those patches on, girl. no rush. enjoy your idiot heart, it’s working perfectly.

3. the correct response to someone asking you “you’re wearing that?!” is “go fuck yourself, pleeeeease!” every time.

4. SHIT! dolly parton is SO GOOD, guys! she’s like a southern prophetess!  i knew this at 22 but still was such a little naive dumdum and hadn’t learned all the dolly lessons i had to learn, but now everything dolly sings hits me riiiight in my little grinch princess heart. “baby come out tonight” is not only an amazing song to imagine yourself doing a moonlit roller-skating routine to, but is also amazing to belt out while doing dishes {the ones you couldn’t eat. ugh.}

5. downgrading romance as a priority/part of your life is 100% a great idea. i’ve realized over the last few years that my friends {specifically my female friends} are the true loves of my life. some of my guy friends squeak through too, but i’ve never been surrounded by more powerful, interesting, and compassionate female friends in my life, who have taught me more than any guy i’ve dated as to how i should be treated {hint: really, really damn well!!} while sure, i’d love to date. that would be great, but i’ve drastically cut down the importance of traditional “romance” and dating in my life and have chosen to fill it with more fulfilling things and people. damn straight.

6. barre classes friggin’ BLOW. like, this is an objective observation. this is an exercise for people who loathe themselves. similarly, finding an exercise that doesn’t feel like being put in “the princess bride” hydropower torture machine is a great skill i’ve tackled. hello, swimming and climbing and pretending i’m 8 as much as possible. bye bye, bullshit hot-yoga-kettle-bell-thigh-‘splosion classes.

7. confrontation is so delicious! i’ve spent 24.5 years being the nicest, most oatmeal-y, namby-pamby wet, little dishtowel and umm, NO. i love a good, just, productive bit of confrontation and i’ve been really loving decorating the boundaries i’ve established with people with tinsel and glade plug-ins, sprinkling my relationships with firm bits of “oh no, that’s NOT cool, dude!” i had a boss poke fun at an injury i got during a car accident last year {real talk}, and old me would have just sat there stunned and typed out some more busy work and treated myself to a little cry on the walk home. instead, i turned to him in a moment of major ball-collecting and said “oh yeah, not cool, dude!”, vowed to leave that job a$ap, and by the following friday i got a new job offer at our competitor AND a pay raise. females. is. strong. as. hell.

8. there’s still a chance for you and jason segel, girl. dad bod is underrated. i refuse to let this dream go. love of dad bod is nothing to be ashamed of. you just have high-brow taste that no one understands and appreciates. i love dad bod and i always will.

xoxo mack daddy




that time i went to prague and ended up in a beer dungeon;

Processed with VSCOcam with f2 preseta little preface: ~ a million years ago, when i began documenting the two weeks i went backpacking in europe solo, i had a mental squabble over this portion of my trip. most of my non-fiction stories involve a game i play called, “is this libel?” or rather, “is this my story alone to tell?”  so i stopped until i could figure out how to tackle this nugget. 

then solange dropped her album and i was like “lol lemme throw out my feelings like they’re confetti, too!” so, time to unleash this beast. 

in case ya missed it, here are the first two legs of my solo euro trip:  dublin. berlin. 

at this point in my travels, i was convinced i would never sleep again.  it just became a thing i was used to not doing. like my taxes. or changing my brita filter.

i debated all the things i could do now that sleep was not a part of my life —  maybe i’d learn lady-coding like all those facebook ads suggest i do since they’ve obviously detected me googling diva-cups {that was ONE TIME and i definitely immediately bought one right after and life has never been better???}

exaggerations aside, i really, truly did think i’d die. i felt like snakes were crawling over me constantly and i was rapidly running out of dayquil and common sense.

these are all moments i put down in my europe scrapbook to read at future family dinners for my grandkids to be like, “ma, please take grandma’s teeth. she’s gone off the rails.”

i’m definitely losing teeth privileges in my old age.

Processed with VSCO with f2 preset5am on new years day, i threw caution to the wind and headed to the train station to board my train from berlin to prague. by “throwing caution to the wind”, i mean i pleaded with anyone with a shifty look in their eye and perhaps a snaggle tooth to give me a teeny tiny, fun-sized, recreational portion of rohypnol so i could roofie myself to sleep. 

failing at this and inspired by the darkness i felt deep in my soul’s bowels, i shoved my face into the darkness of my down coat and forced about 4 hours of weird, trippy sleep.

it was like an of montreal album queefed out my dreams, but a sort of sad one that’s full of old czech grandmas who openly judged me and hit me repeatedly in the ankles with their shopping carts.

i smelled of shame, broken bottles of old german pilsner and a bit {a lot} like fear-urine. i would judge me, too. 


enter, my dank-ass hostel in prague . which was in an old palace. and was essentially full of endless free ham sandwiches and clawfoot tubs.

know your worth, ladies.

if i could chunk up this trip into chapters, the first chapter would be “finding myself by not finding absinthe”, the second would be “open mouth strudel sobs”, and the third would be called “whoops, gettin’ dumped in my bunk bed right now.”

finding myself by not finding absinthe (or my wallet):
i know none of you are reading this because we’d all likely rather read about a relationship going to complete chicken shit {we’re all kind of turds and also i would too}, but just in case:

prague is…breathtaking in the sense that it feels like it’s punched you in the throat and as you’re like, “what gives?” prague throws a huge, rare diamond at your right eyeball and runs away. this is all to say it’s aggressively gorgeous and unbelievable in every sense of the word.

after i napped myself into a deep drool puddle, i partnered up with my hostel bunk buddy, marie, to go after what any self-respecting woman in prague alone would do: we went to go eat a shit ton of goulash and chase the green fairy.

totally starved as we passed by an absinthe bar, we decided to shelve it until we found a good place to eat. ERROR #1: absinthe will not wait for you!

after we goulash’d, we trudged back to find this bar and…couldn’t find that ish ANYWHERE. the main touristy part of prague is also very, very small, and yet we could not find this particular bar again? did we eat absinthe-soaked beef? roofie-soaked beef? like how is this possible?

Processed with VSCOcam with f2 presetresolving ourselves to try to find the green fairy another night, we decided to do the next best thing: i took my last dose of dayquil with a $1 czech beer, and went to those fish tank spas where the fish eat YOUR DEAD FOOT SKIN OFF.

just kidding, it cost EIGHTY DOLLARS. when i’m old and spending all of my rich husband’s money, i will spend most of my days eating terra chips i smuggled from jet-blue flights and having tiny fish eat my dead foot skin, though, so fear not.

now, stay with me here: i sound like i wasted all of my good time in prague getting lost and trying to get absinthe and sleeping off the flu and feeling insane and being cheap as balls, which is mostly correct, but we also can’t forget that i also wasted a whole evening accidentally pick-pocketing myself!

{i also rode a funicular, and that negates everything according to travel math.}

while backpacking, i luckily buddied up with two groups of brazilian students. the first group invited me to a pub crawl one night and as we sidled up to the first pub, i patted my down jacket and realized…um, nope. my wallet pouch {that is covered in a collage of dogs} i’ve had since i was 20…was very much not there. the wallet also contained my keys, my passport, my ID, and everything of value outside of maybe my dignity.

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flipping out, i ran all across the old town and charles bridge and my new friends angelically followed me, retracing my steps all the way the pub, and tracked down a police officer  who directed us to not one, not two, but three different police stations until we finally found the english speaking police station.

three hours and three statements later, all the boys in my group began to laugh at me. the officers were shaking their heads at me, one after the other:

“why do you keep saying ‘dog wallet’?” the boys said.

“it’s a wallet that has dogs on it!”

“what do you mean by ‘it has dogs on it’?”

“like, it has a shit ton of dogs on it! it’s a wallet. with dogs on it!!”

“that’s ridiculous.”

“no, it’s amazing and you don’t understand!”

i didn’t even care if my money and cards were lost. i just really wanted my dog wallet back.

resolved to use my next and last day trying to scramble to find a way to leave this country for my next stop, my friends walked me back to the hostel, totally gracious in having missed a pub crawl to help me out.  i asked the front desk guy if he had seen a wallet with dogs on it, by any chance.

he had.

it was on the hostel couch the whole time.

{i hate me.}

i nearly kissed the front desk homie right on the face out of gratitude and disbelief and definitely not enough beer. he was not into it. but gosh darn it, i got my dog wallet back.

Processed with VSCOcam with f2 presetopen-mouth strudel sobs:
most people in high school had a life, whereas i wore a lot of vests, and had a whole lot of free time that i spent eating banana ice cream  {why, 15 year old me? you could’ve eaten ANY thing else in the world and you squandered it!} while watching a shit ton of episodes of passport to europe.

my favorite was naturally where samantha brown gets a strudel the size of a fat toddler’s arm.

sure, this city looks like a damn disney castle, but i am nothing if not 100% myself at all times and cannot lie and say i came here to experience true cultural immersion, instagrams, or to absorb works of art.

i came here for a strudel. a $1 strudel.

Processed with VSCOcam with f2 preseti wanted to shove my face into this strudel and thus peer into what i assumed to be the face of god/goddess. i wanted to motorboat this strudel until someone would inevitably ask me to leave {the sign of a job well done}. i’ve wanted to do unspeakable things with this strudel for the last 9 years, and then for the rest of the strudel and i’s natural lives.

i knew it was a gamble, trying to find this strudel man around the holidays but i felt the strudel gods smiling on me and sectioned off a full evening of my trip to this quest, including two trains and an hour walk in the middle of nowhere.

after trudging out to the middle of nowhere, i made it to the strudel shop as it started to rain. and it was closed.

so closed.

as in it was closed until the day after i left prague for munich. for some reason, the gods decided i was not ready for the rest of my life to begin. and they were correct. because i promptly cried like a little bitch.

on the hour long walk back to the station, i walked past a czech pizza shop, which only confused and disgusted me further {i’m always confused when drastically different cultures make pizza. it makes me nauseous for reasons i cannot explain and am embarrassed by this assumption always. like would it be covered in goulash? why do i think this way? when will i be less of a turd?}

finally, i made my way back to my hostel, delighting that at least i came up with the dad joke: “strudel is brutal” and drank away my strudel sadness at a czech beer dungeon {complete with fake skeletons} down the street with my other brazilian posse.

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i know this looks like a ham hot pocket. i did not do you justice, strudel. 

the next day, i stumbled into a cafe that was straight out of a laura-ashley-meets-alice-in-wonderland wet dream, ordered a huge strudel and a coffee and sighed so long the small children around at the nearby table became very, very concerned.


i promptly went to first base with this strudel for at least 15 minutes. it was delightful and both the strudel and i were both very, very happy afterwards.

i’ll likely not know what that magical, fabled strudel tastes like until i return to prague, but i will remember the romance i felt with my own strudel in that random cafe.

it’s comforting to know i alone felt such an acute sense of strudel-scented relief {which probably smells like the “apple pie” + “man town” yankee candles combined} that was entirely my own.

so suck on DEEZ STRUDELS, samantha brown.

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gettin’ dumped:
and then i very nearly got myself dumped. at 3am. at the bottom of a bunk bed, leaning over the side of the bed to see if i could dislodge a bit of snot with the help of my good frienemy, gravity.

i vividly remember telling my then-boyfriend i had to leave my phone a few times to go blow my nose in the bathroom, so i could breathe as i got the text messages, which implied heeeeey, maaaaaybe we should break up?

my entire face for the two hour saga was inspired by the blair witch project, all splotched and covered in various types, textures and ages of snot, as i cried as quietly as possible in the hostel {i like to think i sounded like a little, dainty mouse queen}. i spent two hours type-shouting “NOPE. I REFUSE. I DENY YOUR REQUEST TO DUMP ME. DO NOT TRY AGAIN LATER.”

it’s not the reasons of the breakup that i really want to focus on, because those all-too-personally extend to both before and after my trip, but rather how it colored my experiences and how i viewed others around me on the trip, because how could it not?

my old and new hostel friends were the first to notice something was amok. i decided to put the blame on the timezone shifts, or even directly on myself for accidentally humble-bragging about my day to him, the places i was going and people i was meeting. when asked by new hostel friends, i’d frame details of my chats with him in a hopefully-endearing way, but my new friends would raise their eyebrows, with a tally that didn’t add up to much.

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and i’m glad it didn’t. eventually, i shut off my phone for much of my trip to avoid the silence from the other end. it ultimately forced me to not sit by my phone on the charger, trying to will my boyfriend to skype with me from the claw-foot tub in the communal bathroom as i ate a free sandwich full of hostel ham.

the fact that i didn’t have wi-fi or phone service was freeing and also a bit darkly humbling, like when you expect a solid chunk of texts after a long flight just to receive nothing from… anyone {wtf, mom? text me shit! confirm my existence!}

while it was hard to leave for a whole day of solo plans, just to come back to the hostel to nothing but radio silence, it kept me more accountable to myself to enjoy myself, for myself, by my own damn means. i stayed out longer, searching instead for mysterious kebap meat rather than wi-fi signals.

i also ate a lot of fried cheese potatoes and realized i DO NOT understand what 100g. looks like {AHEM, it’s NOT enough potatoes} and really educated myself on the metric system, if not to just know how many potatoes to order. i skulked about the old town with some gluhwein and #wanderlusted to my damn heart’s content.

i also ate like…two doner kebaps a day, guys. from the same kebap stand without the guilt of another person getting bored of my food choices, as i’d much rather buy dumb magnets and admission to old ass libraries {and this dope one direction matryoshka} than spend a boatload on new foods. i wandered to only the places i wanted to see, which admittedly is less than guidebooks suggest i do to get my “money’s worth”, but who gives a damn? no one was watching over me and i largely kept these memories in my own brain instead of online, where they glistened like….some glistening gems? jewels? brain-baubles? i don’t know, man.

eventually, he gave up on dumping me that night and the rest of my trip {like, should i go to law school?? i’m super convincing????} i think it also helped that i kept reminding him of how i actually, literally couldn’t breathe at the time, so i had the pity card ON LOCK.

we eventually fully broke up about a month later, a hard but necessary decision, because ultimately you shouldn’t need to convince yourself or another person to stick around when it’s just not right or enough or just feels funky.

and thus, i stapled that girl scout patch lesson right onto my vest and trudged the fuck on.

next stop, munich!

hugging your anxiety monster real tight: a media guide

Screen Shot 2016-06-15 at 12.26.37 PMnye 2016. all the anxiety behind that face mask. edith was an all too accurate representation of my own personal anxiety monster. 

hugging your anxiety monster 

that one conversation you had last july (and last night…and three years ago in college…) where you said some weird crap in front of some friends/coworkers/the cvs cashier lady and you’re STILL cringing over it. every time i see the news ticker on facebook or anyone filtering their profile pictures with a different flag. when someone doesn’t text you back and you immediately think, “they’re dead. in a fiery car crash. careening off a cliff. into a big pile of…more fire. all my fault.”

this all is enough to make my anxiety go haywire. which then turns into me living in this nasty mental garbage-filled trash dungeon where i end up just…not feeling like myself for a while and then i…feel even more anxious because i’m not being myself…and then i get more anxious.

it’s really, really cute.

and that’s okay, really. fun (unsurprising) fact: i was diagnosed with anxiety and ocd when i was 7, which meant i got to get out of school to go visit my psychiatrist who brought his dog to work (hells yes!!! NAILED IT, mom!!)

i saw him every few months until i was 17, trying all kiiiiinds of concoctions until he finally “dumped” me, telling me plainly, “i don’t think you need medication anymore. i think you can solve this yourself. you have the tools.”

even his dog was all, “yeah, girl” which he gestured to me by licking his crotch.

whooooooooa, right?!

and i believe that evil genius psychiatrist man. i left his office only feeling bummed i couldn’t see his golden retriever anymore. since then, it’s been a matter of building that tool belt of things that make me feel like myself again (which i know now is this picture of ingrid bergman knitting on a beach  + jenny slate’s instagram) and not weird-anxiety self (an awkward hermit monk  + this leslie knope freak out).

whenever i describe coping with my anxiety, i always imagine myself hugging it so tight that it shuts the hell up. it really does help. on top of that, the most comforting thing i’ve ever had someone say to me is “yes! i have felt this way too.”

so here i am. feeling this way too.  here is my tool box. it has served me well. fly free, little dudes.

you best believe i made a public anxiety playlist on spotify. come on, remember that i lack discretion and also start sentences with “omg this one time at eating disorder camp…!!”

this is also the origin of my new favorite excuse for everything: “don’t blame it on me, blame it on my wiiiiiiild heaaaaaart!” i highly recommend it.

first, let’s start this off with…

DORIS DAY (’cause she makes me feel the most like myself):
pillow talk doris is a high-powered interior designer and she has to share a phone line with a big ol’ hunk of manmeat (rock hudson) who writes musical theater numbers.  several dropped hankerchiefs later, she not only woos him but she KICKS MAJOR ASS and wears a lady-suit like there is NO TOMORROW.

this is also almost identical to the movie lover come back (also great), where she also takes her time to not be fucked around with by anyone. 

it happened to jane okay, so doris is just a simple lobster farmer from maine and once again, she is NOT FUCKING AROUND, GUYS.  she sues the hell out of a railroad company and if that’s not the most outdated plot line you’ve ever heard, i don’t know what is, but it’s glooooooorious. 

the glass bottom boataside from the fact that this is the movie i based my tattoo on, it’s total hot garbage. regardless, she WORKS AT NASA AND CHALLENGES SEXISM, KINDA. 

calamity jane okay, some pretty egregious sexism here, but homegirl is a gun-slinging, horseback- riding wild woman.  her slacks game is pretty immaculate, too.

move over, darlinghave you ever been stuck on a deserted island for five years, only to be rescued and find out your husband has just gotten remarried?! NO. you haven’t. let’s put all our shit in perspective, guys. and then crash. that. honeymoon.  

muriel’s wedding the beauty of female friendship! toni collette! abba! an australian beach town called porpoise spit! what else do you need? nothing, you monster. stop asking. 

troop beverly hillsshelley long is a shopping-obsessed,  underdog leader of a girl scout troop going down the pooper, while also going through a nasty divorce with ed o’neill and guess what? HOMEGIRL DEFIES ALL ODDS.

roman holidayit’s such a small moment, but when queen anne’s doctor says “i think it’s time you do just what you like for a while” my little 16 year old mind was BLOWN. 

amelie – for me this is a total duh (hope in humanity, whimsy, magic being restored, etc.), but upon consulting my old roommate she said this movie causes her the most anxiety of all because she can’t deal with amelie not making out with nico’s whole face (his.whole.face.) immediately. i also feel this pain. 

starter for 10 (the book is great, too) — if you find yourself feeling awkward and your every word makes your skin crawl, this movie will provide some comfort that you’re truly not that awkward. or maybe you are, but you’re not alone — james mcavoy’s handsome, man-goat features are also very calming.

frances ha as someone who’s lived 70% of this mess before (namely the whole “ah crap, i booked a flight to europe with no planning and no friends” and “casually kinda awful at adult ballet and mildly undateable” part), it’s comforting to watch someone else go through it.

i think tv is a wonderful escapism tool when dealing with anxiety. i know it’s seen as a toxic form of media, but as someone who was raised in part by a television and still is not a sociopath, i kind of call b.s. on that. i could get real exhaustive on tv that’s healed me, but these in particular healed me in a gross part of 2014. i don’t know why these are all either british or irish series, but let their lilting accents take you over:

father ted i got a bit more obsessed with this show than the others, you could say. 

moone boychris o’dowd plays an imaginary friend to a dopey 11 year old irish boy in 1989 boyle, ireland. if you predicted that this is my fantasy, you’d be 100% right. 

the it crowd  — can you tell i have a tremendously awkward boner for chris o’dowd?

peep show#1 comedy of all time. don’t even question me. just stop it. 

that mitchell and webb look i laugh-cry whenever i think of the queen victoria sketch. 

something i’ve found is it’s hard to find books that straddle that nasty variety of indecision that power-bombs your life at times.  i like those characters that can observe their own indecision and faults and grip them a bit tighter into a sort of friendly choke-hold. these are those special books. also, included is some good, old fashioned, book-flavored escapism:

rebecca by daphne du maurier — crazy bitches, fires, mansions — this book is an absolute escapist’s dream. also, it’s especially good during a romantic drought / break-up in your life, because it makes you immediately think, “uh, no. i think i’m fine by myself, thanks.” 

high fidelity by nick hornby — i’m captain obvious /  high admiral  of “duh”  for suggesting this, but it’s especially good if you’re finding yourself at odds with the old-pizza-crust-and-non-descript-boob-littered world of the straight male brain. 

the uncoupling by meg wolitzer — in the fall of 2014, this healed the hell outta me. and not only because i used the pages as bandaids. the words helped, too. 

how to build a girl by caitlin moran — a new favorite in my rotation. i’ll fangirl caitlin moran ’til the cows come home. and these particular cows are homeless, so…forever. 

zorba the greek  by nikolas kazantzakis — severely underrated and will possibly solve all your life’s problems forever, always, etc. 

why we broke up by daniel handler and maira kalman — okay, i don’t need to explain this. just look at the title. it will tear you apart. it’s fine. you can thank me later once you collect your bowels. 

the pocket pema chodronthis actually-literally fits into any and all of your pockets (please do not attempt to put it in “nature’s pocket”. the resulting paper cut pains me to imagine), so you have no excuse not to read this. this was my little buddy on nyc subways when i found out that the city made me feel so hardened that i actually CRAVED shoulder-checking random people. it’s a phenomena, i swear. #I<3NY  

my berlin kitchen by luisa weiss — sort of a random pick but every single time i’ve moved (boston…chicago…new york…los angeles…okay, i’ve read this book a lot), or felt like something wasn’t quite right in my world, i pick this up.  say “pflaumenkuchen” 5 times fast and tell me it doesn’t cheer you up. i dare you.  

the girl’s guide to hunting and fishing by melissa banks  — okay, so i know this is quite seriously on the shelves of every thrift store currently, but i’ve re-read this every year since i was 17 and each time i get something completely different out of it.  it’s the book i recommend to nearly everyone and i’ve got a 100% success rate with it so far. #humblebrag 

these guys could be categorized as “things i listened to while at an internship/ desk job instead of hyperventilating.”  maybe they helped distract me until i got some clarity or perspective, or they simply made me laugh so hard i had to go to the bathroom to get my breathing back to normal.

mike birbiglia — how does he make me cry and laugh so hard for so many different reasons? HOW?! oh birbigs, you hit me right in the cockles of my heart.  you bastard, i love you.
favorites: my girlfriend’s boyfriend + sleepwalk with me.

bill burr– okay, i’m biased because bill burr’s stand-up is 100% a reading of a transcript of the phone calls i have with my big brother.
favorites: why do i do this  + emotionally unavailable.

maria bamford– proof that it’s more than okay(and even super empowering! scare others with your tears!) to show the crazy.
favorites: ask me about my new god!  + unwanted thoughts syndrome.

jenny slate — okay, so i mostly just lurk her instagram mid-panic attack (super! casual!), but she reminds me of the little core nubbins of my soul and that it’s okay  to be vulnerable.  additionally, obvious child is a must-watch for humans with working brains and hearts everywhere. 

aziz ansari — whether you’ve noticed it or not, it’s fact that my alter ego is “randy”. 
favorites: intimate moments for a sensual evening + dangerously delicious.

tig notaro — i waited way too long to finally listen to/watch tig, and i want to help you escape that same fate. time is so very short. listen.
favorites: good one + live.

social media:
i always like to think i’m the kind of “cool” person who could give up social media, but i’m just not. i’m painfully chatty and i will never quit facebook due to the really intense wine-themed group chat i have going with my aunts (this is a legitimate reason. it’s wonderful…wine-derful…ugh).

i do however take great care to make sure i unfollow + add things in to my social media circle that make me pretty damn glad and not hate-scroll through shit mindlessly.

instagram is my main mode of social media, but if you want to be added to this particular wine-soaked facebook chat, i’m sure i could pull some strings.

okay, i’m kind of obsessed with those instagram yoga / hiking / real as hell girls, but… i’m very picky. these ladies are mad transparent and i harbor very open girl crushes for them all.

homegirls that keep it real / are espresso straight to the heart:


artists that keep it (almost too) real:
@personalpractice – try not to have your own secret dance parties now. i dare you. 
@phoebewahl – goal: live inside of one of her paintings. 
@jessgrippo i used to take her ballet classes at 8am every saturday back in nyc and she is the most bright, shining beacon of dance-power ever.  

@prairiedogpackcould you do with a bit more prairie dogs in your life? you bet your ass you do.
@_this_girl_is_a_squirrel – ditto the above sentiment, but with a SQUIRREL named  JILL. 

and finally, some handy-dandy pictures to calm your brain the eff down:

this wonderful series by phoebe wahl.
some jeanette winterson magic.
no bad thoughts. 
because you’re a badass bitch from hell.
also, you look cute as shit. 

love you. mean it. xoxo gossipmack.

that time i went to europe and became a jelly donut, berlin;


{berlin: weihnachtsmarkt [christmas market, alexanderplatz],  siegessäule, smiling through the sickness @ brandenburger tor in my toadstool hat, the aforementioned currywurst restaurant}

*and then i sort of kind of made it to berlin, exceeeeeept the whole part where the next flight to berlin would have been four days later, as in the day after i hypothetically left berlin and that was uh, not cool.

*so onwards julie and i flew to hamburg to then take a train to berlin. didn’t really get to experience too much of hamburg, except their exemplary sandwich and kinder chocolate options in the hauptbahnhof {main train station}, which was much appreciated by julie and i. danke, hamburg. just to keep track, my kidneys have been replaced by aer lingus cookies and kinder surprise eggs.

*and then ich bin ein berliner, ya know? which can i pull out my soapbox to say, doesn’t quite mean you’re a jelly donut. so to everyone who has ever heil’d me or told me i was a jelly donut because i’ve been learning german for an inordinate amount of time, jfk was not saying he was a jelly donut, but i would not be adverse to having a jfk-shaped jelly donut, tbh. dreamy on dreamy wrapped in dreamy.

*after what seemed like a jillion hours of me playing german duolingo on the train {omg so efficient and clean and i am obsessed with german trains now i’m gonna sublet a seat on a german train one day follow my pinterest board “berlin train car dream home” plzzzz}, we got to the berlin hauptbahnhof. julie and i walked from the hauptbahnhof to her airbnb and my hostel in alexanderplatz {i stayed in this hostel which i really dug + recommend because it was all kinds of social} because that seemed like a good idea but was actually marginally good at best, because i was all “oh i don’t need a map i’ll just see the tv tower in the distance, and just KNOW!” where i then proceeded to get lost as soon as julie and i parted ways.

*we were going to meet up later to go to a disko {which was the subject of 80% of my german homework questions and thus was my dream come true; all i needed now was a guy named heiko and someone to talk to me about the lack of german closets and i could then mighty-morph into david hasselhoff}

*modern technology and travel in a foreign country do not mix well, so i ended up doing my second dream which was CURRYWURST, which is a mixture of regular hotdogs, curry powder, and ketchup combined with the pure admiration of my 8 year old self who used to eat cold hot dogs as a snack, along with dipping my finger into tubs of cream cheese. we do not need any further proof that i was a chubby child. my bloodstream circa 1998 was essentially oreo o’s cereal platelets floating down a sea of sunkist soda blood.

*currywurst is totally allowed to be its own bullet point. so here it is, being its own bullet point.

*especially at a place in alexanderplatz {uber touristy} that exclusively techno-ized whitney houston’s entire discography. which means, it was my third dream come true. hot dogs and curry powder and fries and whitney, all perfection. i am now doing the social media marketing for that restaurant, fyi.

*american moment #1: was me eating a delicious mystery of this white stuff in a packet called “salad cream” and being all “omg we muuuuust have this in the states! i am being so worldly and adventurous for eating such a mysterious, exotic delicacy all on my own!!” only to slowly realize i was eating an absurd amount of good ol’ fashion mayonnaise. on a vat of french fries, no less.

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{swing sets by the berlin wall, mauerpark flea market, and another weihnachtsmarkt! [potsdamer platz] i was swimming in weihnachtsmarkts, ya’ll, alte nationalgalerie}

*precautionary flu shot be damned, i got upwards of 6 strains of the flu for the next four days, didn’t sleep a wink the entirety of my time in berlin, and hobbled around town in various stages of decrepitude.

*being that i was surviving on rations of elderberry ricolas, thick german grocery store bread and individual packets of peanut butter, i was not feeling too hot. but i was saving soooooo many euro-euro bills, ya’ll.

*my main hobby was walking to the pergamon museum , seeing the ridiculous line, going “aw hell no”, wondering what castle i wanted to pay 12 euro to see that day and then not paying 12 euro to see that castle, then sneaking on the metro without paying for that ish ’cause their metro payment scheme is on the HONOR SYSTEM.

*meaning you buy the ticket ahead of time, walk past the exactly ZERO TURNSTILES and are supposed to “validate” your ticket by scanning it prior to using it, and then walk on the train all hunky-dory. i was so stunned at this system and assumed i’d figure it out at the next station, so…. i hopped on the train and just…..kept on not paying for trains. es tut mir leid, berlin infrastructure. i am planning on righting this wrong by buying a ton of stock in haribo goldbaeren and church spires.

*seeing as i had no honor and no immune system, i had a pretty cheap time in berlin. i will tell you, i’m super glad i couldn’t eat anything in berlin and was uber sneaky on the metro because well, i wanted to vomit the whole time, thus this {foreshadowing} allowed me to be able to eat in munich + prague when homegirl over here was gosh-darn near ravenous and scraping at the bottom of her crusty coin purse of euros. danke, berlin!

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{bridge on the way to the museumsinsel [museum island], quaint houses outside, and inside of sachenhausen concentration camp}

*on one of these gross sick days i fortuitously charged my phone in my hostel lobby. while charging my phone, i met an awesome guy named jossef from guatemala who was going to squat on the hostel couches in between a layover to brussels that night. after quickly texting some friends “hey, am i about to be kidnapped?” jossef and i went to go get some pizza where he introduced me to the delicious dark magic which is putting tuna fish on a pizza.

*lucky for me, jossef was the king of all informal tour guides and thankfully not a kid/woman-napper. we pranced around to checkpoint charlie and potsdamer platz, where i somehow found myself {quasi-drunkenly} challenging germans to races up a movie theater escalator {that was in the process of going down, but that goes without saying}. i give you, american moment #2.

*this is an odd fact of myself when i am sick. when i’m well, i am a lazy mess, but when i am sick i somehow want to do the most active things and nearly put myself in the hospital. this was no exception. we almost went swing dancing, but i decided against my worst judgment and we went back to the hostel after i beat a german dad at escalator racing.

*next i went to the flohmarkt im mauerpark {flea market in the berlin wall park} and attempted to speak as much german as possible, which was met with: people speaking back to me in english and one woman asking me {in german} if i was french and would i like her to speak to me in my assumed native tongue of french. i took the second response as a win, overall. i bought an old yellow hat to commemorate the moment. it makes me look like a toadstool, as if i am the type of girl whose mom picked out her outfits ’til she was 16 and brought canned vienna sausages to school for lunch. it is my spirit hat and i will never, ever feel silly for wearing it.

*then i made my way to sachsenhausen concentration camp, a hike of a walk from the town of oranienburg. which, obviously, was majorly sad and surreal and i will never be able to erase it from my brain, and is precisely the point. the most peculiar part about visiting the concentrations camp, is it wasn’t even like it was off on their own, secluded from the town of oranienburg. no, not even a little. these camps were completely nestled closely in these residential areas. there’s a bus to these camps from the train station, but i chose to walk instead {ummmm, also because i would not be able to sneak on, to be honest}, which i’m glad i did, because the whole experience was just so unbelievable when you consider that there are adorable, quaint houses on the same street as the camps. completely bonkers and without a doubt the most impactful part of my trip. {end introspection here.}

*i kept imagining myself giving hypothetical directions for friends coming to my hypothetical german dinner party at my hypothetical oranienburg house: “oh yes, take two rights after the third light and gas showers…if you’ve gotten to the leveled concentration camp barracks, you’ve gone too far.”  

*speaking of going too far….

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{berlin cathedral, nikolaikirche [st. nicholas’ church], me and my brazilian hostel posse pre-mayhem}

*seeing as i was a total loner, i was starved for social interactions not including me trying to feebly order {in german} bags of ricola at the nearest apotheke: “mehr ricola, bitte?!” . i luckily was rooming with a whole group of brazilian students who i possibly, most likely, definitely forced myself into their friendship group as abrasively american as possible. i’m sort of that person who walks up to a large group of people having a conversation and says “hey guys what are we talking about?!!!” i am that turd.

*so me and my new brazilian hostel posse agreed to do wild n’ crazy berlin new years eve hijinx, and seeing as our hostel doubled as a bumpin’ neighborhood bar, this was seamlessly easy to do. meanwhile, strange norwegian guys kept scamming on me, trying to get us to go to diskotheks, telling me i should try snuff, and then trying to impress me by making me listen to “what does the fox say?” as that has been, to them, norway’s most significant contribution to the world. luckily i turned them off completely by asking them about gnome folklore, so peace and tranquility were restored quickly and swiftly.

*in a nutshell: water bottles full of mysterious liquids, vomiting on the berlin metro, lamp posts being climbed like spider monkeys, glass bottles being thrown into a pit of people for an hour, and losing one of our own to the treacherous crowd of peeing berliners near brandenburg gate, we finally got everyone together at the hostel safe and sound around 4 in the morning. oh yah, and the mob of strange men following me and my brazilian lady friends on to the metro? thrilling! let’s say i got a year’s worth of adrenaline in about a night. currently wearing a “i survived new years eve in berlin and all i got was this lame t-shirt and possibly ptsd” as i type this.

*this trip was full of many of my finest moments, one of which is me thinking it was a great idea to book a 7am train to prague on new year’s day, figuring “well, i’ll be up anyways!?!” why yes, i was “up anyways” because i had been “up anyways” since december 26th.

*as my brazilian posse headed to bed, i sat in the hostel bar with my phone and charger to wait for my train so i wouldn’t fall asleep super hard in my own vomit. about 15 minutes passed with me seeming like a loner sociopath sans trench coat, until luckily a huge group of irish lads sat down at my table and agreed to talk to me + keep me up until my train left. much craic was had, and i realized american moment #3 was me needing one of the irish guys to translate whatever his other irish friend was saying because i.couldn’ the guys also offered me my pick of ireland’s finest couches to sleep on while i was in dublin on my 13 hour overnight layover for my return flight back to the states. wahoo, american charm!

**next stop, prague!**

that time i went to europe and {sorta} lived to tell the tale, dublin;

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{somewhere around st. stephen’s green. too jet-lagged to remember exactly, since i had just had at least four cups of aer-lingus coffee and eight aer-lingus cookies by this point, tbh}

i’m about to be that twat. i’m about to talk about my post-grad trip europe without being annoying, except totally being annoying.

you know the one; the one who expects people to really find their short trip abroad to be the *~mooooost inteeeeeresting*~ {insert robin leach voice here}  thing in the world. and posts like 8 different times about the same city, or blurry shots of their ratty toms shoes on some sort of ornate ancient cobblestone, which are probably just bobs anyways.

your eyes, bleeding uncontrollably over them making you look at endless slideshows of castles that look pretty much how you expected them to look {soooo pointy! and snowy! and ooh is that hogwarts?!}

those same eyes are darting from their pictures of their 8 millionth instagram of austrian sachertorte+ latte combo {just EAT it! JUST FRACKING EAT IT! says the little danny devito that lives in my spleen} to the nearest knife to stab this person uncontrollably in the throat.

…or kindly slice them a piece of cake. but mostly knife-stabby and throat-grabby feelings.

you really just want to scream “it looks just like the castle at disneyworld, you moldy wet turd!”, but you don’t.

i’ve droned on and on about this before, but traveling/vacations do not make you a special snowflake.

traveling gives you some tits stories to tell to your closest friends and stalkers for like, a week, and then you.must.stop.talking.about.that.shit. if that person has not seen the coliseum, their ability to hear you talk about how tiny it actually is, greeeeatly decreases with each retelling.


although that doesn’t stop me from telling the story about how i got a hardcore UTI while at a josh ritter concert in montreal and walked out of the bathroom {all seven times} with my skirt tucked into my underpants AND sweater tights:

“am i drinking all the right juice,

am i sure this isn’t bad news,
is there a chance that i could go poo
without my pee parts completely burning.”

-my personal UTI-inspired version of “right moves” by josh ritter

**UTI stories are absolutely, positively universal and should be retold well and often so as to ward off evil UTI spirits and banshees that haunt your poor urethra. i totally read this in seventeen magazine once, which means it’s completely 100% true and shut up.**

luckily for my throat, i’m chronicling this adventure of mine over the interwebs and i’m currently exiled in malta a la napoleon, ya’ll. so suck on it.

except don’t, because i’m mostly writing this for my own personal uses, because i am afraid of alzheimers and don’t want james garner reminding me of my life in a nursing home the notebook-style, ya know?

also, the traveling abroad gods had some forethought and this twat over here totally got like six varietals of the flu at once, didn’t sleep for close to 4 days, almost got dumped, almost got fined by the berlin/munich/prague metro polizei, almost got kidnapped, and there was that whole time i pick-pocketed myself in prague?

yeah. mhm. post-grad euro-trip 2013, baby!

just think of it like this: same sense of embarrassment and shame in my daily life, but just in a prettier place. can we all just give me that? okay, thank you.


being as i am a cheap turd, i sneakily planned my trip to have an 8-hour layover in dublin before trudging on to germany and the czech republic. ach, ja!

this was mostly as a means so that i could finally try to attempt to understand irish accents as i was accustomed to listening to episodes of moone boy with top-secret subtitles {meaning i scrunch my shoulders up to my ears so no one can peek at my english language subtitles to an english language show}.

i am not ashamed of this. except i totally am a little bit ashamed. i was not at all successful in this goal, btw. still had absolutely no idea what was going on. also could have been the early onset of diabetic coma due to aer-lingus cookies.

{dublin} itinerary:

*boarded a delightfully barren aer-lingus flight to see it be bedazzled in christmas tinsel and sassy gay air stewards wearing reindeer ears. it was like absolutely fabulous and aer-lingus decided to collaborate this year on their in-flight decor. i was all kinds of amused. i also had like 12 seats to myself so i formed a “mega-seat”, where i hummed “loca the pug” and worked on developing modern gout for the next 8 hours.

*one microwaved lasagna, three cups of coffee, and 8,000 aer-lingus cookies later….i am in *~DUBLIN*~ and also the human version of garfield the cat. i am also full obsessed with “father ted” at this point.

  IMG_6548 IMG_6540


{st. stephen’s green, a much appreciated sign by st. patrick’s cathedral and ummm… seat cozies!!!!}

*tromped around trinity college with my hiking backpack/ turtle shell to the amusement of absolutely no one in the cath kidston store that i shoulder-checked. no one should compromise my right to look at floral notebooks with cowgirls on them. no one.

*totally went to the trinity college library to see a library look so closed, i realized i had never seen a library look so closed in my life. even the library of alexandria didn’t look as closed as this. after fertilizing the college greens with my tears, i tromped on to find more aer-lingus cookies.

*i was not successful. apparently aer-lingus cookies are not as wide-spread in their distribution as i had hoped. what gives with the cookie blue balls, dublin?

*then i went to st. patrick’s cathedral where i became obsessed with all their decorative seat cozies. i’m telling you, this church has a freaking monopoly on cute seat cozy charm. forget the dead bodies underneath the floor and 8 trillion year old flags, i am ALL kinds of about seat cozies now. get me stock in seat cozies.

*also realized at this point that growing up in orlando, florida has completely ruined me and my sense of the historical. thoughts upon walking around dublin and seeing old stuff because i was all “whoa, disney and universal did a damn good job on recreating these bad boys! “ 800 years of history, right down the pooper.


*then i totally remembered the time my friends and i were walking around downtown orlando one night, and a drunk guy stopped me and said “are you from ireland? ’cause my dick is dublin” which then made me cackle to myself in a jet-lag-induced haze for a solid five minutes and then go “ugh.”

*dublin all day was all “lol i’m raining” to which i responded with a “I’M WALKIN’ HERE!” and walked until i reached my goal of travel-induced shin splints. i’ll let you figure out for yourself who won. {uhhhh, me}.

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*and then i went to bar where i had guinness lamb stew. with a pint of guinness. with guinness bread. and then i became an irish citizen because that’s just how it works there, ya know?

*onward i trotted back to the airport where my flight was subsequently CANCELED SO HARD. i say “so hard” as to mean “canceled with no clue as to when i would be leaving with nowhere to stay and not enough money to deal with this shizz right now”. i made buddies with an irish girl who greeted this whole debacle with “well, i guess i won’t be going to berlin now! ladies, this is how ireland works. have a good one!” and then she just.went.home.

*i fortuitously buddied up with an awesome irish couple and an american girl traveling to berlin, and we then waited in the line that never ended. and then when it ended {2 hours later} , it became clear the line was for nothing in particular, and we were directed to another line/ slowly growing mob of three canceled flights {for another hour or five}.

*julie, the american girl, and i then decided to form an amazing race- style alliance and shimmied our way to another line where the aer-lingus people finally caved and gave all of us free hotel rooms, dinner, and breakfast. angry mobs TOTALLY work and are super efficient, guys. american charm works for the first and only time during this trip, just in case you are keeping track.

….and seeing as i did not budget correctly at all, i ate enough to last me that winter and the following winter. julie and i shared a room, watched some shawshank redemption, and i passed the eff out after covering my whole travel-grimed body in deodorant to prepare for a full day of only travel to berlin.

*at breakfast the next morning, i also distinctly remember writing in my journal “OMG THIS PORRIDGE!” which i’m realizing sums up dublin quite nicely.

omg this porridge, indeed


{around st. stephen’s green}

**next stop, berlin!**

…did ya’ll miss all the ways i could possibly form run-on sentences? ’cause i sure as hell did.

the quest for realness;


 the moment i found myself outside of a very, very closed trinity library on an 8 hour layover in dublin. you’ve NEVER seen a library more closed than that library.
pose via britney spears circa 2007. realness via life via school of hard knocks. 

*to engaged people taking pictures of themselves/having pictures taken of themselves: where the FUDGE are you finding all these fields? and do you actually hang out in them? can we all be a little more realistic and have engagement photos of us all watching netflix in our crusty underpants?

{would really appreciate the change in trends.}

*and also can we all stop acting like we’re all free spirits? you definitely yelled at your cat the other day. {i saw you} and you weren’t drinking a chai latte in your crop top riding in a top-down convertible on the highway planning your european backpacking trip to find yourself while you were getting your oil changed and balance your checkbook. and you definitely went to mcdonald’s while you were backpacking, don’t front.

{let’s all get a grip and realize “free-spirited-ness” is a marketing trend put forth by the people that have put triangles on EVERYTHING, and that confirms you can pin pictures of peonies from the free people pinterest page all day. the most free-spirited people i know don’t post about being free-spirited.}

*can we all collectively stop talking about coffee shops and their relative romance? i’ve had crappy dates in coffee shops. and awesome dates in coffee shops. and some damn near romantic times in bowling alleys. and as someone who used to work in a book store with a coffee shop attached i can tell you that 80% of those coffee shops have some sort of deadbeat shooting up in the bathroom or doing the nasty-nasty with another deadbeat in the bathroom.Processed with VSCOcam with f2 preset

what i ate basically everyday in prague because it was free and no i never wished it was a paleo gluten-free kale scramble ever. 

can we all be romantic somewhere else? go get your coffee and leave and write your novel elsewhere. call me anemic as hell {and you’d be right}, but they’re all siberian-level chilly. also, the baristas hate you and they closed 10 minutes ago. let them go home.

*can we all admit one thing: posting things on the internet about book fetishes or being a reader or being reader-ly just means you’re probably wasting an hour that you could have spent reading and probably counting bustle {the worrrrrrst} and thought catalog {the second worst} as “reading”?

whenever i see that self-righteous “i’m a reader, this is why i’m so much more passionate than you” shizz clutter my newsfeed/life, i just can’t deal with it, ’cause i know those people aren’t innocently posting a single picture and going back to their thrifted copies of to kill a mockingbird with their anthropologie mug with a sparrow on it. as someone who is a product of the digital age and also a burnt-out recipient of a degree in literature, let’s all please admit we haven’t read a book in a week or two because pinterest has really been “on a roll” this week.

*and on that note: can we all start writing like how we talk? i didn’t realize i knew so many anne lamotts and mary olivers having mind-altering realizations and epiphanies all the time. imitation is flattery and a form of practice, to a certain extent, but it also just curbs your brain’s natural inclination to use/find your own voice.

i personally would luuuuuuuurve, luff, and loave to hear alllllll about that time you accidentally farted in front of your priest {not true for me, i swear}, or woke up to a face-full of your cat’s dingleberries {definitely true for me.}

okay, i feel better now.

keep warm + hello!


how have you all been?
i’ve been doing swell.
i graduate in two, count ’em, two weeks {!!!}
and then edith the cat and i are on a one way trip down to good ol’ florida.
the swampland of my heart.
then i’m off to germany + prague for a few weeks to do some general prancing and solo-adventuring. yay!

then…question mark. who really knows.
which is pretty cool, right? i dig it.
all i know is i have a big order of puppy kisses
{+ i’ve been hinting at getting these roller skates for christmas for MONTHS.}

soooooo i just wanted to pop back in to say hi + a little bit of gross self-promotion!
you know how it goes.
at least i’m being upfront about it.
you are allowed to ‘x’ out of your browser as of now.

still here?
so, get this. i have a sociopathic amount of scarves in my house.
and it’s colder than a witches’ teat outside.

and since i love you all so much and don’t want anyone’s necks to get hypothermia,
i’ve made a little handy-dandy coupon for my etsy shop for all of you who have been reading my incoherent rambles for however long.
{extra points if you’ve been here since i wrote literary raps}

Screen Shot 2013-11-29 at 2.17.26 PM
{the coupon code is WHATEVRGATSBY12}

i also do custom orders.
i actually lurrrrrrrve custom orders.
even if you want hearts in the yarn,
or god forbid want a hufflepuff scarf {hufflepuffs are a bunch of spares, sorry}
or want tassles or glitter,
or want a scarf so thick it stretches your neck like a kayan woman. 

i will do it. seriously.

{they are all currently wool-free for all you sheep-lovers,
but i can make wool ones if you need the sheepy warmth. i totally get it.}

and if not, fill my comments on all you are up to!

xo m.

a see ya later, not a goodbye;

IMG_4707          {admittedly, most of my posing inspiration comes from the 40 year-old virgin poster}

i’ve learned a lot this summer. primarily the teachings of the little girls i’ve been lucky to babysit for, in that really fantastic range of four to eight years-old.

a kid knows instinctually when they find something not as fun, and quickly run to the nearest hot pink razor scooter, or rollerblades {where i would inevitably roll into a mailbox because i don’t know how to stop *ahem* still don’t know how to} or break open a fresh pack of dunkaroos.

oh my god or a mondo drink. or god forbid a box of those little cookie panda-things filled with strawberry cream. okay, so eight year-old me definitely had maple syrup and cookies and cream ice cream for blood. and honey nut cheerios for platelets. and an entenmann’s coffee cake for a liver. we can set that as fact. i had the jowls to show for it.

meanwhile, back at the ranch. i think it’s all too easy to lose that instinctual feeling of “wow, this is a chore” or “holy crap, when did i last have fun doing this” or “if hyperlinking another youtube scene in spaceballs is all i did today then by jove, i’d be a big ball of sad.” 

which is not what this is all about. and i think a lot of the gaps that have been in this blog this summer have been filled with me being more instinctual about having the kind of fun i instinctually want to have, off the screen. and keeping it to myself has been more of something i’ve wanted to do.

i’ve loved being a part of this community, and will always love to read your thoughts, adventures, and kale recipes, but i think for me i’m getting to a point where i’d like to think less of what photo filter on #vscocam to put my weekend under and more of where the nearest mr. frostee truck is and where to get a stylin’ pair of rollerskates.

i love you all and these past four years of blogging would never have been as cool without your cake ball recipes, corgi .gifs, and just garden-variety coolness. so for now, i’d like to bid you all a “see ya later,” {’cause you know i can’t stay away for too long} and definitely not a “goodbye” because that’s pretty sappy and i like to keep the sap down to a minimum, ’cause that ish is messy.

wanna keep in touch? i’m only moderately clingy.


being one with nature &etc;

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{prospect park}

it may not be obvious, but i’m a big fan of dirt.
i really dig the stuff {hyuk-hyuk. see what i did there?} hiking in new hampshire and massachusetts has been one of my new loves since moving to the northeast, behind the burritos at boloco, petting strangers dogs outside the library, and pretending not to have pet a stranger dog after it ferociously barks at me. it wasn’t me, i swear.

i am also one of those people that doesn’t really enjoy going to the gym to feel worked out. i actually kind of hate it. people are too clean at the gym. and also, that freakish breed of women exists there.

you know the ones; the ones with a sephora-employee-level of “smokey eye” on their eyes? i’m sorry, ya’ll, but you should not be trying to rock major eye definition while working on your calf definition. just my #twocents.

just bask in your dirtiness for once, is what i have to say. that’s the one way i feel successful, is with the amount of dirt in between my toes. post-hike shoe removal? sigh. end-of-beach-day griminess? the best. the resulting shower? i could cry at the thought.  it’s a good benchmark, i think. which is why i’ve been trying to romp in new york city parks all the more often like i’m a wild shetland pony or something.

who knew i’d find myself at my delightful dirtiest in new york? the parks of new york have been the background of all my daily, sweat-filled walks, where i pretend the cars rushing on the roads above me are just ocean waves picking up speed.

in this city full of grown women wearing freshly-pressed gaucho pants and fitted blazers, i’m more the type of person that realizes at 4p.m. that she has a peanut butter stain on the crotch of her $5 pencil skirt. and thats exactly how i like it, and exactly how i think i’ll keep it.

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{fort tryon park + the cloisters}