Tag Archives: college life

these days;

spring2013

signed a sublease for a charmingly large {that’s what she said, heeey ohhhhh. sorry, mom} one bedroom in upper {upper…upper} manhattan for the summer.

two favorite berries:  pinkberry on newbury.

putting “or whatever” after heartfelt sayings has been my main jam, i.e. “i love you or whatever”, “you’re cute or whatever”, “no, i’ll miss you or whatever.”

edie has been developing a love of fine luggage. baby girl knows what she likes.

the $8.95 thai lunch special at dok bua is both the life and death of me. dumplings on dumplings on curry on dumplings.

fenway has never been more gross and sticky and yet so very much my favorite place, even if i did drop my favorite scarf right into a puddle of day old bud light.

i’m also trying to convince coolidge theater that i can sublet one of their recliner chairs forever, because that’s what success and happiness look like to me.

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kate nash. jukebox the ghost. matt pond pa. all of the paper bags being hyperventilated into. all of them.

the discovery of the one direction store in boston= life has improved a million percent and rising.

my loyalty cards have extended from just cvs to include: panera, petco, dunkin’s, pavement, starbucks, and whatwaslifewithoutfreescones,guys

brother and mother filson and i pillaged the harpoon brewery of its pretzels and harpoon summer. 

{and considered going by ferry to do the same at cisco  brewery in nantucket. we don’t mess around}

tardis blue velvet cake for the whovian manfriend. disgust-o-meter went way off the charts this weekend.

slowly but surely the people of boston are getting back to their normal selves;

…which is to say the italian guys in the north end give me discounts on strawberries for my red hair,  and i delight in the drunken conversations had by people on a saturday night on the train home.

 

 

monday’s fortune;

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{monday’s thai food fortune cookie.}

monday we overslept.
my brother was on a plane home at 9:30am.  mom and i ate thai, until at 2:50 pm my mom looked over my shoulder to see what everyone in the restaurant was staring at on the television.
“ooh! the runners two blocks away from the finish line.”

somehow i knew this couldn’t be right. without my glasses on, i felt this was fishy.
i knew from half-wrecklessly running a half marathon a few years ago that the majority of runners would be finishing around 2:50 in the afternoon.
it seems that someone else knew that, too. curse my mom and i’s poor eye sight.

in a lot of ways, i’m still in shock. the blasts were around 2-3 blocks away from my school. seven students from my school were injured. it’s also the origin of where i first got smitten over boston.
first saw that library rotunda. bought my dried apricots from trader joe’s. get caught by pushy canvassers on my way home.
aimlessly wandered on tuesday afternoons when i had nothing else to do but gawk at buildings and residents of this little city.

in these situations, i can’t even be angry. anger is what your bully wants to see. sadness is what these people feed on.
as a younger sister of an older brother with a penchant for wrestling and light-hearted sibling fighting, i know that you never show that person you’re upset. that’s what they’re looking for. the sooner you stop showing sadness and anger, the sooner the person in question leaves you alone. terrorism, while terrifying, is only successful if terror is sensed in the victims.

boston is better than that.
if you’ve ever gone to a sox game, or a farmer’s market in the italian end, you know these people won’t back down. they will insult your mother. they will be the first to drop their “r”s in conversation, but also the first to fight for you.
if there is anything i feel from yesterday’s events, it’s even more love for this city.

i’ve grown up here, these last few years. i became a fully functioning adult here. and i’m lucky to live here, if not for the people i’ve met, but for the people i haven’t met, who i got to see run yesterday.

not just running  in the marathon, but for the running they did towards the destruction that tore up so many people’s lives, wrecked their dreams of finishing 26.2 miles in boston, rendered them a little less innocent to the things that a small fraction of a fraction of a percentage of the world decide to bring into this world.

because that’s the truth of it. that’s why i can’t be angry or sad.
because these things can’t wreck my view of “humanity” because the people who do these things are a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of the population.
and the runners and helpers towards those people in the blasts outnumber them in the millions and billions.

if you need any more proof of this, click the links below:

the google person finder
runners run to mgh to give blood after marathon
cowboy hat hero saves lives at marathon
13 examples of people being awesome after the bombing
red cross: how to help (apparently, they’ve exceeded what they need. humanity wins again)
 to boston, from kabul, with love

meet edie;

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this is edie. her original name was princess, but we thought that name was lame.
so around these parts we call her “princess edie dalek caan cybermen“.

actually only two of us call her that, but my best friend lately has been a plump cat, so we’ll forget that for now.

she is my new kitten friend. she is ten years old, which technically makes her a dame.

{ guys, i’m so excited to be able to exploit my cat on the internet. i finally feel like i belong in the blogging world.}

she enjoys the following:
-farting.
-showing you her butt.
-clamping on to your shoulder when you hold her.
-having her belly fat rubbed.
-wheezing heavily
{she has cat herpes, which is sort of like the common cold to felines, so she has an adorable case of nasal congestion that i secretly hope never goes away. she sounds like stinky from “hey arnold!”}
-when her cat food is microwaved for 14 seconds.
-she also likes holding hands. and sitting on hands. oh, she loves sitting on hands. that’s babygirl’s favorite.

she does not enjoy the following:

-the bikes in my hallway {she’s been confronting her demons a lot this week}.
-the music of prince.

she’s kind of the best.

obviously we need to get the cat formerly named “princess” to like the artist formerly known as prince,

that’s just necessary for survival in my apartment, but for now she’s all good.

{yeah, i spent all night on that last one. hey-oh.}

dear russell, the apartment rat;

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to my dearest russell, my newest roommate, and most memorable apartment rat.

your days are numbered. your meals feasting upon the dropped crumbs of my orange cinnamon rolls are dwindling. your little rat teeth have gnawed on the pipes of two now-defunct dishwashers.

and i know you deviously rub your paws together each night as you scheme which bathroom toiletry you will steal for your rats nest next.

many nights as i go into the cupboard to grab my bag of rice cakes, i’m almost sure i will come paw-to-paw with you among my long-expired boxes of couscous and the absurd amount of refried beans i hold onto in case of a refried bean shortage in the town of brookline.

many nights i expect to enter the cold kitchen to stress-eat full-fat yogurt straight out of the container, and you will somehow have a rat-sized rolling desk chair to sit upon…gradually turning around to greet me, you little freak.

many nights i raise my fists to the gods and cry “RUSSELL, THE RAT BASTARD HAS STRUCK AGAIN.”

many nights i imagine you hovering over my sleeping frame, wondering why i’ve put all boxed crackers in the fridge since the beginning of january.

many nights i’ve heard your signature “russell rustling” in my cupboard and known that my box of maple frosted mini wheats were as good as gone.

and you stole my damn tooth brush. and you gnawed a hole into my toothpaste.  like what is the deal, russell. what is the origin of this angst.


if you see a trail of my cracker-shaped slices of cheese leading to a pool of chloroform, you’ll know it’s from me.

until we meet again, please spare my loaf peanut butter banana bread, it’s all i have.

sincerely,
mackenzie, the rat bounty hunter of brookline.

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.

smelling my syllabi;

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guys, school started up again this week.
i’m happier than a jack-rabbit on speed that was just given a can of mountain dew. and i’m jumping on a personal trampoline. don’t know how the trampoline got there, but it’s there and i’m pleased. ugh, now they gave me a kazoo.

i already have a strain in my arm from raising my hand too much.

i want to hug all of my syllabi. and smell them. is that bad? i hope not, because i just hugged all of them.

i got new pens and a new notebook and a gender studies professor that asks us to sit on the ground in a circle and talk about feelings. and lady-parts. and more feelings. i kind of think i love her already.

i’m also taking two poetry classes(!!!!!!!!!!)

(i have to scream into a pillow out of joy every time i remember the aforementioned fact.)
guys, every time i think i am not going to apply to six-year ph.d programs, and get
really strong bifocals because of too much reading in poor lighting, and stress-eating noodles in libraries, school starts again and every poem is like a present and yesmyroommatesandmotherandboyfriendcannotstandhowdisgustingiam
andyestheyhavetoldmemanytimes.

now if you’ll allow me, i have to go spoon all of my textbooks. they are very needy and i must attend to them.

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.

december favorites;

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a maniacal amount of grapefruits in my fridge.
how cute beantown can be….even in her soggy dreariness.
reinbeers. naturally.
grizzly bear slippers….naturally.

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roommate christmas: a gnome necklace. a star wars violin solo book. bacon t-shirts. hilarity ensued to the tune of  “the imperial march”.

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einstein cup giving me the strength to get through finals, a paper on disembowelment and poop in the inferno (literally), as well as a paper on nymphomania and  in british literature. am i insane and just don’t know it yet? could you let me know? thanks.

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finding my roommate like this one night. exploiting it. u kno i love you, rubes. xoxo

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dumpling dates with my favorite latin lovah*~ 
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crocheting on the t as a means to preserve what little sanity i have from writing papers about poop. so far, so good.

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4a coffee getting all of my money. and they also get a show and dance from me as well, which is only natural when i’m frazzled at 9am and just want a iced coffee in my mouth asap. 
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otto’s slices with this lady talking lady-talk. which only means we scared all pizza-eaters within the five feet radius of our bar stools.


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new additions to the picture book collection. best line? “i’ll sit on your cold feet. and you sit on my cold feet. and i’ll sit on your cold feet…and you sit on my cold feet…”, of course.


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loving on this nugget. exploting this nugget. putting antler’s on this nugget. putzing around the house with my bear slippers, running after this nugget. oliver, you are my fur boyfriend through and through. thanks for the keeses, even if i am the worst.

happy holidays, ya’ll! eat all the cheese balls. and kiss all of the strangers. and drink all of the pink sparkly liquids! xo