Tag Archives: creep

meet edie;

IMG_4323 (1)
IMG_4416

IMG_4364

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.}

five things;

photo

{my “eff you, winter” shoes.}

i’ll be honest. i’m not one to do the cutesy blog q&a tagging rituals on this space.

i think it’s mostly because i’ve had a blog since i was 12 {thank god blurty is defunct and livejournal mercifully deleted my 13 year old blog, to the betterment of the world. i think i wrote an entire entry on weaves when i was 13, and i wish that was a joke} and did those deliriously long surveys that only slightly chubby middle schoolers do when their “the sims” characters are sleeping or peeing in a corner. meaning 12 year old chubby me, of course.

you know the ones. the ones that are 96 items long and ask you what deodorant you use and the last thing you ate, which was always what your middle school self thought the outside world was dying to hear. which was most likely some sort of strawberry “teen spirit” deodorant and a bag of cheetos. 22 year old me hasn’t changed too much. i just ate a cheese stick and i use whatever deodorant manfriend and my male roommate have in the bathroom. all the growth, ya’ll.

regardless, i got done-tagged, ya’ll. and since i’ve already told you what deodorant i use, we’ve knocked that one off the list. we’re ahead of schedule. here are five more. don’t get too excited.

1. i’m obsessssssssed with cvs extracare bucks. like actually obsessed. i keep all of them. one time manfriend snuck out of nowhere and scanned his extracare card when i was scanning my stuff, and he took my points, and that is essentially on par with kicking a small dog in front of a schoolbus full of small children.  i strategically plan when i’m going to use my “$2 off two $9 packs of cvs brand tampons!!!” and am visibly sad when i don’t get any more bucks when i go to cvs. i once went to three cvs stores in a day and bought a delusional level of stuff in order to use my extracare bucks up (rimmel eyeshadow! 1 dozen eggs! 1 tub of coolwhip! earwax-clearing drops!)

2.i pretty much have to announce to whomever i’m with whenever i see a dog, have to pet said dog, that there is a dog currently within 40 feet of me. i usually say “wubby alert. wubby alert. sound the alarm it’s a wubby.” {taken from the always-relevant andy milonakis}  when spotting a pretty pooch, and if i’m by myself i will usually speedily greet the dog. times i’ve  been sniped at?  just once. i count this as a win. times i’ve almost untied a dog that was curbed to a tree or lamp post and brought it home to be my own personal wubby? zero, but it’s only a matter of time.

3. i loooooove numbers. number games, get at me. one of my pet peeves is people assuming that because i am a writing major that i hate math, but i lurve it. i find it comforting and predictable, like a syndicated episode of “friends” at 10pm. for as long as i can remember, i’ve played a stupid number game i made up in my head. i basically take a phone number, mailbox, or birthday and add,multiply, divide, or subtract until i can get the other numbers in the series. for instance, when i got my phone number, i had to let out a little schoolgirl giggle. it was perfect. without area code (ya creeps), it’s 8081535. so the possible equations are 8×0=0, 1×5=5, 5+3=8, 5-5=0, 5/5=1, 8/8=1 (uses two numbers in series, to get another number in series is the main gist).  i once zoned out on a car ride with my old roommates and yelled, “that’s a good mailbox!” out of nowhere, overwhelmed by the mathematical perfection of a mailbox. they were not amused. still with me? in short, i’m gross.

4. speaking of pet peeves, i have a knee-jerk reaction when it comes to jokes about being a girl. i seriously will turn off a show, resolve not to follow a comedienne, or disregard entirely if someone even jokes about “becoming a cat lady”, “hanging out with my best friends, ben & jerry”, or “dying alone, being eaten by all my cats, my remains never to be found.” {actually, i like the last one. but anyways, you get the jist.} i’m a gigantic comedy nerd, and was force-fed comedy central stand-up shows ever since i realized at age six that i would never win the remote control from my 13 year old brother. i may not be the funniest lady in all the land, but i know these are cheap jokes and they make me wanna vomit a little bit. i’ll still love you, but i also might twitch a little. a love twitch.

5. if hip hop is not secretly playing in my headphones, no work is getting done. or r&b. or motown.  that’s just a fact.basically i wish i was a bouffant-haired buxom lady with major pipes and cat-eye make-up. and that’s the reason i’ll give for why i still haven’t folded any of the clothes in the reusable grocery bags spewing all over my room. yes, that’s it.

{pretty sure everyone in the world has already been tagged, but let me know if you all decide to fill one of these badboys out. i’ll just be over here looking at “good” mailboxes.”

a montreal itinerary;

{this past valentines day weekend i got myself on a greyhound and traveled all the way to montreal. for other itineraries, click here.}img_4083

get to south station at 7am after a valentine’s date of romantic egg sandwiches eaten under the glow of subway lights and alfred hitchcock, which is to say i was under a pretty hefty bagel coma.

promptly down the largest mcdonald’s coffee and delight in all of the artificial sweetener, fake cream, and ambiance. then, take two melatonins.

but actually don’t, because that’s like a big LOL to your body. if you feel the need to shake your right leg in place and scratch your head, but also fall asleep, you’re doing it right.

allow seven hours of talking to patchouli-scented busmates and buying $9 maple syrup at a sunoco in white river junction, vermont to pass. this is very important. do not question me.

Screen Shot 2013-03-20 at 4.45.09 PMScreen Shot 2013-03-20 at 4.45.28 PM

gallivant the city of montreal solo hell-bent on trying new things like poutine and maybe use some high school french (french club president 08-09, hollaaaaaa), but end up speaking english and ordering a fast food tofu green curry on styrofoam plates almost immediately. it happens.
extra points if you accidentally shout “I’D VOUDRAIS A  VERT TOFU CARI S’IL VOUS PLAIT?” when you get nervous.

that also happens.
img_4166 (1)
IMG_4167
IMG_4108

delight in the dreamboatiness of josh ritter and fantasize about him noticing your glance across the room, prompting him to say “you want to pull on my suspenders, don’t you? come on over. don’t be shy.”

what actually happens:
1. you forget to get cash out for coat check and the canadian bouncer is really not jiving with you holding your puffer coat the whole concert, but your card shuts down before you can because you’ve only just crossed the canadian border abruptly and are buying erratic things like ear plugs, sketchy hostel reservations, and $9 bottles of maple syrup. you are essentially a terrorist.
2. also, get a nose bleed in the middle of the concert.
3. get one of those delightful chronic uti’s is also a plus (tmi, but i need you all to really understand the gravitas of this comedic display of sad). go to the bathroom eight times, strategically placing the bathroom door cracked so you can still sing along to “bright smile”.
4. forget to pull your skirt down when you return from the bathroom for the sixth time. don’t notice that everyone can see the butt flap on your sweater tights until you go back for time #7.

even so, fun was had.
home girl doesn’t play around. she plays for keeps.

IMG_4251IMG_4330IMG_4164Screen Shot 2013-03-20 at 4.45.21 PM

spend the next morning prancing around mont royal imagining how on earth montreal hospitals and public parks can be sexy. they’ve taken it to an art form, ya’ll.

eat a burrito-sized crepe filled with nutella and raspberries on a stoop near mcgill because you really don’t feel like tipping anyone.

pretend to your instagram followers that you went into museums, because you truly can’t afford it. but pretty pictures outsides and selfies in gift shops count for something.

realize that your southern accent is coming back the more you go north on this continent. it’s probably been at least 11 hours since you’ve spoken to someone, so you spend two hours laughing about “montre-ya’ll” as a pun. this will help in hiking up mont royal, somehow.
this is how you solo travel, ya’ll.

IMG_4329

if you’re ever in the market for a porn version of “dude, where’s my car?” or some disney channel original movie (i’d be all for a “luck of the irish” version personally), fear not; montreal has already done it and it’s playing right around the corner.

IMG_4331

IMG_4332
IMG_4214IMG_4213

meet up with lovely blog soul-sister, emily. and delight in all things kitschy and dairy-filled (foreshadowing*~).

suddenly your mind is filled with all kinds of exclamation points: accordion players! french things! kitschy thrift stops with clear coffins with a dead jesus inside of it (really, this happened. it was right below the cash register)!!

bike baskets outside of erotic movie theatres! erotic bookstores! erotic lingerie stores! i was significantly disappointed on not finding an erotic bakery, but you win some you lose some.
IMG_4107
IMG_4333IMG_4215

IMG_4211

and then the inevitable happened. seeing as emily and were those types of girls: the kinds who ordered virtually ordered all the same things at all the restaurants we went to, we got lactose-sick off of a plateful of omelet du fromage, sadly enough.

we hobbled from shop to shop, through creepy jesus-sarcophagus-filled thrift stores to  shop-dog-filled shops, but realized a nap in our hostel bunk bed was what the doctor ordered.

IMG_4212IMG_4219

seeing as we had been calling out things as “so0oo0o instagrammable” (you know what i’m talking about: lattes, cats, flowers, clouds, anything fluffy/sparkly/alcohol-induced) all around the city, we decided to strike the most instagrammable poses; that of us crouching in pain inside a metro station. we tried to make a statement and i think it worked.

img_4168

all the happy tears;

5a205044784411e299af22000a9e29bc_7
{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.

dear russell, the apartment rat;

ff7059f63bcf11e2af9022000a1f9a23_7

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.

january favorites;

IMG_4008

golden retrievers curbed outside the library just ready for mackenzie hugs.

the diamond-encrusted violin at the ra ra riot concert (third time i’ve seen them in less than two years…whoops.)

IMG_3972

crunchy snow. and going “CRUNCHCRUNCHCRUNCH!” outside whenever i stomp on it. even though for every time i smile when there is fresh snow i usually whisper under my breath “moving to california to avoid this baloney.”

the fact that brookline has smelled like potato pancakes for the last month and a half.

IMG_3998

running out of coffee creamer, so i had to resort to putting soy ice cream in my coffee.

anything containing mayonnaise. my mother spent 21 years of my life trying to get me to like mayo (#thesouth) and now i order things based on their mayo content. not sure who is the winner or loser in this situation.

ethan hawke’s dimples in “before sunrise.”

swing dancing in brookline synagogues.

IMG_3925

practicing the robyn “call your girlfriend” dance in my room. still trying to acquire the platforms and sweater that looks like it was made with yorkie fur, but whatever.

the lower depths $1 veggie hot dogs covered in the aforementioned (garlic) mayo and seasoned french fries (mel, you were so right. i just…i died.)

preferring to ring in the new year with two favorite college girl cakes: cheesecake acquired from colombian churches and cupcake (wine).

IMG_3917IMG_3935

oliver’s clinginess. and his “draw me like one of your french girls, kenz” pose.

 the fact that cookie pies last <36 hours in this house.

my gender studies professor asking us to kindly sit in a circle on the floor. and talk about feelings. on the first day of class. a dream among dreams.

IMG_3961

and now for a not-favorite….this book. has anyone read it? i spent whatever time i wasn’t cringing over this book, throwing it repeatedly at a wall. care to share your feelings? i’ve texted everyone in my phone enough about how much i hated this book and am running out of friends. help.

smelling my syllabi;

IMG_3977

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.