New Year’s Parties for Introverts

I’m here.
I left the house, even though the subway was full of people wearing glitter and those weird sunglasses with “2016!!!!” splayed across the top of them like the future is so exciting they forgot it was nighttime. I left the house even though it’s Thursday and I don’t leave the house on Thursday nights because I’m not in college any more and no one should expect me to. I left the house even though this thing you invited me to isn’t a board game night or something I can wear pajamas to. I hope you know that I brought a book and I will use it.

Oh, there are people here.
Like a lot of them.

No I don’t want champagne, okay thanks, I guess that helped, no thank you I don’t want more, wait why are you giving me a hat with streamers THERE IS NO GODLY REASON TO WEAR THAT.

Help me.
I know you’re here.
Maybe you’re hiding in the kitchen.
Maybe the bathroom door is closed because you’re sitting on the edge of the bathtub doing crossword puzzles.
I know you’re in here.
I am not the only one.
We have to stick together, or the extroverts will swallow us whole.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1… Happy new… oh, whatever. I’m going home.


Filed under Uncategorized

Sometimes I miss the buzz of a bigger city. Even if you are poor, and broken, and someone gets shot on your doorstep, even then, New York retains its magic. I hate to love that place; I love to miss it, and I am never moving back.


Leave a comment

December 17, 2015 · 12:09 am

Oh ____ I have a dinner party.

Stuff I Bake

So you forgot you have a dinner party to attend, and it’s a potluck.
You have a few options:

1. You can be the person who brings the chips and hummus. There has to be one at every dinner party. It may as well be you.
2. Stay home. You’ve been shamed, and you cannot recover.
3. Start searching in the cupboards and figure out what to make out of the scraps that live in there between grocery runs.

(I chose option 3.)

Step 1.

Find what you can find.

I had some noodles.
Great for casseroles.IMG_0134

Someone had abandoned some Gruyere in the refrigerator the other month that had only grown a little bit of mold (cut that part off), and I had some arugula, and some Dijon mustard. I decided to make a take on baked mac-and-cheese topped with fried arugula. IMG_0131

First, I made a roux. I…

View original post 268 more words

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

Welcome to ‘Anxiety Comics’


Leave a comment

December 1, 2015 · 1:07 am

Accidentally Gluten-Free Nutella Brownie-Cupcake Things

Here’s a taste (oh, the puns) of what’s to come on the new blog.



Stuff I Bake


At least half a jar of Nutella
One of those weirdly small cans of condensed milk
2-4 egg yolks, depending on your mood


If your jar of Nutella is full or mostly full, you may eat some of it. In fact, you may want to eat some of it now so that you don’t eat half of your brownie-cupcake-whatevers as soon as they come out of the oven.

Separate egg yolks from eggs and discard the whites. Whisk yolks and set aside.

On low heat, whisk together Nutella and condensed milk until all is melted. Turn off heat and slowly add egg yolks while whisking.

Pour mixture into however many cupcake papers you can fill to a reasonable level (about halfway). You probably won’t make a full dozen of these. Whatever; cut then in half when you serve them or something. They are RICH.

Bake at 350 degrees…

View original post 77 more words

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

I have a new blog!

Good morning lovelies…

Apologies for dropping off the face of the earth (yet again). However, I’m back, and while I don’t have anything much to post at the moment, I do have a new project to share.


Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

Rejected by McSweeney’s

McSweeny’s has, for a number of years, run an annual column contest where they ask for entrants to provide a short description of their column, as well as an example of said column. I entered with what I described as a (semi-autobiographical) column written in vaguely chronological time-space that studies a specimen who moves to The City, fails wildly at The Big Thing, and then goes quietly crazy. Every few columns would be exist in list style alternated with a detailed “Dear Diary” entry focused on one point.

Diary of an Art School Dropout Who’s Still Living In New York For Some Godforsaken Reason

When did my Saturday nights turn into getting tipsy with a fifty year old woman and singing Disney songs to my cats?

There is a grown man reading a children’s book about ponies on the subway. Also, directly across from me, an overweight Yankees fan with a rather unfortunate hole in his jeans.

Dear homeless man folding laundry on the steps of P.S. 138, no I am not your wife. Please stop yelling at me.

Four men  and a lesbian in a Boy Scout uniform proposed to me tonight.

Worst pickup lines I’ve heard this week:
“’Come help me pick out a raccoon skull.”
“I want you to have my abortion.”

‘311 operator, I’d like to make a noise complaint.’
Make the ice cream trucks stop.
Please, please, please. Make them stop.

If I were my keys, and my wallet, and my pants, and my dignity, where would I be?

Today I woke up. First victory. Made it to work on time. Second victory. Faked sick and left work to come home and “do art.” And by “do art” I mean stare intently at a blank canvas for five hours and come up with nothing. Proceeded to eat only one half of a pint of ice cream. Third victory.

I just remembered that I forgot to join the roller derby.

Today I saw the cutest, dirtiest little rat scurrying down the middle of the subway tracks carrying a berry or piece of bread or human finger, or something.

Additional Installments:
1. In which the author rides the Staten Island Ferry to Staten Island, gets off and gets a sandwich.
2. In which the author finds a drawerful of fingernails in the desk of her temp job.
3. In which the author’s bodega has goat’s milk, soy milk, 1%, 2%, hemp milk, almond milk, some lady’s breast milk, but no whole milk or Oreos so obviously she breaks down because this, this is the final straw. Soy milk — really? It is truly the most offensive of all the milks.




You can read about the those who entered the contest and who actually won, here.

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

An Open Letter to 16 Year-Old Girls Who Think They Are Actually 28

Dear ladies, or young ladies, or mésdames, or whatever you would like to be called:

You are not fooling anyone with your lipstick, and the swagger in your stride. The way you swing your purse as you walk into Ann Taylor Loft hides nothing of your youth. You see I am actually 28, and I am shopping here because I have a job. A horrible job that requires me to wear khakis and forget that I ever dreamed of being a whole human being who eats her lunch away from her desk and enjoys hobbies. I sort of forget what a hobby even is. I think I knew how to crochet once. No, nevermind – that’s Sally. Sally went through a long period of unemployment and had time for such things.

When you are actually 28, you are likely to spend many long dateless months lamenting your choice in college majors while inspecting the bottom of a bottle of wine alone because most of your closest friends have gotten married and are now pregnant. When you’re 16, maybe it’s fun and lighthearted to pretend that you’re 28 but you see girls, it’s no carnival to watch your dreams shrivel up and die like the garden that you started to plant but didn’t have time to tend because who has time to sleep these days anyway let alone do something nice for once like grow plants?

Please, go back to your homework and science fairs. Go read a book for chrissake. I haven’t had a chance to pick up anything except the occasional Bed Bath and Beyond coupon since I was 25.



Filed under Uncategorized

It’s Hardly Noticeable: Living a Life Wrought With Anxiety

Everyone who has touched my life understands me as an incredibly anxious being. That’s simply the way I exist. If It must be labeled, It has been explained to me as generalized anxiety disorder, obsessive-compulsive disorder, and acute depression, in that order.

There was an article on NPR’s health blog entitled, A Life of Anxiety Documented showcasing some of the work of photographer John William Keedy. Keedy’s series is titled, “It’s Hardly Noticeable.”

It’s hardly noticeable. This is something I whisper to myself 100 times a day. It is the phrase I burn into the back of my eyes so that I can leave the house.

But I know that it is a lie.

1 Comment

Filed under Uncategorized

This is Why We Can’t Have a Baby, Darling

I throw up every time I see a diaper. Like, on the shelf. In a box. A picture of a diaper.

I am not giving up my knife collection.

You already have stains on most of the clothes that you wear on Friday through Sunday. I’d prefer if Monday through Thursday stayed unsullied.

It’s lots of cats or babies not lots of cats and babies.

My poker chips are a choking hazard.

Someone already spilled juice all over the air conditioner.

What if the baby grows up to be a Republican? Or an accountant?

It’s a trick! A trick I tell you!

Babies + world travel = “How do you say, ‘I lost my baby,’ in Finnish?”

Dora the Explorer makes me suicidal.

If we have one, your parents will expect us to have more.

1 Comment

Filed under Uncategorized