Man Crush Sunday

Shortly after PixieGate 2014.

This was a sunny Sunday in February. I came home from my weekend girl's getaway with Bex. My hair did not. "I'm already used to it," he said. We hopped on our bikes and pedaled downhill to the student-run theatre. The show was luke warm, but we sat in the back row tittering much like those judgey eagles in the Muppets.

"I have so much homework to do," I said, "but I also want Taco Bell." And so we pedaled down the lazy streets of AZ for crunchwraps. We laughed our nachos off, especially after a homeless man asked to borrow my cell phone and then wiped the screen, like I'm the scumbag. I mean.

We traveled through the windy suburbia-oasis. Stopped at the cross section of our homes. Kissed goodbye thirty-seven times. Took this photo. I sang home alone, papers waiting. At my front door I looked at my phone. It was a photo of the sunset and excitement for a new day together.

If You Close Your Eyes

The windows were open in the cab. We closed our eyes and leaned toward the sun, like we were sunflowers, positioning ourselves to the rays.

"Lookit those palm trees," Bisque pointed from the plane window. Three swayed in the sky.

It was strange to leave Cambridge. Maybe I will never be there again. I was so ready to get back to the hotel and out of my boots I turned around in the T too late to see the snowy El Dorado of college one last time. Only a pile of slushy stairs.

Before 10 PM room checks, Spiff, Bisque, and I cuddled into bed and watched Poltergeist. I hadn't seen it in fifteen years, and it made me feel little. It was nine degrees outside. And then half a day later we're in 80s. Like dogs against car doors.

It is truly hard to be an optimist about this one.

And the walls kept tumbling down
in the city that we love.

Five Best Sights So Far

All the chubby Alaskan bunnies.

A playwright watching his own work read cold in a bar cabin, trying not to laugh (because it's kind of tacky to laugh at your own jokes), but beaming through a tight-lipped smile.

The tail of a humpback whale.

Playwright who wrote a one-act about a little girl obsessed with killing things performing "Kiss" by Prince at karaoke.

This photo Bisque texted me. A close up of the map that hangs in his bedroom.

You don't have to be cool to rule my world.