May Musings
spiral staircases, barbie bootcamp, & Stanley's feet
*tw: mentions of death but not in a sad way
Sorry, guys. It’s halfway through June and I haven’t even shared my musings from May. I’m the worst! But you should stay with me because all this time I spent not writing about May gave me stories for June. So, when you do the math, I’ve been writing this piece for six weeks.
Truth is I write best when I’m alone in my apartment, and I didn’t have a lot of alone time last month. I went to Miami for a week to visit my mom (with special guests Rory and Aunt Julie), where I rediscovered pears, felt cute in capris, and swam fearlessly in the ocean. My sister and I are normal people (afraid of sharks) so this was major. I wore low-rise bikini bottoms and goggles and didn’t consider my body for a second. Girl bliss. We celebrated Mother’s Day and Rory took a photo of me that I want someone to show their mom. Old Facebook would eat me up. My aunt Julie enjoyed her annual margarita, and the rest of us learned about “what they say in the bible.” I’d say more on this but I trust my audience’s imagination. Happy Pride!
I came back to New York and saw so many of my favorite friends. Emma added me as her plus one to what I thought was a pilates class, but turned out to be a military-style boot camp. The AARMY gym is a devastating place to show up wearing a Barbie-pink SET Active set and last night’s unwashed self-tanner. I was the only person there not wearing black or camouflage. Despite all odds, I finished the class without crying. Neither I nor the set are designed to withstand high-impact activities, but we persist. We burpee. At 11:00 am on a Saturday.
In other news, Stanley spent the entire month licking his paws, despite medical attention and a sleeve of baby wipes. It’s an all-consuming addiction— for the both of us, actually. There is a part of my brain that will no longer be intelligent because I can call to memory the slurp-gnaw-gurgle triad Stanley produces when his leg is hock-deep in his own throat. The sound jolts me awake at night. Something is obviously up and I feel sorry for him. Any pro-bono vets on Substack?
Three years together and I’m still figuring out how to meet his quieter needs. I sometimes wonder if Stanley is mad at me, but this concern is my default in most relationships, so I’m pretty sure it’s just one of those wherever you go there you are types of things. My insecurities are consistent, I’ll give myself that. Anyways, Stanley spent some time at Abby’s place and lost all interest in his feet.
Towards the end of the month I flew out to Nashville for the weekend to see the Noah Kahan concert, but stayed through the week to help with Rory’s big move to Germantown. Her new studio loft is really nice for New York, but it’s not in New York, so I’m not totally sure how I feel about it. Rory loves it for the floor-to-ceiling windows, freestanding bath, and the spiral staircase winding up to the roof. My mom hates it for the impossibility of curtains, how the cabinets don’t rest on their hinges, and, of course, the spiral staircase. The distance from a “good Kroger” and the proximity to a "bad one” are also mentionable concerns.
Thanks to the staircase, I thought about death a lot in Nashville—mine, specifically. I hate thinking about dying but I’m always discovering new embarrassing ways it could happen to me. And when I realize a new one, I have no choice but to consider it: my face gets all red, I play with my bottom lip, wonder if I should tell someone where my journal is, and the dust-bunny on the floor becomes really interesting to look at. I disassociate until the worst of the worst is played out in my brain, and then I go knock on some wood. Lucky for me, Rory’s apartment has all cement floors.
I wanted to tell you guys the story of the belligerent middle-seat Masshole who threw up next to me on the plane to Nashville, but I honestly tell this story really well when I can do a whole performance of it, and the keyboard doesn’t quite capture the Boston accent. The story ends with me sitting with the flight attendants in the “VIP section” for the entire duration of the most turbulent flight I’ve ever been on. Call me if you want to hear more, or maybe I’ll write the story another day.
Anyways, my favorite thing I made in May is this playlist. It’s June and I still have it on repeat. My favorite songs this month were BIRDS OF A FEATHER, Don’t Trust Me, No One Noticed, Lucy Takes a Picture, and Backyard Mafia. Every single one of these songs deserves a listen.
BIRDS OF A FEATHER fires the synapse in my brain that tells me I’m a born performer. No like, this song comes on and my brain is like, bitch you’re a Singer and guess what? You can dance, too. Yeah, literally. Like, what you’re doing in the mirror right now…do that at Paul’s next Wednesday. I hear this song and I lose the desire to tell my body what to do. Billie’s all, I don’t know what I’m crying for and suddenly I don’t know what I’m crying for either. Then she’s all I don’t think I could love you more and my pronouns are (sing/louder). And then she’s like I love you til the day that I dieeeee and I’m ugly crying in my bathrobe with my Airpods on 3% but I’m HAPPY!!?! Ugh. I had a forever memory to this song in May, but I don’t wanna write about it anymore.
Whatever! Here are some more scraps from May that I need to get off my chest:
I misplaced my debit and credit card for the first half of the month, which surprisingly had zero impact on my spending. On the 15th day without any physical cards I applied and was approved for the Apple Card, and on the 16th day I found both misplaced cards in the purse I checked more than once before that. I am quite fond of the Apple Card now. 2% cash-back on all purchases, bitch.
Remember how I said I rediscovered pears in Miami? Well, in my rediscovery of pears, I realized there are few joys greater than biting into a perfectly soft one. Bartlett pears are too good. My mom bought them for Rory and I when we came to visit her in Miami, or maybe she’d bought them for herself and I just assumed they were bought for me because I’m selfish, but like, it’s not stealing if it’s from your mom. Yikes, that’s not true. Either way, I bought a pear (with my Apple Card) when I returned to New York but waited too long for it to get to it’s ideal softness and it ended up rotting in my fridge.
My diet consists of Sweetgreen and snacks, which sounds bad because it is. I rarely eat breakfast when I’m at my apartment because 1.) the only thing I crave is bacon and 2.) I can’t have bacon because I don’t have kitchen pinchers (which, apparently are called tongs) and 3.) every time I’ve made bacon at my apartment the smell lingers for days because 4.) I fucking hate doing the dishes and 5.) there is a wrong way to clean up after making bacon, so 6.) by the time I’m done convincing myself not to make bacon it’s time for Sweetgreen. I get the Crispy Rice Bowl and I’m not sick of it…yet. Yes, there are other ways to make bacon. No, I’m not willing to learn them.
Unfortunately I did not see any celebrities in May. I did however meet quite a few people that will be essential to my lore moving forward. A woman came up to me on the street, pointed to her third eye, and said “Michael the Archangel sent me to tell you that your third eye and chakras are in complete alignment and I am in awe of you.” She then asked me to make a small donation to confirm my good fortune, but I didn’t have any cash (or credit cards) and when I told her that she goes UGH!!!! and stomps off. Needless to say, she was definitely telling the truth.
Anywho! I don’t know how to end this so I’m going to share a cute text my mom sent the family group chat after seeing and sending a picture of a double rainbow curling over the ocean:
Something about my mom expressing gratitude and using that emoji gives me a catch in my throat. God!!!! I want to give this woman “a rainbow like this” every day for the rest of her life!!!! Anyone know a guy?
Okay, that’s all I got for now. Love you, bye!
still laughing at “kitchen pinchers”
“wonder if I should tell someone where my journal is” is so real