Season One, Episode Twenty-Eight: Of Hangovers and Poetry


Nothing ruins a perfectly sunny day off like a friggin’ hangover.  I slept it off til almost 12:30 this afternoon, and while the headache has finally left my cranial premises, I still am dealing with this annoying twinge of nausea.  And I have wasted said day off in the confines of a itty bitty hotel room.  Yesterday I went on quite the jaunt around Downtown Cleveland, walking around in the chilly April sunshine and taking pictures and composing random poetry on my iPhone.  I don’t have too much to talk about today, so I’ll share my impromptu poem I came up with yesterday.


This hotel room

Makes me feel claustrophobic

–it’s far too narrow–

Cramped and brown

It makes me vaguely apprehensive

The angle of the windows chokes out the sunlight

But if you crane your head

–just so–

You can catch a glimpse of the lake,

A tiny sliver of sparkling gray-blue beauty.

I’d rather be outside

In the windy chill

At least the sunshine is warm

When it shines down on you.


This park bench is prime real estate

The wood feels cold under my jeans

And the far too big windshirt that I surreptitiously stole from my boyfriend

The wind blows in off the lake

–and honestly, anyone who thinks that Chicago is the windiest city has never been to Cleveland in the spring–

Which shimmers like a murky blue jewel

In the late April sun

I sit on this bench, under the pretense of reading

–I’ve got a Salinger novel in my lap–

But really, I just couldn’t take the claustrophobic brown crampedness

Of that goddamn hotel room.


So I sit here, fingers chilled

The wind ruffling the loose hairs that lay against my neck

The air a vague combination of exhaust and manure and springtime

And I think

Because that’s what you do when you’re alone on a bench in a park

You sit and you think

And I watch the people and the cars

Hurrying past, off to live another day in their mediocre adventures

The wind comes up again and I think I’ve decided

That perhaps I should move my contemplation to a less windy location.

–“April 24, 2012 5:33 pm”

Season One, Episode Nine: A Funny Textular Interlude of Sorts

Taken from a conversation I had Sunday with my girl Destinie (with whom I seem to have the most amazing textular conversations):

Me:  I ate some cold greasy pizza and feel like Jesus must have on Easter morning.  Except He was, well, dead and I was drunk.  Minor difference.

Destinie:  Lmao aahhh you just made my day.  Lmfao…

Me:  That may be the quote of the day right there, lol.

Destinie:  It most definitely is.  Haha.

Me:  Haha I like to imagine Jesus as a fist pumpin’ party animal.  In a tuxedo tee shirt and flip flops.

Destinie:  Lmfao!  That’s perfect, and I can’t imagine Him any other way now.  Lol.

Me:  Hahaha I can totally see it.  The tee shirt is on over the toga.

Destinie:  Bahaha and Him rocking out on Guitar Hero.  Haha.

Me:  Hahaha exactly.  Telling Mary Magdalene to chill out because He just needs to finish this level and He’ll turn her water into wine.  Which could be taken very inappropriately lmfao.  I’m going to hell.

Destinie:  Lmfao!!!!  Ahahahahah, save me a seat!

Me:  Lmfao I definitely will.