She's BA-ACK: The Creature From the Hack Lagoon

Alright. So, I’m back. I know, I know, this changes everything--the BP(issed) Oil Spill, the spewing of ash from an unspellable volcano, that pathetically low number in your bank balance. After a two month hiatus, I’m finally back to set everything right.

But first I have to blog. The other stuff can wait. Right? 

I think we left off somewhere around here, with my hack-y, verbose recounting of a lost battle against public crying somewhere in the vicinity of Astor Place, served with vague allusions to bad decisions and garnished with epic writer’s block (imported from Italy right to your table). 


Dessert was two months of silence, a wordless emergency flare which signaled my descent into those dark, twisty pieces of transitional purgatory not easily expressed when you're being stripping naked and dumped out the side door of a metaphorical van by life. 


Now that the road rash has scabbed over, I’m feeling far more talkative.

Not that anyone will find it riveting, but a lot has gone down during the silent void that followed that mid-spring cryptic post, some of them happenings vital to know about for the context of future posts. So I’ll do a whirlwind inventory of events recently gone by, and if any lone, insomniac reader should find themselves curious as to any specific incident, I’ll be happy to elaborate. Otherwise, note them and file it away as my derailed train climbs back on its tracks and chugs onward to Blogtopia:

1. I jumped from mid to late 20s, landing officially at age 27.
2. I accidentally completed Hitch List item #21 via an unexpected 100% lesbian date, courtesy of the jalapeno tequila at Flatiron Lounge, three beer executives discovered somewhere in the Financial District, and an enigma of a human we shall heretofore call The Duchess. 
3. I got in a fist fight with a drunk Mexican on an ancient Brooklyn-bound R train, hereby completing List item #23.
4. I had a mini-nervous breakdown which made every good friend save a few want to gouge my eyes out with one of those fancy slotted sugar spoons normal people use to serve Absinthe. 
5. I rekindled an old romance with a former fling: brown liquor.
6. I failed to successfully complete Emotional Detox, and so, like Shifty from Celebrity Rehab, may need to readmit myself for a fresh round of treatment.

And. Um...

Fuck, I’m forgetting something important...why do the little details always seem to evade...?

...oooh, right. I moved out of Hoodwick Brooklyn and into a three bedroom on the Lower East Side with wingman Red and new roomie The Duchess who may or may not be my polyamorous ex-lover. We have a cat. 

Did I mention the apartment is six blocks from where Alex, as in this blog’s Alex, previously isolated in New Jersey, moved in after his own quarter-life crisis? With the beloved deaf pit bull we have joint custody over? And Philly BadMath (he's from Philly and sucks at math. we work really hard on these nicknames), one of my best male friends who I may or may not have once smashed out with once in college, which leads to no small number wildly inappropriate jokes at increasingly inappropriate moments in public places? 

I didn’t?  Okay...um, so that happened.

Point is, nothing much to see here folks. Just another Lower East Side Hot Mess with a blog, a bizarre list, a desire to write, and what looks to be a very average summer in front of her. 

Nice to see you all again.