A Mouse in the House...

When I was little, one of my favorite books to read with my mother was A Mouse in the House by Henrietta. Honestly, there was very little reading involved. This beloved childhood book of mine was in actuality a large book of assorted two-page long pictures in which my mother and I were charged with finding a tiny mouse amidst a seemingly endless sea of refuse and household crap. Think of it as a Where’s Waldo? for rodents.

Now I’m grown, the book spends its days stored in a box within the closets of my mother’s North Carolina home, and I sometimes think back on the memories and smile. I find myself thinking back on all those fun pre-bedtime mouse hunts more often of late. The reason, you ask? It’s quite simple, dear reader. Now that I’m grown and sharing a big boy apartment with two lovely ladies in Brooklyn, I have my very own mouse in the house.

Big Scary L Word...

Today felt like another poetry kind of day, my friends. Welcome to what’s been on my mind recently. Enjoy.

Haha...Got Ya!

Having spent several years playing grown up now (you know, apartment hunting, paying bills, figuring out life and all that good stuff), I’ve made a pretty funny observation. An observation of something which is funny. Not funny-haha…more funny-what-the-shit. Understand?

Good.

Showers are the shit...

As anyone who has ever lived with me would likely attest, I can spend an exorbitant amount of time in the shower. To be fair to me, I’ve gotten much more conservative with my water usage as the adult times have taken hold. There was, however, a time (worst during those high school years if I recall correctly) when I could literally spend an hour or more draining the house of all hot water. Even now, when I’ve seemingly cut that time down to ten minutes or less, I have a tendency to wait until everyone else is asleep and get in another twenty minutes or so without worries of forcing my roommates to endure a frigid deluge. It’s an illness, an obsession, and my personal great love story. A love story as old as time…or at least as old as me. Whoever I end up marrying will have to accept the shower as our third member in matrimony, because I dare not trade away my time in the steamy waters for anyone. And just why is that, you ask?