Spring is truly here! The bugs of the world creep to the surface, whether it’s flies in your house again or gentrifiers roaming Bushwick on hot days.

I overbooked myself this week and stayed out of the house winning trivia at a bar that doesn’t have any overly smart teams, watching my girlfriend hit it off with one of my oldest friends, and seeing a musical that compares queerness to using mayo in grilled cheese sandwiches. This week looks to be a better balance of me time, but all rules go out the window once it gets warm.

This entry is just me having a fun weekend with our first 80-degree day and Four TwEaster, which I’m calling 4/20 x Easter. It’s not going to be interesting, and you won’t learn anything. I’m just catching up with you.

And it was a Saturday, no less. I missed the first warm day (70s) while I was in Spain, but this was the first hot day. I believe this is the case in all wintry cities that the first hot spring day is a celebration, but in New York, it feels like a revolution. You can go anywhere, be anyone, debut a new version of yourself finally out of hibernation. The walkability and car irrelevance amplify this moment. You don’t need drugs to get high on this day. It’s made for falling in love with everything.

Poor Meera had to miss it. She woke up around 7, packed, and left for the weekend with her family, returning probably while I’m finishing up this newsletter. While I slept, she even picked some of my most-loved dirty clothes to wash at her parents’ house, which made me feel like a princess. She woke me up to say goodbye, and I knew I wasn’t going back to sleep.

My bimonthly weekends without her are always frenzied. I don’t think we’re codependent, but I definitely am Outside more when she’s gone. I just speed everything up and turn the extroversion up six notches. I’m either alone doing some sort of exploration or with friends; I can’t sit still. My apartment becomes what is natural to me: a place I sleep after spending the whole day away.

My day started with newness, hanging out for the first time with my new friend Arie. Even though we both were the same year at BU, we met at my friend Bri’s birthday and instantly hit it off. I don’t really have room for new friends and think I could be more reliable to a lot of mine, but it’s hard for me to disregard a new connection. Even more impressive, we planned this hang weeks in advance because I was going to Spain and she had just started a new job — and neither of us bailed. She’d never been to Radio Bakery, so we decided to meet at 9:30, grab some grub, and walk around with her adorable shiba inu, Noodles.

I was well-rested, not hungover, and excited to take on my day. I felt like dancing. I love Spotify’s algorithm-generated personalized playlists based on moods. I searched pump up, and the app cooked a Feel Good Pump Up playlist from my all-time listening history. I danced and sang as my morning routine commenced. I really should always start my day with a dance party. I also ended up unintentionally wearing an outfit of all things my mom got me: gold hoops that my mom and brother also have, a brown, skin-tight workout tank, and these new dark jeans with such a Bushwick shape that widens a bit lower than the hips. When it’s time to go, I put my day things in a teeny, bright backpack Meera got for me a few years ago that I always wear in the summer because it’s big enough to fit my water bottle and a good book. I feel like myself and already knew today would be a perfect day. Brooklyn ain’t ready!

I sprinted down the blocks to the train and just made it on, listening to a podcast to cool me down once I’m seated. I aimed for a 9:30 arrival time to Greenpoint so I can brave this ungodly line. You should never have to wait in a line in this city unless it’s for something truly remarkable, and Radio Bakery is the perfect occasion. The line clientele (lientele?) was obviously embarrassing to be associated with, other excited youths (lots of couples, some dogs) in their special outfits for the first warm day who were also willing to wait for TikTok food.

I heard the couple behind me talk stupidly about nothing, which I enjoyed. The girl goes, Today’s Easter for the boy to respond, No, tomorrow’s Easter, and she said Oh. I watched an exhausted young mom leave her gorgeous apartment building next door with an iced coffee and two kids in a stroller. I wonder if she loves or loathes being next to such popular loaves. All the early-20s people in line look at her and clearly aspire to have her life. I don’t think I do.

Arie arrived with Noodles, who was incredibly loving and sweet. Total hijinks-inviting sidekick of a dog. He would lie in between my legs and look like a poof coming out from my shoes. Arie was very apologetic about him whipping her around at the prospect of other dogs because she doesn’t know yet that IDGAF what a dog does as long as it’s on a leash outdoors and isn’t biting children. It’s funny to complete the formalities with a new friend because you’re respectfully sussing out their needs.

I didn’t pay attention to timing, but the line was not slow. We ogled at meaty sandwiches on racks next to the window, but they were not up for grabs yet when I walked in. I chose two focaccias (chive and sausage, everything bagel seedery) for us to share and two croissants (pistachio for us, triple chocolate for her to bring home to her boyfriend). I’d only been to Radio Bakery once before and was so excited for her world to get rocked.

Arie and I walked to that crappy-but-still-waterfront WNYC Transmitter Park and succumbed to our baked goods. It was a windy weekend by the water, which abated the rising heat when we were near. She’d also never been to McGolrick Park, so we walked there so Noodles could promenade and we could sit on a better bench than the one by the water. I love getting to hear a new person’s story, especially when they’re funny, obviously.

We walked back to her car (a car? Yes, she’s from Yonkers and drives her mom who still lives there around), and she was going to pick up her boyfriend from a badminton court in some Bushwick/Maspeth warehouse. This was perfect for me because I had a brunch a 20-minute walk away, and I wanted this to be a heavy walking day. She asked me three times if I wanted to be dropped off closer, and I said that this is definitely what I wanted. If I didn’t want it, I’d say so. She says that she’s one of those people that, if in my position, would need a few inquiries before being truthful. She doesn’t know how much of a baby I am yet and that I’ll probably take her up on every other comfort-generating offer she’ll give me.

She traversed through warehouse blocks, and we hugged goodbye. Nice first hang. It’s pretty hot now. I had a straight shot past the industrial buildings and a cemetery into residential Ridgewood. Ridgewood is a neighborhood I see so much more in the summer so I can just walk and feel its red heat. My friend Clara is hosting a pre-Easter brunch for other heathens left in the city, and I call other friends to figure out when they’ll be arriving.

I’m a little early and want some time to sit, so I chill on the bench of a restaurant across from a Coptic Christian church that I try to figure out if it’s Egyptian or Lebanese. As I’m sitting and listening to my podcast with earbuds clearly on, an old woman walks up to talk to me. I take out an earbud and ask her what’s up, and she says, You’re young, like 25, right? And I say yep, 26. She asks, Have you ever met a truly evil person? I wasn’t even taken aback, but I held onto my bag and responded, Well, what do you define as evil?

She sits down next to me and starts onto a story about how she’s a landlord, and her tenants are suing her to try to take her home even though she says she’s been nothing but nice to them. I kind of can’t hear her because there are loud cars drowning her out, but I nod along. She asks me my name, and her name is Betty. She puts her head in her hands for a minute, and I awkwardly place my hand behind her shoulders, feeling called to physically comfort but resisting myself as I do it. I just agree with whatever she says, as clearly she needs reassurance if she’s bonding with a random girl. It was honestly kind of a nice exchange although it was clearly odd. She walked away muttering. It’s time to go to brunch.

Clara’s boyfriend Nick is taking out the trash as I arrive. He’s one of those boyfriends I instantly connected with upon first meeting, and he and Clara seem like a sane couple, which can be rare. He tells me I’ll be floored by the spread when I go upstairs, and I am. Bundles of bagels, a make-your-own lox sandwich station, and sweets that include a sweet bread in the shape of a lamb. Awesome. My friends are here. I am offered a Sunny D mimosa and accept.

We spend part of our time inside and part out on their patio(?), chatting with friends new and old. Good music, lots of laughs, exactly the kind of house party you want on the first hot day. I’m having fun but feeling myself get tired and lame. I get up to leave, and my friend Jordan wants to go at the same time. I was going to take the train, but being with her invigorated me to walk home together.

Brooklyn thrives in the heat. Everyone is outside, many people are enjoying a bev, all sorts of food is up for grabs. In Bushwick, every other car is blasting a different Latin genre. Nothing is better in New York than the volume, and it climbs with the temperature. It is infectious and makes you want to jump and scream. We enjoy our walk together and have a nice, deep catchup, which we haven’t had in a while. We’re finding ourselves at crossroads. I think the walk was my favorite part of the day, which is hard to pick in a day of favorite things.

We split but know that a few of us will meet up later after dinner to keep hanging out. I needed some alone time. I got home to have some sedentary time and scroll through TikTok, watching a video on how gentrifiers are at their worst on the first hot days in Brooklyn. This creator is right because I am one of them, but what are we supposed to do when heat beckons? Half of us leaving town for Easter should make this better.

I had a quick FaceTime with Meera. We don’t really have a set way of communicating when we’re apart, but usually we like saving all of our stories for when we can be together in person again. I tend to have the busier weekends when we’re apart because I’m either in the city being crazy or home after not seeing my mom for a while. Massachusetts being so close makes it easier for her to go home, something I both envy and enjoy that I don’t have. The sun starts setting and I feel a sadness wash over as I truly rest for the first time all day.

My cohort agrees upon meeting at one of the most embarrassing gentrifier spots: Frog. It’s an overpriced wine bar with a fantastic backyard in the middle of Bed Stuy on one of those blocks where you don’t see white people until you walk into this business and they’re all concentrated here. It’s a great spot and is popular for that reason, but I’d never pitch it. Whatever, I just wanted to hang out with my friends and don’t care enough to fight for a different option. I used it as an excuse to walk to Bed Stuy and get dinner somewhere alone.

I was craving sushi, and a sushi spot called Trad Room was a good walk away. I love walking through Bed Stuy because you can see so many different architectural styles within a few blocks. So much of my summer walking takes me through here. Everyone is outside when the sun comes down, hanging out with a friend or two in front of their building and playing slow songs.

I hit Trad Room and am seated at a counter facing its wall, so I turn around every few minutes to remember there are plenty of other people in this oasis from the heat. I drink a pistachio matcha martini because it’s on the menu and ordering anything else would be sinful. I have a lot on my mind and just start writing a big note on my phone to process whatever manic-ness I’m feeling today. I eat two rolls, spicy tuna and some special tempura shrimp situation. I try not to vacuum them all down. I take time to just stare at the wall. I’m feeling okay.

Time for Frog, a short walk away. Bed Stuy’s residential blocks can be unbelievably beautiful, brownstones and trees asking you to slow down and stay awhile. It’s a lucky day, and this is when I’m at my luckiest. What a joy to have this summer and be healthy. I arrive at the bar and grab a glass of rose. I look around at the clientele. It’s not all white, but all the white people around are here, if that makes sense. As I wait for my wine, I ponder what a better move for gentrifiers would be than going to places like Frog. I like to think that just being kind to people in my every day, making an effort to connect and be patient with whoever’s at whatever counter can be enough — and really just trying not to be a loud asshole. But I could be naive.

I meet my friends in the back of the backyard as more trickle in. For a while, it’s just us girls. Everyone is in very different relationship statuses and opening up about them. There’s a lot to commiserate over and laugh about. I’m happy we’re all together. Eventually I feel called to ask everyone to go in a circle and say something they’re thankful for. I go last, and I say I’m thankful for my lungs and legs that work.

I have more drinks than I anticipated, considering I wanted to go on an even crazier walk the next day: Inwood Hill Park at the top of Manhattan and whatever would come next. We ended up going to a second location down the block called Barb’s. I’m drunker than I wanted to be, so I ended up only having a few sips of my beer before donating it to the group. I called it a night as did Jordan, so we left the group and Ubered home, gushing about our day together. I crawl into bed hoping I won’t be hungover and can wake up early enough to get to Inwood but having a sneaking suspicion that won’t arrive.

My body wakes me up around 5:30 a.m. to pee. I’m barely conscious but hear my phone start going off with some TikTok video or something. I thought it was noise outside and woke me up trying to figure out why this conversation sounded so close by. Why is my phone even on my bed still? Whatever. The sheets are all bunched up since I’m the only one in bed.

I walk into the bathroom and do a morning pee like I usually do: with the lights off. As I sit in my little ensuite, I hear pad wrappers rustling in the garbage can. I assume it’s a breeze from my movement until I hear it a second time. I quickly wipe, get up, and stand in the doorway as I turn on my light to reveal the sound culprit. There are all kinds of roaches, and crawling on the edge of the can is one of those long huge ones the size of two other cockroaches you usually see in the subway stations.

I immediately shut the door, turn on all the lights, and stand in my bedroom for a moment in shock. I have a cockroach in my house. I don’t think I screamed or anything but probably made some sort of grossed out noise. What am I going to do? I’m the bug spotter, and Meera is the bug killer. I hate all kinds of bugs, but this is the bug that everyone hates. It was so big. I spend a lot of time just standing around beneath the fluorescent overhead light and question how my life got here. I bring in a vacuum cleaner and my preferred mosquito killer: kitchen cleaner spray.

Oh, now the creature is in the bedroom. I didn’t even see him go under the closed bathroom door. How did he end up in the middle of the floor? Is this a different one? (I don’t think so…I hope!) I don’t have time to think — I grab the spray and just start pumping. He just keeps moving. I’m speaking out loud, cursing and telling it to die. I spray for what feels like an hour but was probably 30 full seconds and eventually drown him in spray. I take a picture of him dead on his back, floating in the pool.

I can’t even think about next steps yet. I send Meera a picture and a voice memo that I’m sure she loved waking up to. I also called my mom, who I knew would be up at this hour and could laugh with me. She says I’m really a New Yorker now. When I hang up, I am so slow to do everything. I try and fail to vacuum the bug, so I instead get a garbage bag, fill it with garbage bags from the bathrooms, and eventually sweep the corpse into it. I Clorox wipe where his body once lied and run downstairs to dispose of all the trash in my apartment.

I still haven’t put new bags in any of my trashcans aside from the main kitchen one. I also still have a pile of shorts that usually sit under my bed on top of my dresser. The vacuum cleaner is still plugged in for some reason. I also made sure my sheets were off the ground. None of these things matter, and I felt like I was in the most foreign place. Another could crawl out from anywhere. Meera and I are pretty clean. I wonder if it came from the open vent in the bathroom ceiling where the light guard is half off. What a different morning routine from the day before as I remembered that another could be hiding in another of the million crevices in my home. Through the shock, I also feel strength. I killed a cockroach!

I feel actually crazy and remember that I was going to take a crazy walk today. On this Easter, God woke me up to slay this demon. What if I stayed asleep and woke up with it in my bed? God also must’ve woken me up to slay this walk because I cannot spend any more time in this house. There is no question in my mind that I’m not sleeping there tonight before an exterminator can come. I pack my tiny backpack for my day and my real backpack with overnight stuff in it that I can grab in the evening.

I walk to the train as the sun rises. I text my friend Ryan because he’s always up early and there to receive my morning complaints. He thinks I’m being dramatic because his apartment gets a random roach every now and again but he also is notoriously unafraid of bugs. I send a voice memo for Jordan to wake up to asking if she wanted to have a sleepover since I knew that her roommate Gabby was in Pittsburgh.

It takes over an hour to get to Inwood. The L is already delayed. Not too many people are on at 7 a.m. I transfer to my least favorite train (the 1) and see a man pooping himself on the platform. I wait two car-lengths down from him, delighted when he ends up walking into the car just one away from mine so I’m happy I gave him distance to work his shit out.

I get off at 207th Street and start down Dyckman. I love Inwood. It feels completely different than where I live. There’s something just really calming and safe about it. There’s greenery close by, lots of popping businesses, and it’s less touched by gentrification than a lot of other neighborhoods. I start my park journey from the pier at the bottom out on the Hudson. It’s kind of cold and very windy as I look out at the Palisades and the GW Bridge. I recently tried walking as far as I could up Riverside Park and ended my journey at the bridge. This is like me picking up a little further from where I left off. I bet this pier is lively when it’s warm. Meera is awake now and after consoling me tells me that her evil eye necklace broke. Roach and evil eye necklace breaking…bad, bad omens. For the first time in a long time, I decide I’ll pray on part of my walk.

I start on the path. There are a few people on the trails this morning. Robert Caro devotes some of The Power Broker to how Moses gutted this genuine wilderness for a bridge that didn’t need to be there and ballfields. We’re so starved for greenery that there are a few hiking trails and foresty parts that it still feels like the wild. I see a few people exercising or walking their dogs. Two older ladies in front of me arrive at a fence I coudn’t see and turned around. I shrugged at them and we shared a giggle as I turned with them, and I walked away from the ballfields onto a flight of stairs with a bridge over train tracks.

Now I’m really in the woods but on a paved trail. Up and down hills. This whole morning I’ve been sending voice memos back and forth with my mom who is also out and about. I told her that I was going to find some way to pray in nature, which of course made her laugh. Christian holidays are always the best time for the two of us to be out and about and feel some sort of freedom. She’s doing The Artist’s Way and, as an artist, both enjoys it and has many qualms with the author. You have to write a ton at the beginning of the day and read this lady’s writing, and she mentions the Hebrew word Hineini, which means Here I am and is said to god by Abraham and Moses. I’m trying to get as far to the tip of Manhattan as possible. As I walk up the hill, I think of the short prayer Hinei Mah Tov and quietly sing it to myself. It’s one of many prayers just being thankful.

Unless I wanted to go in the dirt down the steep hill onto the water and away from the path, I reached it. From beyond the smattering of trees, the Bronx is close across the river. I can see the Marble Hill train tracks for the Metro North, the beautiful Bronte apartments atop a hill to make them feel even more exclusive and far away. A few more apartments sit atop the hills, greening up as spring unfurls. At the very back, I notice the top of a monument, a person perched upon stone. A low bridge connects the boroughs so the Amtrak can pass between them to and from its journeys along the Hudson. The Tappan Zee (Mario Cuomo I guess?) Bridge peeks out at the edge of my vision. New Jersey is its most beautiful flirting with me from across the river.

The wind is powerful enough that it feels like my earbuds could fly out of my ears. Still, I stand and stare out. I remember in Sunday School there being this central prayer (that isn’t the Shema) and tried remembering what it was. After thinking for a few minutes, I remembered: Adonai s’fatai tiftach ufi yagid t’hilatecha (God, open my lips, and my mouth will declare your glory — intense!). I was so relieved I could remember it, and it felt good to know that it’s always been inside me and always will be.

I had one of those epiphanies of things you already know but you get to really remember again in a meaningful way — I already have everything I need. Everything has been inside of me, and I have full control of my destiny. I am the only one who can define what my Judaism is, my values are, and who I am. I have been feeling a lack of control lately, and I remembered that I don’t need to try so hard. I’ve worked so hard to craft my life and, mixed with the luck of having an incredible support system, I don’t have to try so hard anymore to be myself. I’m there and always have been, and I can give myself permission to calm down. I am my biggest critic, and I don’t have to be. My body can carry me through. The wind tries to knock me down, the roach tries to ruin my day, but I don’t have to be deterred by small things.

I talked all of this and more out loud to myself, praying a bit more and feeling so connected to everything around me. I’ve been wrestling with what my Judaism looks like at this stage of my life and how it will continue to change, and this moment reminded me I can tap into it whenever I want. Eventually, I saw the lights of the Amtrak waiting at its last stop in the Bronx before crossing over the bridge into Manhattan. I watched it wait there for a while and felt like I was waiting for a cat to get comfortable with me and come out from under the bed. The lights grew and the train came closer, eventually crossing the bridge and thundering onto the island.

I felt completely rejuvenated and happier than most drugs would probably make me. I felt the most in control in years. I also felt even more thankful than usual if that’s even possible. I sent a voice memo to my mom and pet a dog that came up to me during my chat. I was finally ready to leave this spot and continue my walk, starting down the hill from underneath the bridge Robert Moses used to destroy the park. At least the bridge wasn’t super ugly. There are few better exploration feelings in New York than standing under a bridge.

Going down this hill and reaching another recreation area with people and their pets felt like walking down Frick Park in Pittsburgh. I went down slowly and sent another voice memo to Meera. I was so happy to be alone and be able to share my joy with the two most important women in my life. I sat on a bench in front of some marsh at the bottom of the park and took it all in. Spring is here!

Now that I’ve reached the end of the park, I wanted to walk down Highbridge Park and see the tower. I don’t think I’ve ever been to this park before, which starts (ends?) on the other side of Inwood. My mom and I continued sending voice memos, and she was obviously happy that I was doing something Jewish. As someone who grew up around no other Jews aside from her family in Italy over the summers, she also has had to constantly reimagine what her faith looks like. Something I really loved and also laughed at that she said was that Judaism for her is less about God and more about getting dressed up with your family.

I passed by a few churches with some dressed up people for Easter. I found an Ethiopian coffee spot nearby that looked had good reviews called Buunni Coffee, but there was a Dunks across the street I’d go to if it was closed. Open to experience! Unlike puritanical Pittsburgh, things are open on Easter. Buunni was open and ended up being the only shop where the white people were. Are white gentrifiers the only people who review places on Google? I brought my delicious, hot chai for my walk.

I continue until I hit the train and turn down Tenth Avenue. Jordan is awake and responds to my voice memo with one of her own. When she says of course she’s down for a sleepover, I audibly go Fuck yes! and immediately text Gabby to make sure she’s okay with it (I wouldn’t have asked Jordan first if I didn’t rightfully assume Gabby was down). Now that I know I’ll be safe tonight, I can blissfully continue my day.

Along a creek, I follow a wood-chip path behind a school, eventually hitting a bird sanctuary. This little garden is the perfect respite, and there are so many birds fluttering up close, excited to be out and about for spring. I continue down the park to see where it ends and realize I’m on a greenway right next to the East River with the highway on the other side (and, not to my immediate knowledge, Highbridge Park on the right).

I kept walking down assuming there would be a path to the park, but I had unintentionally locked myself in for a long haul down the river. Cherry blossoms literally flew into my face, so I can’t just turn around. Whatever, I’m open to experience. I didn’t know this path was here. It’s a gorgeous stretch with tons of cherry blossom petals scattered on the ground. At some point I wrote this note: Wasting too much time trying to be cool. I don’t remember what triggered this reminder, but I’m right. It’s hard to write and not be cynical, so I’m trying to be more sincere in this issue and make less fun of myself.

The path feels endless. I have three big bridges overhead that I walk under. Now in my Pittsburgh park comparisons, I’m on the Jail Trail. Each bridge feels like a prayer, thanking the people who risked their lives and were exploited to build something so magnificent. Unfortunately Robert Moses and I have one thing in common other than being Jewish — loving bridges.

Finally around 155th street the path slopes upward to reach Harlem River Boulevard. I feel like I’m in a nether region for a while until I hit a normal intersection. I am at the onset of Edgecombe Boulevard, a beautiful residential street in Harlem overlooking Jackie Robinson Park. I remember one of my first massive walks in New York led me up the many stairs of this park. Now, I’m looking at it from above. Metaphors!

After taking a moment to rest on a bench, I meander down the promenade that Edgecombe provides. It’s such a cozy street. Once it starts sloping downhill, I’m surrounded by apartments on all sides. I haven’t been on this part of the street before and am loving it, but I need to pee soon and charge my phone. At the end of the street, I reach Manhattanville Coffee, which has everything I need. I have to buy something and inquire about a small bun, which turns out to be a caramel bun. They heat it up for me, and I devour all of its gooeyness as I listen to a podcast episode that coincidentally mentions the street I’m on.

During this time, I’m waiting for my friend Noor to emerge because we have brunch plans. We lock in brunch for 1 p.m., which means I walk a few more blocks to 125th Street and make my way to Ridgewood. I spend my train time scrolling after an incredible journey that felt like it changed my life even though I just remembered stuff I already knew.

Noor and I had a date at The Seneca because two drag queens are doing a 420/Easter show there, which feel like a great way to spend Easter as Jewish and Muslim queers. We got a bottle of prosecco and orange juice to mimos-it up for drag brunch. This was my first one. We also ordered off of their brunch menu, so I got this smashburger with bacon and a fried egg that rocked my world and was the first thing I ate this day. All this talk of gentrifier spots, The Seneca is textbook but unfortunately has an incredible burger.

The queens hosting the show, Nicky O and Jo Disco, host a ton of silly themed shows, especially in Ridgewood. I think they’re some of the only queens that consistently perform in this neighborhood. I saw Nicky host an event at 3 Dollar Bill when I first moved to New York and was awed by her hosting. When she arrived, she went to every table to say hi and gave everyone a plastic egg to open later. The show eventually started, and we all opened our eggs to reveal a dollar bill for each of us to tip with. Noor and I were prepared (more Noor than me) with more.

Nicky was dressed like this weed maven, all green and weedy, and Jo was dressed as Jesus. The restaurant wasn’t full but had a lot of enthusiastic audience members, three of whom were a normal-looking, straight family with a young daughter that I pegged as maybe 10 years old. I’m not sure I’d bring my kid to a weed-themed drag show, but all three of them looked like they were having the best time. At some point, she shyly walked up to Nicky in awe to give her a dollar. They eventually left.

Noor and I screamed so much. One of the numbers was a remix mashup including the Life Alert commercial. We had a great time and chatted with the queens a few times, who were super nice. Everyone was getting their life. My favorite part was when the queens would rub the heads of a few bald guys in the restaurant. We caught up in the breaks between numbers. She thinks my roach is a one-off.

Two of Noors friends who are now my friends happened to be at a bar a block away, so we picked them up after brunch, grabbed more drinks, and headed to Noor’s apartment to spend some time with cat celebrity (in my life, at least), Moo. Jenn and Ikram always make me laugh, and we just sunk into the couch being silly. I sent Meera a voice memo asking her to make me one of those 2009-y shirts with text in black Impact font reading They love my bi swag.

I could have stayed longer but knew I needed to get ready for my night with Jordan. I stopped at CVS y más to get roach traps I still haven’t deployed out of fear they will attract more. I went home and showered, which took so much longer because I needed to take all this time to stand around and make sure I wasn’t missing a creature.

Onto Jordan’s. I’m still a little drunk and walking slowly with my heavy backpack. I accidentally walk to the side into a young nurse trying to pass me. I apologized and she scoffed. I started complaining about her in my head until I noticed her scrubs and thought I should probably be more compassionate with someone possibly seeing darkness every day.

Jordan had spent her day with Emily (who I’ve known for a while) and Sheila (my first time meeting). They had such an intimacy and warmth with each other as they cooked a dinner I didn’t help with at all, instead petting Sheila’s breathtaking behemoth of a black dog, Ramsey. I felt included in this crew but liked being quiet and watching their dynamic from the outside. I interrogated Sheila about her life and described her with the word formidible. We ate bowls of kale, goat cheese, tofu, sweet potato, and caramelized onions. Definitely a departure from the heart attack burger I had earlier.

We moved to the couch with Jordan’s new roommate Carly, later noshing on cookies and ice cream. Jordan gave me aux, and I just felt like I could play the most random songs. I didn’t care if they would like them or not. I got into PJs and was the most turnt of the group. Sheila said her initials are SSJ (mine are SSB), and she always thinks of her name as a boat. Her last name is June, so she thinks of herself as the S.S. June. I screamed upon this declaration because I do the same (but S. S. B instead of S. S. Brown) and never thought to share this thought aloud, let alone relate. I asked her what her boat is, and hers is a pontoon with the beautifully scripted name painted. I thought of mine as a massive steel ship. I wonder what that means about how we see ourselves.

The crew got sleepy enough, and the rest of us started our night routines. I’ve been in this house so many times and never slept over. I was so excited to sleep after being up all day. Gabby’s window has a perfect view of the Empire State Building aglow in the night. I snuggled into her bed and immediately conked out after a big weekend.

I woke up today sad to bid farewell to a weekend full of walks, dogs, and sun. I returned to my apartment ready to reclaim it from the bugs. My landlord said they’d call an exterminator today, and I am not sure if that happened. I feel mostly comfortable about going to sleep tonight. Meera’s finishing up dinner, so I can finish up this entry and live my life. I hope you had as transcendent of a weekend as I did!