Category Archives: musings

k e x p + me

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“Where the music matters.”

You can usually tell how I’m doing by what kind of music I’m listening to. Did I sleep 12 hours, write 3,000 words of which 1,000 were funny, or wear the fiercest lip color to a meeting? Then it’s time for the Marika, You’re Killing It playlist: 13 songs that make me feel like the human equivalent of a hair flip. Did I do all of those things on the same day and wear heels for more than 10 minutes? That calls for the Bitch, You Are Basically Beyonce mix, a triumphant playlist of 33 songs guaranteed to make me feel like a boss. Point being, if I’m listening to Diana Ross, I’m pretty happy; if I’m listening to sad trombone noises, I probably got dumped by a clown.

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The Lake Woods

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Lake + Woods

I just recently spent six days at Chelan in the woods — “the woods” is code for “there was no wifi” — with a good friend and it was everything I needed. I leaned into all the -ings. Eating, reading, writing, sleeping, cooking, dreaming, staring, nothing. A whole lot of nothing. I read Crazy Rich Asians. Played Yahtzee. Went bowling during half-price day, and walked along the water. She found Kingsman in the cabin’s DVD collection, so we made vodka cocktails (heavy on the lime) and watched that one night with our feet up. It was probably the eighth time I’d seen it because I’m a COLIN FIRTH FANGIRL. I think he’s my #1 on the ole celebrity exception list, now that Alan Rickman is gone. This is perhaps the most American thing I may say in my lifetime, but the fight scene (tw: very graphic, lotsa murder) where he kills 40 people in one long, continual church scene is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, and the only time in history when “Freebird” was the perfect soundtrack. 

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Kick The Shit Out of Life

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Maria Semple, total badass & Yours Truly, lipstick-wearer

“Maria Semple has a total boner for your writing.” So said Katty, far and away the best part of the writing workshop we finished last month. Tom Skerritt was a fellow classmate, too, because my life is just a series of What The Fuck moments held together by carbs and decorative washi tape from the dollar store. I want to say meeting Katty was nice, a word that describes nothing and leads to other nothing-words like interesting or cool, but really, it was a relief. There is so much weight lifted when you meet a kindred spirit, someone you don’t have to be anyone else but yourself around, loudly and without apology; someone who gets your language and likes making fun of the same people. Our friendship was forged rather quickly — a satirical shotgun marriage, if you will, pregnant with a friendship baby who likes yelling fuck over various dessert items. She is a curly-haired, barely-contained East Coast tornado, which works since I’m a West Coast weather system trapped in a supermodel’s body.

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#MeToo Infinity

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It might be easier and take less time to make a list of women who haven’t been assaulted; a list of men who’ve never been inappropriate around women; a list of people who’ve never been on the internet or heard of Planet Earth. Every day, I brace myself for the dirtbag reveal and the toxic unraveling that follows:

NO

NOT HIM

SON OF A

GODDAMNIT

YOU KNOW WHAT

I FUCKING KNEW

BECAUSE IT’S EVERYONE

IT’S ALL OF THEM

IT’S SOCIETY

IT’S YOU

IT’S US

NO

HIM, TOO?

I KNEW IT

LET’S HIDE IN THE WOODS

Cut to me in a fleece ball on my bed, making sweet love to Netflix, and trying not to think of all the lecherous dickholes Amazon might be partnered with.

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A Cool Ranch of Marikas

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The other day I was in bed around 2 p.m. and wondered what the collective noun for a group of Marikas might be. This alone should tell you a few things:

1) I’m amazing

2) I spend much of my day in soft pants

3) I need more friends or hobbies or maybe a reason to live

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My favorite animal collectives are:

A murder of crows

A shrewdness of apes

A crash of rhinos

An unkindness of ravens

An ostentation of peacocks

A glitter of hummingbirds

A covert of coots

A bloat of hippopotami

 

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