Marcella & Me_The Infinite Versions of You_Jackson_The Dog that Shagged Me
Catalog Guide:
Marcella & Me
Marcella quickly looked at the menu, and then we decided to order our usual tiramisu, which we shared and two glasses of red wine.I first met Marcella while interviewing for a job she posted with NYU career services looking for assistance with typing her books for publication. It was the summer of 2000 and I just graduated from NYU, a confused 22 year old with a degree in my hand. We met at her Washington Square Village apartment and, after a few minutes, she hired me on the spot. Over the next 2 years, we worked together on her publications and over the next 10 years we became close frie...
The Infinite Versions of You
Don’t you remember being nine years old, chasing each other around the playground at recess as if we were the only two kids in the schoolyard. Everyone used to tease us, saying we were boyfriend and girlfriend. They were wrong, we insisted. You and I were just friends. Best friends. Until your family moved away, and all that you left me with was a hug in the backseat of my parents’ Subaru before disappearing from my life for good.Don’t you remember when we were ten and spent our afternoons wandering through the woods behind our homes. Our hands would be left scraped from the hearty branches of...
Jackson
His name is Jackson, and he’s a cat – a black cat, to be exact. I named him after that guy on the cable show “My Cat From Hell.” There was no particular reason to name a black cat Jackson, but I like Jackson Galaxy, and I couldn’t think of a better tribute than to name a cat after him.I first met Jackson the cat during a thunderstorm on Halloween night two years ago. I was sitting in my favorite comfortable armchair, reading Stephen King’s “It” because it was Halloween, a fine time to read a good horror story during a thunderstorm. Between claps of thunder, I heard squeaky meows coming from my...
The Dog that Shagged Me
The proverbial burning of the midnight owww.onedoor.ccil ensued for the deranged medical student with his nose stuffed in cocaine; except the midnight oil was the electrical bill, and the cocaine was coffee. Words like nicotinamide dinucleotide and glutathione peroxidase taunted the medical student, who only had enough energy left to stare blankly with his eyes redder than a baboon’s ass. Biochemistry used to mean something to the man, but by this time the brain of the once brilliant medical student (the term “brilliant” being loosely used to actually mean operating at 57% capacity at least, not including ...