So You Relinquished Your Cat: What Now?

By Michael Gutgsell

Sharing your home and your life with a pet can be a real hassle. They take up time, energy, and resources to keep up, but ask any pet owner and you’ll hear a litany of what makes it worth it. I don’t want to get into that now. If you don’t already know the many wonderful aspects of having a pet, you’ve seen them in memes and videos all over the internet and heard about it ad nauseum from coworkers and friends.

But what about when it goes sour? Continue reading

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Ir Adelante: A Musing

By Amber Robbin

There’s a hard to describe feeling in my chest. Sometimes it passes through the eyes, at other times, straight through the heart, attaching itself to passersby. This song that I love makes me think of it…

Ooh this masquerade

For a foolish vision

Left you wandering

For a new addiction 

Chasing after ghosts in your bed

Reaching out like souls in transit

Shadows in your walls

Loaded like a weight in water

Sometimes it gets to be too much.  Continue reading

Fantasyland: We, The Staff

By Emily Jean

The final question on the application reads, “Why do you want to work at Summer Camp?” Nearly everyone writes some cliché bullshit along the lines of “Camp is my home away from home” or “I really want to embrace and explore my Jewish roots.” That’s the sort of sappy crap the directors look for during the hiring process. Each summer, they employ a staff of us ranging from seventeen to thirty – everyone on the verge of futureless and bringing the single-and-ready-to-mingle mentality of a sexually desperate high schooler. So let’s be honest here. If we were all to answer that question truthfully, we would collectively type:  Continue reading

Pivot, or Persevere

pivotBy Amber Robbin

I woke as if erupting from a body of water, then lie there floating on top of my sheets. The timer clicked in my head, five hours and counting till all I could recall of the previous night would be retrieved. My soul tasted like gin. And Kahlua. (And poor judgment.)

I melded with the wall and every piece of furniture across my path on the long journey down the stairs. Like a wounded animal, I called out for the one person I thought could ease my pain: “Jimmy Jooohhhns…Jiiimmy Jooohhns!” I called and called for him, too hazy to even recognize that it was 8 in the morning, and he was still asleep.  Continue reading

The Hussies Upstairs: Part 2

J Parker-Skyline-ViewBy Amber Robbin

I emerged from the bathroom, as put together as I’d bother for a humid Windy City day, and merged with the other little black dresses careening around marble corners on a carousel of false, glittering smiles and jewel-toned cocktails. I rounded the bend at the giant glass windows overlooking the seamless lake and passed Nigel on my way outside. He was busy taking orders from a server: “But I had that section last night,” she whined “and I had nothing but two-tops the entire night! Why ya gonna waste one of your best servers on date night, Nigel, when I could be rockin’ that couch section better than any of the girls in here?!”  Continue reading

The Average Millennial Shame Spiral

By Sydney Maier

shame spiralOnce upon a time, there was an average millennial living an average millennial post-grad life. Like other average millennials, she was grossly underpaid, completely unaided by her singular worthless degree, and struggling to feel of any value to herself or the world. (Like the average millennial, she believed the world should find her important and felt slighted by her own smallness.) She, like others, became exceedingly familiar with the 3am shame spiral.

For the above-average millennials who are blissfully unaware, the 3am shame spiral actually begins with the descent around midnight when you realize there are no clean dishes and you’re a failure of an adult. Continue reading

Tall Orders

By Michael Gutgsell

Dive-Bar-1024x680

Every evening, after landscaping for my neighbors or playing mannequin for a medical school, I would put on my uniform: skinny black dress pants and a quickly-fading black polo, and bike the five minutes to the Tavern. There I would tie a mini black apron around my waist and insert my black order book into the pocket, complete with my precise formula of change. Then, I would start my shift, making a circle around the room, picking up drink orders and placing down plates of food. I was disappointed to be twenty-three and living at home, squabbling with my parents over stupid things, working in an industry that reminded me how it felt to be “summed up and degraded,” as my journal from that time says. Most of the customers were regulars, and after learning their names and predilections, they often wouldn’t need to open their mouths to have what they wanted placed in front of them. Years after working there, I don’t remember all their names, but I remember their drinks.  Continue reading

The Law Firm Sagas: #5 Non-Fiction

Bare CoveBy Amber Robbin

Normally, Whole Foods is a place that brings me joy, boasting a “guilt-free” hot buffet that smacks of buttery goodness and free samples galore left unattended in generous heaps. It’s a veritable playground for the sometimes-vegetarian (that I am) with yoga mats and fancy lip balms that make the yuppie lifestyle almost desirable. The only downer, normally, are the last few minutes anyone ever spends inside the store, when it becomes all-too-apparent that a more befitting name for the place would be ‘Whole Paycheck.’ Other than that, I associated Whole Foods with perfectly lovely memories – until one night in March. 

On that night, my soul collapsed over a brown box of marshmallow encrusted sweet potatoes. I felt myself being consumed exactly as I was meant to be doing the consuming, eaten alive by my inner swarm of lacking purpose, lacking sense of self, and lacking desire to wake up the next day and go to work – a full eight hours before that task even needed to be confronted. Continue reading

Boob Job

By Jessie Kate

download“I need you to go through this box of photos and cut them up. Make sure to slice through the nipples so people can’t decipher them. Okay? Cut in diagonal strips. Throw some pieces in this trashcan, and some in this one. Got it?”

“Got it.”

I pulled back the cardboard flaps to find hundreds of Polaroid shots of breasts. The boobs were asymmetrical. They were discolored. There were inverted nipples. And then there were hundreds of beautiful, round and perfectly shaped bosoms too. I never knew boobs came in such variety.

The first couple Polaroids were fun to snip and snap into little pieces. But the scissors were dull and my hands began to hurt as my eyes began to blur. Nipples. Side boob. Little boob. Big boob. Missing boob. I couldn’t get through the whole box in one day. I had to stop after several hours, my hands cut up from the sharp plastic edges as I tried to snip each nipple into oblivion.  Continue reading

Fantasyland: Only Camp

Only CampBy Emily Jean

The other day I fell in love with a dress I knew I couldn’t afford on one of the overwhelmingly delicious racks at Urban Outfitters. And after experiencing the back and forth battles of joy versus angst and I-Cant-Live-Without-This versus Broke-Ass-College-Kid, I realized that the dress represented more than just floral, cotton, and my entire paycheck. It represented a Friday night on a beautiful peninsula in Middle-of-Nowhere, MO. The dress represented too many posey photographs taken in front of the mural outside the dining hall, hairy Shabbos chicken and dry chocolate cake, checking for daddy long legs on the chapel benches at services before returning to sitting after the Mourner’s Kaddish, and lots and lots of clapping, dancing, and cheering out random words in Yiddish. Camp’s Shabbat was all up in that dress, because plainly and simply, thoughts of camp are always all up in my mind.

Continue reading