i can't wait just like you can't wait / until we're out past familiar gates / those seven words shook the life back in / so let's just run 'til we lose our breath.

there isn't enough vitarain in the world to undo what i did.

Posted: Jul 29, 2011 | Posted by marcy | Labels: 0 comments

i need to stop thinking it's a good idea to go head-to-head with topgun tommy. i regret it absolutely every.single.time.

i wonder how long it'll take for someone to question why i'm laying down in costco.

Location:costco. miserable.

somewhere between hell and hell, i got bored and did this.

Posted: Jul 25, 2011 | Posted by marcy | Labels: , 1 comments

when your sanity in hanging in the balance, just make a video.


sweat is sexy, especially when you don’t even have to work for it.

Posted: Jul 19, 2011 | Posted by marcy | Labels: 1 comments

it’s africa hot.

and my phone is apparently supper pissed about it.


iphone users, have you ever even seen that? i have. just now.

oh but if you slide the bar to try and get to the home screen (which is speaking in foreign languages; that’s how pissed off it is), all you get is the option to make an emergency call.

super. so at least i know that when i start to hyperventilate, i can still call 9-1-1.

how’s that for customer service. apple has my back.

i live 90 seconds from a hospital. useful.

what i really should do is put the phone down and get in a body of water.

but the truth of the matter is, i’m writing this while pretending to “answer e-mails” in an attempt to avoid hearing my neighbor tell me one more time about his family reunion this past weekend and how his uncle bought 30 pounds of ribs. i’ve heard the story 3 times in the last 27 minutes. my neighbor is a talker.

thank you, mobile blogger app. you really know how to come through in the clutch.

call me brave (or stupid) for deliberately uploading half of a bathing suit photo on the internet (unlike when your friends tag facebook photos of you gallivanting on the beach and you think “hmm. i don’t really need all my clients and co-workers seeing me build a sand castle and do handstands while i’m 87% naked” and then you run to untag it. no this isn’t like that.), but in an attempt to show you that i am DRENCHED, well it didn’t even work out that well because it doesn’t really look like i’m drenched, save for the puddle resting between my rib cage.

trust me. i’m drenched.


i dare you to tell me sweat puddles aren’t cute. for crying out loud, microscopic ants could swim in my belly button because there is just that much liquid in there.

hey, at least i have hearts on my bathing suit.

that wasn’t meant to be suspenseful.

Posted: Jul 15, 2011 | Posted by marcy | Labels: 0 comments

the book from below is called “I Totally Meant To Do That” by Jane Borden.

also known as “The Biography of Marcy McKenzie as told by Jane Borden Who Probably Would Prefer It If Her Life Weren’t Compared To Anyone’s But Her Own” by Jane Borden.

but i bet ms. borden didn’t have a naked boy running around her neighbor’s front yard on debutante night like i did.

or maybe she did.

hopefully she did.

it must be out of state.

i picked up a book the other day that may as well be my own biography. written by a girl from my hometown (who now also lives in my current town), it’s possible that we are sisters. except that i don’t have any sisters and we don’t have the same DNA.


the fact that i have never met this girl is somewhat astounding, seeing as though we grew up only a couple of streets from each other, have the same extended overlapping circle of friends, and have parents who run in the same neighborhood country club crowd. oh and my godparents are her blood relatives. hm. i attribute this lack of ever meeting to the fact that she is several years older than me and went to boarding school way far out of my teenage reach. nonetheless, our journeys are somewhat carbon copy, so if you don’t want to wait for me to finish my quarter-life memoir, just read hers. then you’ll know practically everything about my life as it transcended from southern debutante balls to the northern underbelly of a metropolitan empire 8-million deep and counting.

if you have to ask what a debutante is or does, then you already know. there isn’t much to it other than parading around on the arms of your father and 2 closest male friends while wearing a wedding dress before you are even legal to have a drink, much less be in the market for a wedding dress. oh and you have to know how to curtsy. but don’t worry, they teach you how to do that during debutante training. because, yes, there is such a thing. and you’ll spend a large portion of the glamorous brouhaha shaking hands with a distinguished group of elders (who you don’t actually know but who your parents supposedly do) who basically had to vote you into to this charade that once served as a means to finding a suitable husband in a hoity-toity version of legalized prostitution.

think red light district for the upper echelon.

my mother was a debutante. so i was a debutante. end of story.

in the comfort of the summer sun and atop a beach towel that i recently purchased at costco for free+cheap (and the only item in the cart that i wasn’t forced to buy in bulk), i sat and read her book in a park down the street from my apartment.

at about hour 2.5, a familiar couple and their almost matching chocolate and yellow labs walked into the park for conversation and a round of fetch. the dogs would actually be matching if they weren’t completely different colors. again, details.

i’ve seen this couple before. many times. they always come in separate cars, with separate dogs, and usually during hours when people with jobs are still at their jobs. i wonder what it is that they DO. just as they are probably wondering the same about me – at 2:35pm on a non-holiday monday.

i pretend they’re having an affair. or less incriminating, are just really good friends who like to walk their dogs who are probably also really good friends.

as i pulled out of the parking area and down the narrow one-way road that leads out to a bigger road that leads to my apartment, i watched as the couple scampered to the side of the road. and froze. protecting their loins and docile k-9s, i suppose.

rest easy, dog lovers. i am doing all of 3 miles per hour and spotted you from 200 yards away.

as i passed, windows down, i heard the man say “must be out of state” and then watched from the rear-view mirror as he inspected my license plate to confirm (or deny) his suspicions, as north carolina only requires you to have one license plate on the rear of your car unlike other dumbdumb states who require the redundancy of two. one front, one back.

yes, it is out of state.

i am out of state.

the former is a well-plotted attempt at running the largest insurance scam i can get my hands on. also known as safeguarding the vehicle’s title and taxes in a state that doesn’t insist on robbing you blind every chance it gets.

the latter . . .

well, i haven’t figured that one out just yet.

anatomy of a debutante ball. circa sophomore year of college.

Posted: | Posted by marcy | Labels: , 0 comments

in relation to above post.


so, yeah. the evening rounded out quite nicely.



and that’s that.

starbucks shareholders are psyched.

Posted: Jul 12, 2011 | Posted by marcy | Labels: 0 comments


things i like:

1. when people spell my name correctly. and write it on a cup.

things i don’t like:

1. when i guilt myself into spending upwards of waytoomuch for an iced tea at starbucks just so i can use their wi-fi and bathroom with a clear conscience.

2. that i’m not the CEO of starbucks.

i need to start pretending i don't know the lyrics.

my dad called me yesterday afternoon to blast his new download of Zac Brown's 'Chicken Fried' loud enough so that i could hear it through the phone and get really excited about it.

i, on the other hand and 600 miles away, had just pulled a canoe over to the shoreline bank of the delaware river to crack a cold beer, take a picture, and reflect on the fact that summer days rarely get better than this.

you see, 'Chicken Fried' is his new favorite song. while for the rest if us it peaked the charts something like 2 years ago and has already been overplayed during every beach-front bbq in the history of beach-front bbq's, it's new to him so i'm happy to entertain this found amusement -- which about a week ago included my singing it loud and [not] proud while standing on a chair in front of about 10 other people who all have the same last name as me.

something i immediately wished i wasn't doing as soon as i started doing it.

last year his favorite summer song was Chamillionaire's 'Ridin' Dirty' so this is quite the shake-up and quite the sigh of relief for someone (me) who has a tendency to perform things and jump into sing-a-longs even when she really doesn't need to. and by "favorite" what i mean is he heard it, liked it, requested that i spend the $0.99 it took to download it, and had me play it 17 times before retreating back to the safety of classic rock. just wanted to clarify that before you accused my dad of being wildly out of his mind and demographic.

'Chicken Fried' talks about pea-can pie and sweet tea.

'Ridin' Dirty' has lyrics like "bookin' my phone, tryin' to find a chick i wanna bone . . ."

which one do you think i prefer to recreate for a crowd of cousins and uncles?

that was rhetorical.

sometimes i wish i still lived in georgia.

Posted: Jul 7, 2011 | Posted by marcy | Labels: 4 comments

right this second is one of those times.

Location:north of the mason-dixon line.

“i have my ship and all her flags are a flyin’.”

apparently, i take a lot of pictures of american flags.

how very patriotic of me.

it wasn’t until this 4th of july was practically over that i realized i’d been wearing a t-shirt with “CANADA” written in giant letters across my chest for the better part of the entire day.

how very un-patriotic of me.




by the way, ‘southern cross’ might just be one of the best songs ever. and if you aren’t already somewhat cozy with crosby, stills, & nash and the gloryglory of this diddy, then may i direct you to itunes. or your father’s record collection.

too bad david crosby went to the slammer on drugs and weapons charges just after it was recorded. [why do i know this???]

the reporter interviewing crosby after his arrest: “why were you carrying a gun?”

david crosby: “john lennon, man.”


. . . . . . . you can’t argue with his reasoning.