Just now I’ve learned that it was Eleanor Roosevelt who said you’re supposed to do one thing every day that scares you, which is good because I made this blog and then briefly I was like, shit, what if I made that up and it’s not a quote at all– then I’d have this blog that didn’t make any sense. And then I’d have to make another blog, and it took me at least an hour to come up with that title, and I need the next hour to go make a package of frozen plantains so I don’t starve. So I’m glad that didn’t happen.
Doing one scary thing every day is pretty easy for me. First, because (get this) I’m a travel editor for an in-flight magazine who was deathly afraid of flying for almost ten years, and second, because I’m kind of small, and a chick, and I do shit like fall asleep on the F train and end up in Coney Island with some guy who smells like ham tapping me on the shoulder and telling me to wake up and get the hell off. I also change the water bottle on the water cooler at work a lot, and anyone who’s ever done that knows there’s a moment of no return where you’re certain you’re going to dump the entire contents of the bottle on the floor and everyone is going to stare at you and maybe throw pencils.
Actually, that F train thing happened last night, and the scariest thing about it wasn’t that I was alone and drunk and shivering, peering into the nothingness of backwoods Brooklyn to spot potential rapists every time the train doors opened, but that I woke up this morning and discovered that I ate an entire package of chopped celery from the bodega at 4 in the morning. INCLUDING some of the leaves. Is there a scarier image than a drunk chick in a robe standing over a kitchen sink eating celery leaves? Yeah, I didn’t think so.
Day 1: Drunkenly eating celery leaves.
The Living Yaylights 
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