bekah brunstetter
Bekah Brunstetter I care deeply. About a lot of things. Like really, really deep. Ow
playwright in brooklyn, NY

extended forecast

May 3rd, 2018 by Bekah Brunstetter

When preparing for any sort of travel, I maintain my typical chill energy and only check the extended weather forecast 6-7 times a day. I just find it incredibly useful to know what will be happening to and around myself ten days from now. I wish there could be an extended forecast for life. Like, A week from Wednesday you will drink too much wine and have that dream where you have five babies but they live inside of the deli counter at the grocery store so you’re going to wake up very confused and unable to accomplish anything so maybe don’t schedule work for Thursday and also bring an umbrella 

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the Big Questions

April 30th, 2018 by Bekah Brunstetter

God bless Julien for keeping every note we wrote to each other in high school, even though some of them reflect a rift between us that neither of us can fully recall or explain. Mostly it seems that I rambled to her about my low self-esteem, how embarrassing it was to try and pass the push up test in gym, then asked her important life questions, just as I strive to do in my adult life.

How many cups of sugar does it take to get to the moon?

What kind of jeans does mustard wear?

What kind of cat goes best with pasta?

Do pickles go to the bathroom?

Whatever.

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good with kids

April 29th, 2018 by Bekah Brunstetter

Morrison is very, very, VERY good with kids, mostly because he takes them seriously and speaks to them like they’re adults, while at the same time, playing into their imaginations. With me,  it’s mostly awkward. (Me: HOW’S YOUR WEEKEND GOING? GET INTO ANY TROUBLE? DO YOU LIKE WINE? AM I TALKING LOUD?)  Yesterday, the school where Morrison TA’s had its (CHARMING; INCREDIBLE) spring carnival, and so naturally, we  played laser tag in a gym with a bunch of kids. At one point, I looked over and saw Morrison doing a slow motion death-roll on the ground while two little girls in pigtails stood over him, casually shooting him point blank. That fact on its own is NOT EVEN THE BEST PART OF THIS STORY.

Waiting in line to enter, we decided to form an alliance with four other kids. The plan was to hole up behind the big pile of Mats in the Northwest corner of the room. We got our guns, the room went dark, and we ran to our station. But as I lept behind mats next to Morrison, one kid looks at me skeptically.

Kid: Who’s that?

Morrison: It’s okay. She’s safe.

Me (to kid): I’m your wife!

The kid just looks at me.

Kid: Wait, what?

Me: Oh, wait, no, I meant —

Morrison: She’s MY wife.

Me: I’m HIS wife! Hahahaha! You don’t have a wife! That’d be weird. I promise I’m not your wife. Hahahahaha! I’m an adult!

Kid:…..okay……?

The kid returned to the game, only to turn on me ten minutes later, like this:

Kid: (innocently) How many lives do you have left?

Me: I’m not sure, how can I tell?

Kid: (brightly): Lemmee see your gun!

I hold it out to him, and he SHOOTS ME POINT BLANK.

Me: What the hell?!

Kid: (shrugging) ….friendly fire.

Me: HEY. THAT’S NO WAY TO TREAT YOUR WIFE.

 

 

 

 

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Posted in a lot, ha, how interesting, i am a grown up, kids, silly, tout, trying too hard, whining | No Comments »

what’s the skinny

April 28th, 2018 by Bekah Brunstetter

Hold up. I know I’m almost 36, which is old, but also young, so AT WHAT POINT DID MY SKIN GO FROM THE SOFT PEDAL OF A SACRED PEONY, TO THAT OF A FOSSILIZED PREHISTORIC CREATURE JUST BROUGHT BACK TO LIFE?

LIKE, THIS IS ME AFTER A SHOWER

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Posted in ....ew, whining | No Comments »

how to paint a miniature

April 23rd, 2018 by Bekah Brunstetter

Yesterday afternoon, Morrison painted a miniature while I tried to rewrite a tiny part of The Cake for the 900th time. Taking a break from  (READ: PROCRASTINATING) my own task at hand, I watched him swirl tiny paints together with a tiny brush and bring the tiny brush to the tiny face of a tiny person. It felt like he and I were attempting the exact same thing. And so, if it’s a writer’s job to collect similes: trying to rewrite a play that’s already existed for years, without breaking it or changing it entirely, is EXACTLY like painting the Hair onto a fingernail sized person: you must use the tiniest of brush strokes, you must never once question what it is that you are doing.

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DON’T TELL ME WHAT I WANT

April 9th, 2018 by Bekah Brunstetter

Yesterday, I spent an hour unsubscribing from mass emails that, without my realizing it, create a low grade, every day consumer anxiety that is not only distracting but makes me spend my lunch break buying Pants I’ll never wear and adorable trashcans I don’t need. Does it feel different, you ask? Do I now feel lighter, cleaner? THIS IS AN EXACT PICTURE OF THE INSIDE OF MY BRAIN THIS MORNING:

JK JK IT’S STILL THIS

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Posted in a lot, hmmmmm, how interesting, what i am NOT wearing, what I'm wearing, whining, YAY | No Comments »

GROWN UP DEMANDS STICKER

March 14th, 2018 by Bekah Brunstetter

THIS grown up forehead-carrier left her house for work this morning not only NOT with wet hair, but with DRY hair that she even managed to run a curling iron through. WHERE IS MY PRIZE? IT WASN’T AT MY DESK SO I  GUESS IT’S IN THE MAIL? NO SERIOUSLY WHERE IS IT WHY WOULD I PUT MYSELF THROUGH THAT IF NOT FOR PRIZE?

WHAT’S THAT, YOU SAY? THE PRIZE IS INSIDE OF ME? IT’S THE CONFIDENCE NOW FOUND WITHIN? NO THANKS I’LL TRADE FOR STICKER

 

Posted in horn tooting, how interesting, i am a grown up, things, things that I Have, tout, whining, women, YAY | No Comments »

how to work out after work

March 1st, 2018 by Bekah Brunstetter

  • Tell yourself you’re going to work out after work
  • Wear workout pants to work
  • Spend the whole day talking any opportunity to mention to any available coworker that you are going to work out after work
  • Get home, remove workout pants, eat meatballs
  • Get up to get more meatballs, walk back to couch
  • Congrats, you have worked out

Posted in food, generally, ha, whining | No Comments »

MUFFIN SHAME

February 9th, 2018 by Bekah Brunstetter

N. shame caused by the quality of one’s muffins

Earlier this week, I made a bunch of muffins because when I have the time, and even when I don’t, maybe I’m the kind of person who would like for her husband to ideally have a homemade baked good each day with his breakfast, and also because baking is the single most productive form of procrastination. I made said muffins, Vivian Howard’s Twin Muffins, a recipe she whipped up with squash and dried cherries and pecans and whole wheat flour, to trick her twins into eating things that are good for them. But I definitely underbaked them, so they are only like 70% as good they should be, and each day when I pass them, I feel a deep sense of a shame that can only be described as Muffin Shame, and if I can’t document that here then I genuinely do not know what this blog is for.

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How many am I?

February 1st, 2018 by Bekah Brunstetter

Here’s a thing: it’s actually really quite often, while driving and passing an entrance to a carpool lane, I truly have this conversation with myself  in my head:

Self: Okay, so  I can use the carpool lane if there’s more than one person in the car. How many people are in the car?

Other Self: Just you.

Self: Okay so, how many people am I?

Other Self: Really?

Self: JUST ANSWER THE QUESTION THE ENTRANCE IS VERY SOON THIS IS OUR LAST CHANCE

Other Self:…One person. You are ONE person.

Self:…Right. (then) Then how is it that I’m having a conversation with myself?

Other Self: I DON’T KNOW, SWEETHEART, YOU TELL ME

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