Cystimatic Dealings

Marissa Fish (Marfisha?) has told me to make these comics more accessible to people who don’t know me. Illustrated diary entries don’t always work, I know this.

But since my latest drama involves something that effects more people than we think, around thirty percentage of Americans have them to some degree, I thought that it’d be OK to make fun of going through the story of why I’ve been in and out of the hospital since August. I had two pilonidal cysts on my lower tailbone, which I discovered when I realized that sitting down shouldn’t be painful as hell.

I got it “fixed,” but had panic attacks. Maybe not just because of the cysts.

Then they came back this week and looked way worse. I’m not gross, so here’s what they felt like: ugly monsters with pinching teeth that made every movement painful, including lying down and getting up from lying down.

The Brooklyn Rabbit has been having problem posting because God hates me right now. For now, I’m curling up in a ball and trying to do midterms with some beautiful, giant bandages over my scut. Happy Thanksgiving!

Moving: Part 2

After living on Quincy for nearly a year and a half, my roommate, previously depicted as an Aye-Aye in my "New Family" post, was attacked inside of our apartment. Several voices of concern, including my own sanity, told me that I had to leave Bed-Stuy and never go back. Bed-Stuy might be a pretty safe neighborhood someday, but right now, the cheaper your apartment is, the higher your risk. The only problem was that I wasn't sure where would be the "smartest" place for me to go. Then, of course, El Tigre spoke up.

 Taffee Place is a street full of over-priced apartments and Pratt students whose rent is mostly paid for by their parents. To be honest, when I moved out of the dorms, I would've preferred to live on Taffee, but it looked like it was going to be impossible to pay anything less than $500. On my budget, I can't afford anything more. With El Tigre's help, however, I can finally afford to stay somewhere safe.

 As if negotiating sublet contracts with my rigid landlords isn't hard enough, along with backpacking the necessities the six miles to El Tigre's apartment, renting a UHaul van seemed to be one of the hardest part of my journey. I tell you now, anyone who is reading it, DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT rent a UHaul van from Clifton Ave under the BQE. For some reason, the employee behind the counter took an instant disliking to me. She seemed to think I was mocking her by smiling, probably because no one is happy to rent a UHaul. It took calling the UHaul headquarters and tracking down her manager in order for us to get a van, but they still charged us. I repeat, DO NOT use this branch.

Ok, I didn't actually tell the woman I hated her. Actually, despite the fact that she was ruder to me than anyone has been in real person (not just on Facebook) since high school, I remained pretty calm. So did El Tigre when he was driving the damn truck through Brooklyn, which is no small feat.

So now, everything is unpacked and I should be feeling settled. Then El Tigre's lease is up in August, and as far as I know, the subletter taking over my room will work out. I've lived in seven places in the last three years, and I hope that, one day, this rodent will find a rabbit hole that is cheap, safe, and just as calm as I need it to be. Plus, if I could have a cat, that'd be nice.

Moving Part 1

When I was 18, I moved to New York. I started in the dorms at Pantas, but I had was a very liberal bunny and my roommate was one of those safe-yourself-for-marriage, constant-sober, Evangelicals. 

I moved after a semester to another dorm because, obviously it didn't work out. 

So I stared my second semester in an ugly dorm with a roommate who was obviously more chill about the fact that all of my morals weren't hers.

I didn't want to go back to Minnesota for the summer, so I subletted my first apartment on Lafayette and Tompkins in Bed-Stuy. I moved out after a month because one of the other subletters was stealing money from the tenants without restraint (in terms of finding their debit cards.) Obviously, I was freaked out.

I was accepted as a Resident Adviser when I was a sophomore. I liked my residents, but I hated the fact that RA's had to report their residents for doing things that they did themselves. One RA admitted that the job turned him into a dangerously avid drinker.

I quit (was fired) for something (shut up, never mind) and moved into a fairly well-priced apartment in Bed-Stuy.) Things could only go up, right, brah?

W4 Easter Rabbit

El Tigre was asked to do a task by Tommy Wiseau today

So I thought that I would step up. I WAS the Brooklyn Rabbit, now I am the Easter Rabbit! A dirty grungy hipster-hopster who PRETENDS to not do the dirty grung thing! Lying is always good on A Dead Man Walked Out of a Cave Day, right, Goyim? Corse, El Tigre, my friend/male/boy, took some convincing.

After hiding the eggs for Tommy's keeds, we had to guard the eggs so that no other West Fourth keed got to them. We didn't have problems with ManBrattans, but we DID with the Squirrel City Alliance. They kept trying to nab our chocolate eggs and real eggs, then, when I tried to chase them away, they'd be all like, "Ah, fekk, dude, we just playin, we just playin." But they WERE NOT JUST PLAYIN'. I had to practically bite them, ridding myself of the vegetarian codes, to get them away.
When the job was done, Tommy said: "Great Jerb, Geeys."
And El Tigre and I headed home to watch the internet move.
We all know who the REAL Jesus/Easter Bunny/ Santa is.

Screw this holiday season, it's too weird and depressing without eggs and magic.

Love,
Easter Brooklyn Rabbit

21 Problems But A Bunny Ain't One

First World Problems

Internet Stuff that is fixable.


Trying to buy stuff that doesn't add to your carbon footprint.




Waiting for the next season of That Show to come out.


Overpriced Vices.




And this.

Now Shut Up.

Valentine's Day is Sort of Awesome With a Tiger

Anthony W. was my last boyfriend...well. I thought he was. We all know how that ended. So meeting someone new, someone perfect for me, seems almost strange. To be honest. Especially when he could just eat me like the tiger he is.


And I'm even more amazed that this really cool Tiger likes me when I am pretty much a revolting Brooklyn Rabbit.
Then again, at least admitting that I am disgusting allows him to admit that he has his own...nerdiness...
And I know that a relationship will work when even our battles are settled with executions of strategy.

I <3 my Tiger. Happy Valentine's Day. This is my cheap-ass version of a V-Day love-yell. YEY we are a something-couple!!!

Down Comes Good (?) Ole Santa-orum