anais vionet Poems

Hangovers are a back-tax on fun.

To paraphrase T.S. Eliot:
'Can last night just belong to last night? '
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Lisa and I went to a reception, yesterday evening, for students who'd landed summer fellowships at a particular hospital in Boston. (Yeah us!) It wasn't formal, so I wore a crimson cropped sweater, a beige circle skirt (with pockets!) and beige Sarto soft-leather ballet flats.

I've disparate feelings in these situations. I was excited - this was a goal I needed to achieve - that next notch - my mom might even smile.
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My roommates Leong, Sophie, (Charles) and I were coming from a Yale sporting event. The sky looked like a dirty Swiffer-mop and the wind seemed to be ignoring the posted 20mph speed limit. It was a typical spring day in New Haven, overcast,65°, with intermittent, drizzling rain. I was thinking it was a good day to be a duck.

We were looking for something to gnaw on and a beverage - of the alcoholic variety. We picked up some Mike's hard cider (featured in our refrigerator now) , which proves college students really do plan for the future.
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It'll be an old fashioned Christmas,
with Santa due down the chute.
I bet he Purells his reindeer,
and Lysols his hazmat suit.
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Can we celebrate, do we have that choice,
to fight against sour momentum and rejoice?

Of course we do - there've been vaccine changes,
...

Sophy's mom sent her a giant case of 'Fun dip' - a thousand packets of sour, fruit-flavored sugar. Is there anything more junkavore a parent can buy a child - well, ok, an 18 year old?

She LOVES them and so does Leong who's from China where, apparently, you can't get useless, non-nutritional snacks. The two of them are running around, all sugar hyped with their emo-grape-chemical-lips, sticking out phosphorescent-green-tongues and threatening to tickle everyone with cherry-red-fingers. It has me wondering, should I switch to dentistry?
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I'm at an (outdoor) dinner, with Peter, some of his doctoral-student friends, professors and their spouses, to kick-off the Fall semester and Peter's second year in the doctoral program.

A 60-ish professor asked Peter, 'So, what impressions did you take away from your time at the Large Hadron Collider? ' In this setting, as a student pursuing his doctorate, Peter's comments will probably be noted and there's a watching anticipation.
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On a recent Saturday morning, I was blue-collar grinding (volunteering at a local hospital) , when one of the doctors I've wo-manually labored for stopped by briefly to check on a patient. She had her young daughter, Ivy, in tow. I'd met little Ivy before. The doctor asked me, "Would you mind keeping an eye on Ivy for a minute? " "Sure! " I committed, bending down to get eye-to-eye with the girl and engage.

Ivy's an adorable little human. She's a sober 4 year old, about three and a half feet tall, with wavy chestnut brown hair down to her waist. She was wearing a yellow, "Beauty and the Beast" dress. Ivy's into all things Disney (who the shiar isn't?) . Disney seems to home right in on impressionable young minds like hers and mine.
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It's Sunday morning, about 8am. My BF Peter and I we're doing our laundry. Most of the time, we spent in my dorm common room, sitting side by side on a red corduroy couch, while our clothes washed, and then tumbled away in the dryer.

If you want privacy on a college campus, or to do laundry in peace, avoiding the weekend laundry rush, do it before 10am.
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It's Friday night and a group of us, the ‘university summer fellows' (Quinn, Jammie, Monique, Lisa and I) are going groovin'. Quinn, a Harvard man (we've shed our jaundiced opinions of him) , assured us he knows the Boston bar scene. We're going to test that.

We told him we wanted to sway to whimsical beats and chase vivid, neon lights across dance floors, like a bunch of cats - till the hours get wee. His plan is for us to pop-in the "touristy" places, like ‘the Havana Club', ‘the Manray club', ‘Garage Boston' and ‘The Grand', we're so 111. As usual, Charles is our party mom, escort and driver.
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