At the Brooklyn Blogade brunch at the Old Brick Cafe in Kensington, I met a new blogger, Midnight Cowgirl, Recently, she and her husband and two kids gave up the nice suburban life in Denver for a two-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn.

In a piece called, A New York State of Mind, the cowgirl tells a story of a man who got naked in a big box store in Brooklyn and rolled around in his own poop (gross). It’s a story she loves. Apparently, she loves to tell it again and again. Here’s why:

This is the thing: I haven’t ever, not once, I mean never, gotten naked, screamed, and rolled around in my own poo in public. Most of the time, I go around feeling socially awkward, fairly weird, kind of unacceptable and freakish. I have some self-esteem issues. I feel like there could be a psychotic break bubbling just under the surface of my MILF-ish exterior. But no matter how insane I might be feeling, I think about this man and feel good about the fact that I am not that far gone yet. It could happen, but not yet. When I’m feeling like a freak, I check myself – have I screamed and smeared my naked body in poo? No? All right then, I’m doing okay.

I want to live in New York City because I think that my people are there. It would comfort me if the person standing next to me on the subway might be about to take his clothes off and smear shit all over himself. I don’t want to be surrounded by mild-mannered soccer moms, or even just run-of-the-mill bums and weirdos, all of the time. I need to be where the freakiest freaks are. I can’t wait