And I'm on my second cup of tea, enjoying a pumpkin cookie, slowly waking up. Stayed up way too late doing a combination of speech-watching, weather shape-making (sun, cloudy sun, rain), and Aaron Peirsol-ogling on Conan.
My roommates are off at work, so I shall take a leisurely shower and mosey into Manhattan to meet KATJA at the CUPCAKE CAFE. I can't even tell you how utterly bullseye THIS combination is. Gold star gold star.
And reeks of bleach. My nails are kind of transparent and bendy now. But the bathroom--it really does shine.
I even organized our beauty products basket under the sink. Sarah works in the beauty dept. of a women's magazine, so she brings home ridiculous potions that cost more than most of my favorite shirts. I found a jar of "skin renewal cream" that had flecks of real gold in it. I also found organic shampoo & conditioner, which I promptly claimed for myself. Excellent in theory, but now my hair smells like an herb garden.
Progress thus far:
went to the gym
cleaned the br
bought coffee NOT from the bakery but from a NEW little French cafe for $1, which is unheard of. I'm planning on frequenting frequently henceforth.
this morning, I saw a boy with two full-leg prosthetics and a Hot Wheels messenger bag. He was wearing a baseball cap that said, "JESUS is My Boss," but from the looks of it, his boss was sitting next to him, with French manicured toes and some pretty serious varicose veins.
My week is over, and I have 2.5 weekends (5 glorious days) ahead of me. Here is what I shall do:
-walk to the bakery for coffee tomorrow morning
-clean the bathroom
-finish a story I've been avoiding
- ...go to the gym...
-bake banana bread*
-possibly do my laundry
-"legal-read" 100 pgs. of a tour guide for $20/hr. (!!!)
(pause to watch Bill Clinton determine the fate of the Obama Campaign)
Word. Bill Clinton may have been acting like a loon the past few months, but he still has my American heart.
*Went to Bed, Bath & Beyond today for a tin loaf pan, and on my way I found Books of Wonder, which is connected to the Cupcake Cafe, which completely equals my utter idea of heaven: a children's bookstore chock full of bric-a-brac--antique books, birthday cards, portraits depicting scenes from famous books, a dozen rows of shelves organized by reader's age--and the whole place smells like cupcakes. I'm totally taking my 100 pgs. of legal-reading for a cupcake outing on Friday. Hope I don't get penalized for icing on the pages...
Usually. But some mornings some alarms don't go off, and some people shave their legs, and other people dance around outside the bathroom to brush their teeth before the bus gets here. (Despite the fact that we sound like school children, we are, in fact, adults.) This morning, my roommate's alarm failed to rouse her from her 'snooze,' so for the first time in almost two months, we ate breakfast together.
On the Today Show, Patrick Kennedy talked a lot of rabble about the Big O and the DNC and other initialized things, and my roommate turned to me and said, "Who's running for the Republicans?"
Sometimes I wish I could just watch the weather report and turn off the news, content with my five-day outlook, but most of the time, I'm really glad I don't. Because at critical junctures like this, I can answer the tough questions. (It's why I watch a lot of Jeopardy, too.)
Work was an avalanche today. I kept firing off emails too quickly and giving everyone "My bets." Didn't get to enjoy one bit of the day until 5:30, when I strolled down to Fishs Eddy to buy an utterly imperative New Jersey-shaped cookie cutter. I'm going to cut everything into New Jerseys: my PB & J, my Kraft Singles, my bar of soap, my Jell-O jigglers, my grilled cheese. It's going to be GREAT. (They had NY and CT cookie cutters, too, but pfffffff. Who lives in NY and CT?)
It's nine o'clock. The countdown to bedtime begins. New Jersey-shaped toast. Night, all.
This has been a lucky week. I'm housesitting for my parents while they move my sister into her hurricaned apartment in FL. Having a yard is one of the serious pros of non-city living. Maggie's been following me around like if she takes her eyes off me for utterly one moment, I may spontaneously disappear. It's annoying; we're working through it.
My boss declared next Thursday and Friday officially officious office holidays (five day wkend!), and THEN he took us out for ice cream! Nothing like savoring the prospect of an extralongwkend over a root beer float from Shake Shack.
Sometimes I wish my boss were my grandpa.
I probably shouldn't admit this, but I like to go back to Xanga and read about what I was doing exactly a year ago, or two years ago, etc. I went back to 2004, and wouldn't you know, the Olympics were taking over everything then, too. This is what I wrote: Blah blah blah...like Michael Phelps in that Visa commercial....But Aaron Peirsol gets my gold medal.
I'm telling you, I've been thinking that completely same identical thought for the last two weeks.
Being home has been a time-warp vacation of sorts. I can hear the whistles from early morning preseason practices at the high school, and at night I hear the marching band drums, like a Revolutionary army on the move. (Sometimes Maggie barks at them.) The girl I used to babysit starts ninth grade this year, and she called me Tuesday with night-before jitters: "Um, hi Liz, I was just wondering, like, maybe could you, I dunno, give me an idea of what the first practice is going to be like?" I felt old.
I'm going to go hang out with her now, and grill her on Mr. Sinnott and her first week of practices, and most importantly, what she's wearing for the first day of school.
i have secret lists at the back of my to-do notebook, which is where i'm writing this now. lists of graduate schools, with pros and cons sublisted, outline-style; lists of autumn things to do in ny; lists of things i may one day use in a story.
when i leave at the end of the day, i try neatening my desk, which basically consists of piling papers--
i like sending my boss emails where the entire message is in the subject line--
and books largest to smallest, and straightening my stapler so that it's parallel to my rolodex. most days i just want to let it go to hell. today i actually did.
i leave little post-its to myself all over the space in front of my keyboard. i try to write trim and careful because 1) other people see them, & 2) i'm more inclined to do the task if it comports itself well. it's like saying 'please' to myself.
i took my mom to the airport at 4.30 this morning, so now i'm going to sleep (with all the windows open, and blankets tripled up--it's so chilly out, and who knew how loud the 'burbs were? crickets crickets crickets crickets crickets crickets crickets.)
I'm simply ten thousand times more productive when you're not here.
I woke up nice and slowly, was out of bed by 7:30, breakfasting by 8:30, writing until 10:30, at the gym by 11, sweeping and Swiffering the apt. by 12:30, and lunching by 1. I accomplished more this morning than I do most weeks. And the floors are really sparkling, I must say.
Now: shower, cafe pour travailler, and maybe later, a nap. Later, all.
and I couldn't be happier. All the windows are wide wide wide.
This weekend's theme: independence.
Roommates are in different states (ME, NJ), and I'm stretched out on the futon, half-heartedly watching Stephen Colbert twist Thomas Frank's arguments into jokes. (The opening of the Olympics is entirely too long; I can only enjoy so many ancient drums and painted Geisha faces. It mostly just looks like a discotheque.)
While last weekend at the beach was summer in a nutshell, I consider this afternoon a preview for Sept/Oct/Nov. Walked to the Strand; bought the book for this month's book club; sheltered in Bank of America for that crazy mid-day downpour; walked to Teany and had delightfully spicy gazpacho with mango and avocado, and a cherry scone, and did some work for some time; and in conclusion, walked to the Angelika and took in a matinee--'The Wackness,' which I think was too highly anticipated on my part. Found it more dark than comedic, like it wasn't cooked all the way through, or something. Oliva Thirlby has charismatic hotness shooting out the ends of her hair, but pretty much my favorite character was New York. It was ever so slightly perfectly matched to my encounters this afternoon.
And it was the first time I've ever come out of a movie theater knowing where I am.
I realize that sounds psychotic, but seriously--there's something about being in a dark movie theater that resets my compass, and I always walk out looking for my car keys, thinking I have to drive back from Rt. 22, no matter if I'm in New York, or Lancaster, or Bath. But today I was one hundred percent in the actual and true present. Finally.
There's a falcon or some small hawk living on the ledge above my office window. I've only ever seen it flying back, and sometimes I don't notice it until the last possible moment and it seems like it just appeared, like it flew through a break in the sky.
-used my 100% pure all natural mascara that smells like fruit.
-accidentally knocked the pyrex measuring pitcher out of the cabinet when I was reaching for the tea bags and it fell into the dish drain and SHATTERED a bowl to SMITHEREENS, which I then had to sweep up and seek out with a damp paper towel. The pyrex was fine.
-did some work.
-ate my tin-foil-wrapped lunch in the park, with my book, which I'm sad to see ending.
-read almost the entire issue of NY Magazine with Madonna's freaky face on the cover (my boss is on vacation this wk, so I borrow his mags; tomorrow it's The NY'er), and then came home to find my first issue of NY Magazine waiting for me! Belated birthday gifts are grand.
-ALSO got my first ever invitation to a wedding, meaning addressed to me and not 'the family.' It has a silver Claddagh ring and an Irish wedding blessing on it. Made me think of 'Wedding Crashers':
I'm ready to get drunnnnk.
The wedding is three days before my sister's 21st birthday. O, irony. What impeccable timing you have.