Thursday, May 29, 2008

Take a memo.

When you're so sick with a cold that your voice sounds like a croak, don't come in to work.

When you're so sick with a cold that you hack up half a lung every twenty minutes, don't force your wall-mate to listen to the phlegm parade--don't come into work.

When you're so sick with a cold that you sniffle pitifully through each phone call, don't play the martyr--don't come into work!

When you're so sick with a cold that in one day you've already made your boyfriend catch the same cold, don't come into work--and don't ruefully tell your coworkers this story. If you insist on relating it, please stay in the doorway--don't come any closer.

And when you're so sick with a cold but you've done us all this huge favor and come into work because you feel the company will stop functioning in your absence; and when everyone your superior has told you not once but multiple times in genuinely concerned and then increasingly irritated voices to go home--GO HOME!

If not for your health, than for OURS, both physical and, at this point in the day, mental.

This PSA brought to you by someone who probably will have to call in sick to work tomorrow.


Today marks one more month of being 25. I don't know how I feel about that.

Monday, May 19, 2008


Chris came home and smooched me, and heated up some more leftovers for us, skinny jeans or no skinny jeans. Also, I didn't have any cavities (I have never had any cavities), and I don't need my wisdom teeth out yet. You know, any OTHER dentist would have patted me on the head for that.

Laura and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

3:12 a.m. Wake up to pee. Crawl out of sofa bed (we have guests), do my business, flush the toilet. It overflows. Have the presence of mind to get the rug up off the floor, but am unable to successfully utilize the plunger. Near tears, kneel and start mopping the floor with bath towels. Thankfully, Chris wakes up, despite his earplugs, and fixes everything.

6:10 a.m. Wake up when I hear one of the guests go into the bathroom. Lie in rigid terror that the toilet will overflow on her. It doesn't. Thank goodness. But it's too late to go back to sleep.

7:09 a.m. Alarm goes off. Get up, shower, floss teeth. Remember I have dentist appointment this afternoon. Cringe.

8:01 a.m. Leave for subway with Chris. Love our guests, but am so happy to get some alone time with him. We board train. Friend I don't want to talk to is on our car. She removes her iPod earbuds. She has a cold and is clearly equally enthused about Monday morning pre-coffee chit-chat. We go through the motions regardless. Chris is quiet. He exits train at 14th Street. Friend leaves at 42nd. I get stop before mine.

8:42 a.m. Depart train. Enter line for 56th Street Starbucks. Stand behind fashionista who looks really good in skinny jeans. Mentally calculate how many pounds less than me she weighs, and opt for skim milk and no breakfast.

8:51 a.m.-3:36 p.m. Rat race. 'Nuff said.

4:01 p.m. Arrive half hour early for dentist appointment. Want to tell receptionist I'll come back at 4:30, but she is explaining the intricacies of payment plans to a non-native English speaker. Take off sweater coat and sit in corner. Wonder why I thought cashmere under-sweater was a good sartorial choice. Swelter.

4:28 p.m. Enter torturer's cell. Beautiful blond German sadistic hygienist pauses one row of teeth in and says, "Oh, now I'm going to start the lecture." Think to myself that entire reason I procrastinated so long on scheduling cleaning was because I dread the sermon much more than the pain.

5:01 p.m. Dentist enters. Hygienist gleefully informs him that I disregarded the three-month follow-up I was supposed to come in for a year ago. Uses the word "bloodbath," three hundred times. Dentist and hygienist fold arms and talk at me. I nod, apologize, promise, smile, look sad. Finally I utter, "Look, I'm sorry that I did a bad job, but you don't have to get ... adversarial with me." They apologize. I feel like shit and smile and promise some more. Schedule three-month follow-up even though my insurance won't cover it. Walk 14 blocks to subway and feel like terrible person, both for being inconsistent flosser and for calling them out on their excessive browbeating. Think to myself it wouldn't have been a bloodbath if she hadn't dug into my gums with a hacksaw, but diligently set mental daily-flossing goal. Call Chris and promise to pick up groceries for dinner.

5:20 p.m. Enter subway station, thinking to myself, "I always have to pee when I wait at the 2nd Avenue stop." Sure enough, today is no exception. Dash down stairs only to see an F train pull away.

5:43 p.m. An F finally arrives. It is too full to board.

5:51 p.m. Another F arrives. It is almost equally full, but I squash on. Ponder to myself this post that I am going to write. Plan to include positive addendum in which I will praise John le Carre for writing gripping books that fit in my purse, and Steve Jobs for the iPod.

6:04 p.m. Exit train. Debate going home to pee, but think shudderingly of precarious toilet and head one block past home to the Italian supermarket. Examine meat in glass; look up, terrified, at friendly butcher; feel unable to perform human interaction. Walk six blocks in other direction to organic supermarket. Their meat selection consists of prepackaged turkey slices and $13 chicken breasts. Purchase $5 chicken thighs, $4 Indian eggplant in a box, and $4 salad (also in a box). Wait in long line behind rich mommies.

6:24 p.m. Toilet flushes without incident. Hurrah! Curl up on couch with John le Carre and wait for Chris to call.

6:30 p.m. Text message from Chris. "Hey got sucked into work meetup sorry will call in fifteen." Write back, "Ok xoxo!"

8:35 p.m. Many text messages later, am not mad at Chris, but am livid at his boss (a twelve hour work day is, in my opinion, pushing it), and also starving. Pour glass of red wine. Put groceries away. Attempt to heat leftovers. Try all four burners of new stove. Each leaks gas. Eat saucer of cold leftovers and a Milano cookie. Okay, two Milano cookies. Stupid skinny-jeans-wearing-girl.

9:25 p.m. Try flopping in bed with book. Read for five minutes. Realize that bedroom is not only located under building staircase, but that new upstairs neighbors are apparently moving in. Try to look on bright side: they sound young, and nice. Hope this means they are given to sleeping in on weekends, unlike whomever was tromping around at 7:30 on Sunday morning. Unfortunately, it sounds more like they're given to parties, and clompy shoes. Tell myself I'm being overly pessimistic, and return to couch.

10:01 p.m. Writing this post. My living room is cute, but empty of people. So is my glass. Contemplate flossing, then gargling with vodka; am dismayed to realize I, unlike le Carre's characters, am not in Communist Russia, and thus have no vodka. Floss anyway. Going to bed. Some days, it doesn't pay to get out of bed in the first place.

Sunday, May 18, 2008


I love our new apartment.

I can't wait for you to see it!

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

Moving day eve* email exchange between L & C.

L: Should we move the metal shelving unit to the new apartment and use that for a TV stand/bookcase for now?
C: Totally, we should keep that. I can put my baseball card collection up on it!

Big pause.

L: Oh...I didn't know you had one.
C: Yeah, they are in nice glass cases. And then we could put up some of my old action figures too. Would be like an homage to youth. If fact, maybe we can turn that brick room into a hobby room?

Another pause.

L: I can't tell if you are kidding or not.
C: I'm kidding, I'm kidding. Exhale. Sorry babe, I couldn't resist!

* In other "eve" news, a shout-out to little Taylor Eve who gave her mom the best Mother's Day present of all on Sunday just by showing up.

Tuesday, May 6, 2008

"Let's face it. This is not the worst thing you've caught me doing."

Sorry I have been MIA. Although the apartment hunt was not as stressful this time around, it was still pretty time- and thought-consuming. But I am happy to report that it is OVER--as of yesterday we were approved for a very sweet apartment that we saw on Friday evening. It's one extra subway stop further into Brooklyn, but well worth it for the beautiful wide, tree-lined block and the quiet neighborhood (as opposed to the, while-eclectic, quite loud in terms of car stereos block we live on now). Also, it has been recently renovated, so the wood floors are shining, the bathroom is sparkling, the walls are glowing, and the kitchen is fresh. WHAT A RELIEF!

Next we are turning our eyes to packing (good thing a sixth sense kept us from throwing out ALL the boxes we re-bought in January) but our moving day will depend on Miss Saucier and when she decides to make an appearance. I was geographically so far away from the Other Lion when Punkin was born, and I really regret not being there for his arrival (although I was thrilled to be there for his baptism when he was about a month old). So this is the first new-newborn I'll get to meet. ... Um, I hope I don't drop her.