A sad day.

Yesterday my NYC roommate of three years mom's lost her battle with breast cancer. Her mom was a really sweet lady; I still remember how cheerful she was pulling up in a hot, sweaty U-Haul that first late August move-in.

Also yesterday I found out that another one of my friends' mom has just been diagnosed with the same disease.

It seems like cancer is everywhere now, and those of us who have been lucky enough to not have to face it directly yet had better stop living in denial.

I had signed up for the Race for the Cure last month in support for my former roommate, but now I no longer feel diffident about asking for financial support. Even a small amount would help. If you can, please make a donation. And if you can't, please keep my two friends in your prayers.

Atonement.

I don't often take taxis, but took one this evening, and after, literally, spending nearly the entire cab ride mentally calculating what would be an appropriate tip and how best to pay utilizing a combination of a twenty dollar bill and a handful of ones to make for the simplest amount of change, I handed over some money, got out, shut the door, walked five steps, and realized I had
not
tipped
him
at
all.

He had already driven away, and I was laden down with bags and couldn't run after him, and I felt--still feel--HORRIBLE and am wondering if any of you have a solution for this massive karma failure. Tip the next cabbie inordinately? Offer $2 to the next homeless person I pass? Pray that his next fare tipped him double?

I'd feel bad in any case, but this cab driver didn't even complain that I was going to Brooklyn--and THIS is how I rewarded him?

I know I was an English major, but this is math duncery of the most remedial sort.

Frame store after work!

I really have to wean myself from interior design blogs on my lunch break (while it's better than reading celeb gossip blogs or catty fashion blogs, it's driving Chris crazy when I come home every night and rearrange things again...speaking of, have new idea for corner bookshelf, babe), but this post was so pretty I had to share...now that's the kind of home I like to look at.

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.

Hmmm.

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

The world isn't ready for this much cuteness.

Addendum.

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.