My apartment is three feet deep in cardboard, the gas in my building has been turned off for the weekend, I am impressively allergic to New York mosquitoes, my ankles are puffy, I can’t get a full night’s sleep to save my life, the new TV doesn’t work, and I’m really, really homesick.
Despite my being unfit for human company, Scott is here for the weekend. I love Scott. Scott makes many things better.
Yesterday, we went into Manhattan to have lunch with Trina, best known for dreams of an underwater Shakespeare company (“You haven’t seen Romeo and Juliet until you’ve seen it on rafts and noodles.”).
This is Scott disapproving:
On the way, I was sneakily artistic with the man across the way while Scott admired his jeans:
I did not think to take a picture of the impressive pastrami sandwiches we consumed, but here are the leftover pickles. Trina and I ate all the bright green ones, leaving the olive greens sad and alone and unwanted:
Then we bought some plants. There was a photo shoot, to distract ourselves from the fact that we just missed the train and the station was a million degrees:
My glamorous pose was interrupted by a train scaring the bejeesus out of me:
We carried the plants home:
Scott got hungry:
And I got tired of having my picture taken:
In which Scott does not approve of my cat and her wish to snuggle:
I am trying to pull off my crankypants so that Scott is not afraid to visit again.
In the meantime, we’re presenting a workshop at a massive conference tomorrow and have not started to plan. It is good I am no longer a role model for the youth.