Info

like more than a friend.

Posts tagged mornings

Choose another tag?

East 4th Street. New York, NY

Something strange you might not know about Indiana: until 2006, we didn’t observe daylight savings time.  Why?  Because the farmers insisted that their days were controlled by the sun, not the clock and daylights savings would cost them sixty minutes of valuable morning productivity.  Hmm.  Here’s a thought.  Maybe instead of corn and tobacco you guys could try growing a pair.  Ha!  Anyway, I think all those years of DST deprivation is why I can’t stop telling people (strangers) how excited I am for March 14.
.
Sunset at 7:00pm?  Yes, puhlease.

Freemans. New York, NY.

.
Oh, hello.  Have we met before?  I used to post here all the time.  Maybe we were introduced back then.  Well, anyways, nice to [re]meet you.  Did you know that according to music blaring from my favorite coffee cart this morning, it’s the most wonderful time of the year?
.
The more you know . . .
.
{cue NBC peacock slash shooting star}

coffee quitter

Yesterday, I made the potentially dangerous move to not drink any coffee [for a week].
.
Am I scared? YES.
Am I crazy? Probably.
Am I tired?  . . . what? No, I’m totally awake.  I was just resting my eyes.
.
Right now I’m trying to remember why I decided this was a good idea.  I think it had something to do with leaving work early last Friday because I got soo dizzy and nauseous after downing 3 cups of black coffee on an empty stomach that I couldn’t function.  I know.  I know.  It was a fluke!  It could have been anything!  Don’t blame the coffee!  Seriously though, while I LOVE coffee and this totally goes against my only add things to my diet/routine that make me happy instead of depriving myself of the things I love philosophy, drinking 3-4 cups of strong black coffee every day cannot be the healthiest way to live my life.  So wish me luck.  Or send tea.  Yeah, that’s probably a much better idea.
.
Send lots and lots and lots of tea.

This morning around 6am, Patrick and I were awake for no reason.

Patrick:  WE SHOULD PLAY VIDEO GAMES!
Me:  I’m pretty sure we have an xbox.
Patrick:  Yeah, but there aren’t any controllers so we could only watch the menu screens.
Me{long pause} do dooo dooo dooo do do doodoodoodoo.
Patrick:  Is there a “Push It” video game I don’t know about?!

cut offs

On my walk to work this morning I forgot how old I was.
Am I 21?  Nope. 22?  Hmm. I think that was last year. . .
OMG blanks. I’m drawing blanks! How old am I?!
I had to do the math to stop freaking out.
Way to start the day off scary, Marsh.

Oh!  Speaking of scary, I’ve also begun the horrendously terrifying yet ever-so-popular NYC life test of trying to find an apartment . . . in Brooklyn!  I’ve wanted to make this move for a while now and it’s seriously exciting albeit daunting/nerve-racking that by October 1st (fingers crossed) I will be all packed, moved, and on my way to living in a borough that feels more like my favorite pair of sample sale cut-offs rather than that seriously X-rated spandex leotard I still can’t convince myself to wear out in public.

Read:  too much sexy makes this baby go blind.

For the past two days I have either slept through my morning alarm or somehow managed to set it for a completely incorrect wake-up time.  ALL of this is AirCanada’s fault.  Seriously.  I’m not positive why the AirCanada travel gods decided my vacation to Sicily was going to be my judgment day, but they did and they carried out their wrath with a holy vengeance.   You see, first they failed at getting my bag to arrive in London with me even though I physically took myself off my connecting flight from Toronto to London to go ass-backwards through the Toronto airport to re-check my luggage because I realized on my flight from NYC to Toronto while reading the airport mumbo jumbo written on my ticket that my bag had been “short tagged” and would almost certainly be hanging out on the Toronto baggage carousel like a loitering teenage HOODLUM.  Then they routed all of my calls to India where I was told complete lies about the location of my bag.  Here is one conversation I had with AirCanada India during my stay in Sicily:

AirCanada India:  blah blah blah it’s on its way blah poop blah just wait 10 to 20 minutes.
Me:   WAIT, what?  10 to 20 minutes?
AirCanada India:  Your bag will be there soon.
Me:  Did you just say 10 to 20 minutes?
AirCanada India:  Uhh Yes.  Your bag will be there soon.
Me:  In 10 to 20 minutes?  That doesn’t make any sense.  How do you know that?
AirCanada India:  Ummm I don’t know.  It’s written in Italian.
Me:  … and you don’t speak Italian, do you?
AirCanada India:  No.

Thank the good, gracious, please don’t ever spite me like this ever again travel Lord that I didn’t wait 10 to 20 minutes, because my bag was not actually delivered until several days after that conversation which was just 2 days before the end of my vacation.    Inside my bag was everything I had packed.  All the clothes I had spent the past 3 weekends fighting for at endless New York sample sales, all the American treats I packed for my sister, all the purses, shoes, jewelry, travel toiletries – everything was perfectly in tact.  Even the lavish bottle of champagne my boss gave me for Christmas that I’ve been saving for the perfect occasion was still tucked neatly between my summer dresses and evening jackets just as I had left it.  There was, however, one really lovely surprise.  As I dug deeper, I soon discovered that all of my underwear (yes, just my underwear) was dripping wet which subsequently created a powerfully dark, damp, death basket for my battery powered alarm clock.  That’s correct.  AirCanda killed my alarm clock and now I’ve been pushed, against my will, into a completely foreign cell phone alarm clock universe and I feel scared and alone.  Scared and alone.

RIP battery powered alarm clock.
I miss you everyday.