1. A high school friend was in town last week, which prompted an even older friend (Jess and I have known each other since we were 7 and 8 years old!) (holy shit!) and I to meet up with Milner for drinks. As a girl who has always appreciated the comfort of strangers, I must say there is nothing quite as divine as the comfort of old friends. You bitches rock.
2. I returned to the gym after almost a one month hiatus and surprisingly one, I didn’t die and two, I’m not in terrible shape. But tomorrow is Greg’s Metcon 3 class and I’m already coming up with excuses not to go. He scares me.
3. I am currently working with and for the nicest person in my firm. No lie. Nicest.
4. That said, he might not be so nice when he learns of my upcoming vacation of which I’ve told no one because it’s the worst-timed vacation ever. And I don’t know how delaying the revelation of said vacation is helping matters, but that’s exactly what I’m doing. Which evokes shades of my blogged-about procrastination…
5. Was I the only one who found the scene in TFIOS where they kiss in the Anne Frank house kind of weird?
6. People need to stop complaining about Derek Jeter and how he’s ruining it for the Yankees this season. STFU. Let him play his final season as a Yankee, do his goodbye tour and be freaking thankful you rooted for the team with the guy who made the gorgeous flip in the Oakland series, ran into the stands and bloodied his face in the Boston series, hit the homerun in November, and, if you’re around my age and lived in the city in the late 90s, partied with up at Uncle Jimmy’s in the Bronx. Stop being haters. You suck. And I’m sick of hearing it. The Yanks aren’t losing because of him, they’re losing because they’re not that great. Instead of spewing all the vitriol at Derek, how about turning it around on that idiot of a GM, Brian Cashman. Just saying.
7. Did you see this? Whoa. Just when I start to think I’m used to Angie and she no longer overwhelms me with her jaw-dropping beauty, she goes and does this. Talk about giving good face. Whoa. Just whoa.
8. I was just in a meeting where we tossed around a football like we’re little kids while our “boss” was on the phone.
9. My mom and I were face-timing last night and she mentioned that she started reading THE BOY and wanted to know who wrote the poetry in the beginning of the book, to which I replied Walt Whitman and Sandra Cisneros, while in my head I’m saying “duh” since their poems are very obviously cited. I am a lawyer after all. We cite damn near everything. She then laughed and said no, not that, but the poetry in the beginning of chapter one; I laughed because 1) poetry and I are NOT friends (my friend, Stephanie, knows this better than anyone in my life) and 2) it figures that I would write something poetic without even trying and 3) that is still not poetry.
Why you ask? Because it makes sense, I shout. Nothing, and I mean nothing, about most poetry makes sense. (Prime example, and the poem that gave me fits in AP English: Ice cream. It melted.) (Again, Stephanie will understand why I “shout” that response, as she knows all too well my frustrations with the utter inanity of poetry) (my opinion only….all you poets out there, do NOT get your panties in a bunch because I find poetry inane. It’s all a defense mechanism to thwart my feelings of inadequacy the minute someone whips out a poem.) Anyway, she thought it was very beautiful and loved it and sounded really proud of the way I put those words together.
10. Happy father’s day to all the dads out there, especially Henry, my dad, and my brother, Ashok, who is celebrating his first Father’s Day this year. Rock on all you badass dads.