Fingers are extra delicious when covered in Manhattan grime.
I’m not sure what it is that requires you to hammer loudly on my walls around midday most weekdays. Or why whatever it is has been going on for three motherfucking years. I got married, conceived a child, went through nine months of pregnancy, had the baby and watched him grow into a little boy and YOU’RE STILL HAMMERING. Whatever it is, you’re doing it wrong.
Also, you’re keeping my toddler awake when I have to fight him for every single nap. I hope you hit your thumb with your stupid hammer.
One bright spot in an insanely busy day: I saw the public sex couple again! In the same semi-private spot in the back of my building’s park, but this time they were just kissing and cuddling - too many other people in the park now that the temperature’s above freezing.
I don’t know whether to say “aww, their love is strong!” or “ewwww.”
The temperature dropped twenty degrees in a few hours and it’s storming like whoa.
One thing I’m really gonna miss when we move to Connecticut: we have never lost power in 8 years of living in the city. We’ve got a generator in our new house, but a generator just isn’t the same as “power outage? What power outage?”
You can mark it on your calendars. My sandals have come out, and they won’t be going away until October at the very earliest.
My child just refused to eat challah french toast.
I think he may have to stop calling himself a New Yorker now.
Having a random blond 5-year-old boy come up to me in the store, call me mom, and detail to me why he needed both the Star Wars toys because one wasn’t any good without the other.
I mean, he was a cute kid, but yeah. No idea.
Mr. Marmot and I have been trying hard to stop swearing around Mini-Marmot as he pretty clearly understands every word we say. After eight years in New York it’s tough, but we’ve been doing pretty well.
Of course, I wasn’t thinking of all the other non-cursy things I don’t want him saying, for instance, today:
As we were walking Luna she started barking at another dog, for she cannot allow other dogs anywhere near her baby. Mini-Marmot, before I could say anything: Shut up, Luna!
That one’s my bad.
I could make extremely long lists both of things I’ll miss when we leave the city, like the view from my apartment, and of things I won’t miss, like the godforsaken elevators in my building.
This morning I got a reminder of a definite top ten: dodging giant puddles of vomit while walking my dog. HATE St. Patrick’s Day and every other drinking holiday, because they’re just as excuse for out-of-towners to treat my neighborhood like it’s some sort of alcoholic playground instead of a place where people live. You name the bodily substance and it’s smeared all over the sidewalks outside right now. I don’t usually mind the bar noise at night, but I do mind my sidewalk being treated like a toilet.
There aren’t many firsts left after eight years in New York, but there was one.
As I walked Luna this afternoon I encountered a couple - not young people, but middle-aged - having sex in broad daylight, in public, in the back of the little park that’s attached to my building. At least they still had most of their clothes on.
I mean, the weather was nice today, but not getting it on in public nice. Brrrrrr.