They say two thousand zero, zero, party over, Oops, out of time! So tonight I'm gonna party like it's 1999!

It's official. I miss the 90s.

I caution you to take my assertion with a grain of salt. Why should I miss the 90s? Really, they haven't been gone that long. Why shouldn't I continue to miss the 80s, or even the 70s?

Because I was born in 1983, that's why.

Late in 1989, the final year of the 90s, I was happily turning 6 years old. I barely remember the 80s, save for a few cartoons, movies, and the 1988 Dukakis/Bush senior presidential election. (I was quite the precocious kindergartener.) I call shenanigans on anyone born after 1983 who claims to have intense memories of the 1980s. I'm *so* sure your mom had you wearing fingerless gloves to that Grandmaster Flash concert when you were 2. That being said, I recognize that decade division by mere number is inaccurate and many 80s fashions and culture hung over into the early 90s. Including leggings - and now they're back. Why, people, why?! And I hear skinny jeans are coming 'round again this fall? You can just forget it.

Anyhow.

The 1990s are the first decade that I experienced from start to finish. The decade into which most of my high school years fell (I was class of 2001). Therefore, I feel that they're the first decade for which I, personally, can be nostalgic.

And what is it, exactly, that made me miss the 90s all of a sudden?

Flannel. Dear, sweet, grungy flannel. If it was good enough for Kurt Cobain, it was good enough for you. Think I'm weird? Apparently, I am not the only lover of flannel out there. Ha!

All this reminiscence and analysis was sparked by a viewing of Mallrats at Red Wine's apartment last Thursday night. I hadn't watched that movie since I was in high school - and it came out in 1995.

Jeremy London and Jason Lee in Mallrats - adorable!

Of course, those haircuts reminded me of another 1990s cultural piece -

"Boy Meets World," starring Ben Savage, younger brother of Fred of "Wonder Years" fame and several boys with the same haircut.

This show is notable because:

- It was a cookie cutter, forgettable sitcom.

- Ben Savage's character, Corey Matthews, had a Jew fro, but his best friend Sean and his older brother Eric had the ridiculous shaggy haircut.

- Topanga, the token girl, was hot.

- It was on TV when I was 10.

And where are they now? I checked IMDB and in my opinion, the best career move taken by any actor on that show was by Rider Strong who played Sean. He went to Columbia, class of 2004.

While there are millions of other reasons to miss the 90s - particularly, the music - I leave you to dream of soft flannel shirts and shaggy boy hair.

And my weekend haiku? Not much happened.

Brunch

Saturday morning
Family from Westchester
At least there was food.

The Monsoon is Over

For those of you not in New York, it just rained cats and dogs. I kept one! I am now the proud owner of a Siamese named Angie.

Just kidding. Off to stomp home through the puddles of poodles. Back on Monday, with more stories.

xx

Audrey.

A Lament to My Dearly Departed Mechanical Pencil

Oh, mechanical pencil. You may think that I am about to mourn your demise, but no, I am not. I tricked you with that subject line there, didn't I? Terms of endearment be damned, I am glad you are gone.

To be frank, I hate you, mechanical pencil. Though it's not really you as an individual that I hate, but the larger population of mechanical pencils that you represent. Why? Because ever since I was a child, your ilk have mocked me.

I consider myself fairly dexterous. I may not have the best handwriting, but it's legible - proof that I know how to handle a writing implement! More generally, I have decent hand-eye coordination and balance. Can I always connect a ball with a bat? No, but I can catch objects thrown at me and thread a needle. When all is said and done, I am able to maneuver my way through the world with ease.

It is natural, then, to discern from the previous paragraph that I do not frequently drop things. Except for you, mechanical pencil, and your brethren. Time after time, you leap from my hands to the floor. And, due to your delicate nature, your lead breaks. After multiple injuries, you become inoperable, both due to lack of lead and a potentially damaged soul. I should have known you would be faint of heart, mechanical pencil, by the way your lead frequently broke as I tried to write with you.

Your fragility, I'm afraid, only makes me hate you more. I am strong, and you are weak. This is a relationship that was not long for this world. So it is without tears that I bid you one final adieu, my mechanical pencil.

I'm Putting the Toilet Seat Down, Boys

Why? Because it's time to talk about *Female* public restroom etiquette. A couple of the boys'* blogs that I read have dealt with this subject this year but I haven't seen any female dissertations as of late.

Without further ado, I present a rudimentary:

Field Guide to Women's Public Restrooms

Floor plans you may encounter:

The Solitaire: Single occupancy. Once entering from outside, one toilet and one sink are in the same little room. Sometimes these are gender neutral, as there's no one else in there, anyhow.

- Pros: Privacy - no one has to hear a thing hit the toilet. Space - great for changing clothes, helping a toddler in your charge do his or her business, or a quickie.

- Cons: A quickie?! Sometimes dirtier because of the privacy factor (no one's there to hear you drop that tampon wrapper on the floor. Frequently out of toilet paper and you may not notice til you've taken a seat and there's no one to save you. Can be troublesome to wait to use them since you have no indication of when the previous occupant will finish and emerge. And to reiterate: a quickie?!

The Room of Rooms: The most common layout - several stalls and several sinks in one large room. There's usually one, larger, handicapped stall, which sometimes has a lowered handicapped sink inside of it. Sometimes, there's a diaper changing table. In fancy hotels/restaurants/some places in London, the stall walls were *actual* walls, like a little closet.

- Pros: Lots of toilets, fast turnover. Usually well-stocked with toilet paper and toilet seat covers. If your stall is out and you notice before dropping trow, you can change stalls. If you're stuck, you can usually beg for an emergency supply of T.P. from someone else in the room.

- Cons: Generally little space as the stalls are small. Very little privacy from both fellow stall users and other women at the sinks and mirror. Can also be dirty because of high volume. If there's a plumbing problem, prone to massive floods because of the large number of toilets.

The Room to Rest: Seen generally in department stores, hotels, or offices, this setup tacks on an ancillary chamber to the Room of Rooms. One passes through this room often before one reaches the room with the stalls; occasionally it's in the back. It can contain as little as a folding chair, or as much as a sumptuous couch, soft stools and a well-lit counter and vanity mirror. The reasoning behind the furniture is that a delicate lady, while undergoing her time of the month, may be in pain and need a repose. Regardless of any medicine available over the counter or under, sometimes a woman simply needs to get off her feet for a bit - and the couches and chairs are very considerate additions to the restroom.

- Pros: Same as the Room of Rooms, plus a place to rest your feet, your purse, your luggage. Generally more space than the Room of Rooms to primp - great if you're at a dressy affair, or going somewhere after work. Also a nice space to have a quick chat with your girlfriends before heading back to the world.

- Cons: Same as Room of Rooms, plus crazy old ladies from the other company on your building's floor taking daily naps on said couch. Stolen items off the couch while you're in the stall. Spilled hair products/makeup on the counter. Loud gossip in unsavory New York accents making it difficult to "relax" while in dispose.

Tips:

Do:
Be efficient - there may be someone waiting, but please, finish. No reading, no cell phones, no Blackberry.

Do Not:
Rush. When you rush, sometimes, you drip. Or miss.

Do:
Discard of all waste paper properly - paper towels, tampons/pads/their wrappers, tissues, etc.

Do Not:
Discard of tampons/pads/their wrappers in the toilet unless you are sure you're in a modern facility. Newer plumbing can handle it, but such material down the toilet will *choke* old pipes and they will *vomit sewage* on you. Stalls have that convenient little metal trash can on the wall, single occupancies have a regular trash can. Use them.

Do:
Select a stall next to the wall if possible, or next between two empty stalls. While the rules aren't as hard and fast as they are for mens' urinals, the private stalls are just better.

Do:
Lock the door, especially in the single occupancy stalls. If I knock and you can't hear me knock and you don't respond and I barge in through an unlocked door, it's not my fault. I know the locks are broken sometimes - be mindful and responsive, in that case.

Do:
Courtesy flush. Self-explanatory.

High School Supplement:

Do:
Write interesting graffiti.

Do Not:
Get caught.

Do:
Smoke, if you must. It's high school, you're supposed to be rebellious. Do bring some air freshener, though. You're less likely to get caught and less likely to annoy the goody-two shoes. It's all about etiquette, ladies.

Do Not:
Put your cigarette out on the toilet seat or in the sink. Do not leave unflushed butts in the toilet or sink. Do not blow smoke in anyone's face, this is poor form.

And finally, ladies: If you must hover, hover correctly and don't leave a mess.

_________________________________
*Since the search function on Blogger was giving me trouble and I wanted to locate a few posts from The Daily Dump, I decided to do a "search in page" for the word bathroom on each month. In case you were wondering, Dan of the Daily Dump uses the word "bathroom" or "bathrooms" around five times a month. Far less than one would expect for a blog bearing the word "dump" in its name, really. Save for January in which the word appears about twenty times in one post.

I Have Arrived

Last night, at 11:43 pm, my blog came up on Google as a result for "bestchester." On the third result page. (Details, details...)

I am currently accepting gifts and congratulatory notes. All monetary donations will move directly into a "living expenses" fund, for things like rent and beer.

Eau, New York

I couldn't resist linking to Gawker's new, Name That Subway Station Stench compilation. As many of you know, I have a rather sensitive and inquisitive schnozz and discussing the odor-iffic ranks second only to being bowled over by it.

(Ben once wrote a lovely post about the 23rd Street stench moving westward, home to Jersey, but alas, his blog is no more.)

I am Never Getting Sick Again

Good afternoon, my lovelies. After last week's hiatus, I hope to bring you a little more in the way of original content and drivel this week. No promises, but here's hoping. I'm feeling in tip-top shape today - which I've recently decided is saying a lot.

Not having grown up within the confines of Manhattan, I've come to the conclusion that my immune system is not nearly as robust as the native New Yorkers'. I touch a turnstile, I fall ill for 24 hours. (Maybe I should get these. And then promptly morph into an old lady.) I fail to drink 3 liters of water in a day, I feel faint. I sit quietly on the R train, awaiting my stop in the rain and become the veritable punching bag of a child of 4 as she spins 'round and 'round the subway pole. Little does she know I rested my foot in approximately the same place her hand found not five minutes later - I hope she gets sick. I'm not mean - just fair. Ask Hammurabi.

I have, however, learned a valuable lesson: don't go running to the doctor every time you're sick, lest the health insurance gods threaten to make you pay hundreds of dollars or spend hundreds of hours on the phone disputing charges.

I actually received several of these "statements of benefits," a month or so ago, but I was so bothered by the entire fiasco that I couldn't write about it immediately. Briefly: I have good health insurance, under which I am covered 100% after a copay if I use my primary care physician and then stay in-network for routine care. Imagine my surprise to receive a statement detailing that I would be responsible for 100% of routine lab tests (general preventative checkup stuff) because the doctor's office sends them to a lab that the insurance company doesn't realize is affiliated with the practice. While I have not yet been billed by my doctor for the outstanding amounts, as they know that insurance companies only respond to repeated instructions to pay, I find the entire process aggravating. I also lost several hours of my life, which I will never regain, waiting on hold with

(1) my doctor's office
(2) the lab office
(3) the lab office billing department
(4) Aetna
(5) Satan

Moral: Germs are evil. And if you use instant hand sanitizer (ahem, PAUL), you're just creating resistant strains which will slowly invade and destroy my poor, defenseless cells.

Note: I don't actually have serious health problems. I'm just obsessed with WebMD.

Haiku:

Rachel's Birthday

Birthday at a bar
Results in funny pictures
She remembers few

Lunch with my Mother

You're wearing flip flops!
It's going to rain! And your
Hair looks better down.

Today's Weather

What a boring subject line. I'm sorry.

Today's weather was brilliant. Cool and cloudy in the morning, warming up just a touch when the sun peeked through the clouds midday. Unfortunately, I have not been outside to enjoy it much, but I look forward to a lightly balmy evening tonight. Also, I'm taking work off tomorrow. So long, suckers.

I want to talk to you about summer camp, but I may have to wait until next week.

I Really Should Stick to Hiding These Things in the Comments

By (semi-) popular request, I present to you a few more stories along the lines of Bob the Anal Fissure. I took an informal poll of some of this blog's popular collegiate characters and I have synthesized the following list. As my job has owned me the past few days, I haven't even read all of the pieces. Notes below.

Tales I've read:

Bob the Anal Fissure. A classic, noted in last week's comments.

Self-circumcision. The second-best example of the genre pioneered by Bob.

The Stories of Tucker Max, writer and professional asshole. I refuse to link to any of them specifically, you'll have to see for yourself.

Yarns I have not:

The Stinky Feet project. Comes highly recommended.

The Distinguished Gentleman's Guide to a certain odor. I actually can't find a working link to this one. Castro?

Tuesday, Tuesday

Hello, Tuesday!

I am sure that you, my dear readers, both noted and mourned my absence from the internet world yesterday. Truth be told, I missed me too, as I was at the office until 7 pm and then holed up in my apartment slaving away at my laptop from 9 pm until 1 am finishing a project. But I don't want your sympathy - just your undivided attention, forever and always. Free food/free stuff is cool, too.

Due to the cruel nature of deadlines, I now have some time on my hands to read funny articles in the Science Times (the face recognition test is great; I scored 90%. Meaning that if I forget your face, I'm just a regular jerk.) and figure out picture messaging on my cell phone. I shall also write you some belated haiku. If you're good, I'll post more musings this afternoon - if they're funny.

Rude Mechanical Orchestra

Punk Rock protest band
Revolutionary sound
Brass, reeds, drums for hire

Coney Island Adventure

F train forever
Everything I hoped to see
Scummy, historic

Two Televisions in One Day

Flatscreen Samsung Toy
Gratuitous TV set
Favorite boy toy

Top 5 Cop Outs

As per usual, I have a wonderful, pithy post just languishing in my drafts folder that I do not have the time or the energy to flesh out this fair afternoon. It is Friday, it is the summer, and half of my office was out today anyhow. Never fear, I shall return in full force next week - and have some of my own Fridays off (we alternate Fridays off - four between July 1 and September 1).

For now, I shall leave you with the Top 5 Annoying but Not Life Threatening Medical Ailments:

5. Paper cut

4. Splinter

3. Anal Fissure

2. Tonsillitis

1. Urinary Tract Infection

UPDATE: 0. Genital Herpes. Because the Duchess is so right.

Penn Station: Not Just for Commuters!

After several suggestions over the past few months from various individuals, my craving for a Krispy Kreme doughnut finally came to a head this morning. It really gathered speed about two weeks ago, when Ben suggested we get doughnuts at around 10pm on some random weeknight. Last night, we actually tried to go, only to find that the Krispy Kreme on 23rd Street is no longer in existence. At least, according to the bar staff at Trailer Park. Instead, we had Ben and Jerry's in the pouring rain.

Today, I went to the Krispy Kreme website in search of their NYC retail locations. I seemed to recall one in the Rockefeller Concourse. Not so! The only two locations left are the one in Penn Station and one on 3rd Ave and 84th Street. Since I do not "do" the Upper East Side and I work fairly near Penn, the choice was clear.

I wonder if I'm the first person in history ever to venture into the current Penn station with the express purpose of doing something other than taking a train.

The doughnut, by the by, was tasty but unsatisfying. They were out of the original glazed, so I had to settle for a vanilla frosted. It was almost too sweet.
As penance, Ben suggested that we plan a trip to this place: http://www.doughnutplant.com/

Another "I was Busy Today" Post

How many hipsters does it take to screw in a lightbulb?






What, you don't KNOW?

(It works better in person. Trust me.)

I Have Finally Figured Out Starbucks' Proliferation!

I admit it. I'm confused by simple things. Things that wouldn't faze an 8 year old child.

A sign outside a house that says "Free Washer and Dryer"? Clearly a protest.

The wording on Chinese food menus? Rice and roll or soda or soup. Huh?

My father, Dr. Larry, has the same problems.

Along those lines, I have always been baffled by the sheer quantity of Starbucks supported by the city of New York, and the universe at large. I understand that busy business people don't want to walk an extra half a block, but sometimes there really are two, across the street from one and other.

But this past Friday, after leaving Dojo, I had an epiphany and became *enlightened.*

Starbucks exists to provide stunted cities like New York with otherwise lacking public restroom facilities. Bingo. Not only that, they're clean!

My revelation was not very well received by my two friends whom I met for drinks afterwards.

The Programmer: Duh. Welcome to NYC.

The Private Eye: They also serve, you know, pretty good coffee.

Really, I would prefer more public restrooms a la Bryant Park, but until then, vive les Starbucks! And my bad fake French!

UPDATE: Others agree.

I Remain Confused by Dojo and its Menu Offerings

Ah, Dojo. That bastion of NYU-area cheap food, with not one but two locations mired in menu mystery.

Dojo is notably the only restaurant to which I have ever flatly refused to go to with Ben. Why? Because I do not understand it.* It's not that the food is bad - it's completely passable and extremely inexpensive for table service (how it merits two dollar signs in Citysearch, I have NO idea).

It's just...weird.

Example: Hamburgers in pitas. Tasty, but somehow the culinary equivalent of a mixed metaphor. (Quick as a tack, indeed.**)

But this past Friday, I had the pleasure of visiting Dojo again with my dear friend Leeds (whom I'm identifying by his last name) and his younger brother, Little Leeds. Two degenerate Leeds brothers for the price of one - as always, I am truly the luckiest girl on the island of Manhattan. Leeds' brother, I should note, is not particularly degenerate right now. He's got a $17/hour summer job, having just completed his freshman year of college.

Leeds is one of my oldest friends. I've known him since 5th grade and while we always enjoyed each other's company, we bonded over attending CTY*** during high school-summers. Leeds studied deep and pretentious intellectual things as an undergrad, like philosophy and linguistic anthropology. He will be continuing his studies in the form of a PhD come autumn, after a year off traveling in India ("You know you have giardia when you go to the bathroom and smell an odor unlike any you've ever encountered. It's sort of like stewed tomatoes, mixed with sh*t."), canvassing for the Working Families Party ("The other kids are gutter punks. They go dumpster diving! Audrey, SO MUCH GOOD FOOD is thrown out every day.") and most recently, living in Greenpoint, Brooklyn instead of on my couch, where he played Gin Blossoms mp3s on my laptop ("Greenpoint - Polish people and vinyl siding. It's our roots, Audrey.").

Ladies, Leeds is *available.*

Anyhow, after hearing Leeds' Indian giardia-bacteria-tomato-sh*t story, I ordered a chicken soulaki-something-or-other sandwich for $3.25 to go with my $2.50 bottled Rolling Rock. (For Dojo, I eschew my beer snobbery as if donning another hat.) The brothers Leeds ordered more traditional sandwiches and two platters of hummus and pita for the table. The hummus had a strong element of French dressing/mayo to it, but I attributed that to, perhaps, red pepper flavoring. Who knows.

My sandwich arrived, unsurprisingly clad in a pita and accompanied by a side of salad with a tasty Mediterranean dressing. The contents of the sandwich were slightly more puzzling. As I really had no idea what to expect, other than a served dinner for $3.25, I was open to any and all possibilities on the sandwich spectrum.

However, what I was served resembled a sort of Asian chicken noodle soup, minus the soup and inserted into a pita. The pita was a bit soggy, so I left it, but the stew was pretty good. I think I have to rachet up my Dojo budget to the menu items priced at $5.25, because for less, I don't think they feel obligated to try at all.

Me: It's like a stew on a pita. I don't get it.

Leeds: They messed it up.

Me: No, it was listed as a sandwich, it's supposed to be on a pita.

Leeds: I'm not saying they didn't do it on purpose. I'm just saying they messed it up.

The Dojo adventure was further complicated by the waitress giving us a bill with the same total cost as our order, but different itemized items. I kid you not, it took us 15 minutes to figure out what was going on.

With such an ambitious culinary start to my weekend, it's natural that other gastronomic vignettes followed. Presented, of course, in haiku:

The More Things Change, the More Things Stay the Same

Train to Bestchester

A Costco run with my dad

Still, we buy nothing.

Sister's Graduation Party

People in my house

Pick on and leave catered food.

Dog gets fancy scraps

I Made the Right Decision

Sunday eve phone call

Burritos - Upper East Side?

Too far - I think not.

_____________________

* Also, it's a cop-out date. Let's be fair, people.

** A favorite mixed metaphor of my friend Bedtime. Quick as a wink, sharp as a tack.... etc. (It's my blog and I can make as many in-jokes as I want. Nyah.)

*** Place for Bad Spellers.

Things that Irk Me

The GIGANTIC Jews for Jesus ad in the Times Square subway station. I'm certainly not reposting the image, but you can read about it on Gawker today. Excuse me, it says "Jesus for Jews." Somehow, that's the worst part - the rewording of their title/slogan.

I'm just so thrilled that the MTA, and therefore, New York State, is getting ad revenue from a cult. And I do so love the NYC subway.

Way to ruin my Friday, MTA.

Employment: A Discussion

Ah, employment. Gainful, no less. I have it - some don't. Including my dear friend the Duchess, who will be suitably discussed/mocked later on.

A recent viewing of The Devil Wears Prada conjured up memories of one of my numerous summer internships, and I've decided to wax poetic on the subject for a bit.

First off, the movie is true. It's a caricature, it's exaggerated, but it's true. I worked on the launch of a fashion/home magazine for a mere 8 weeks one summer. While it was understood to be temporary and it was certainly not the 8 months portrayed in the film, I, too, experienced the strange set of rules that govern the behavior of the high-heeled set.

- An entirely female/gay male staff.

- Directions given with facial expressions. Some of these expressions look like your boss just smelled dead fish.

- Phones that needed constant coverage, no matter what your bladder has to say about it.

- Specific places for certain items on your boss' desk.

- Complicated coffee orders.

- Running around New York fetching and returning handbags, shoes, and a dozen identical black pencil skirts.

- Hours spent preparing a project that's examined for thirty seconds and discarded.

- The world crashing down when one trunk was 15 minutes late for a shoot (I understand, they were renting studio space. I was just annoyed because the "plus sized models" for the Body Type shoot looked like me. I'm generally a 6.)

- Tons of free stuff. (in my case, it was cosmetics and home products, less so the clothing. I got a pile of stuff from Lush and Kiehl's.)

Despite the perks, which were limited to bragging that I worked at the magazine and the soaps, lotions and perfumes, I wasn't exactly passionate about the job. I did get a chance to do some writing, though it, too, was limited to soaps, lotions and perfumes. I wrote a piece about chocolate tea (awful) and another about a boutique hotel (weird). I think one was cut and the other was rewritten. Anyhow. I cared not for handbags and I happily skipped back to college in the fall to begin my junior year.

While I am comfortably anchored at my ad biz job for the time being, my college roommate, the Duchess, recently had a "mutual breakup" with her employer. To the best of my understanding, she worked at a company that made computer software for old people (in San Francisco, where else?). She "coordinated studies," which is a fancy term for "wrote me emails all day." Anyhow, her company is downsizing from 110 people to around 50 by the fall, because apparently the investors weren't being thrown enough parties on yachts. ("They thought too much money was being spent on research [and not enough on yacht parties].") She wanted to leave anyhow, so a mutually agreed-upon end date of next Friday was determined. The Duchess will go on to bigger and better things, such as the following position, described in her own words:

"The blurb online talked about how I would study, "traumatic stress reactions in cancer patients." I think, cool. I would be working under a psychologist and a surgeon. I get there. The surgeon is colorectal. The MAIN study that the two of them have is not the traumatic stress. There are only 10 people in that study. The MAIN study is about the, "quality of life of chronically constipated patients."

I would be studying sh*t. SH*T, I say. I had to work to prevent myself from laughing. The rest of the interview was horrible. I was SO NOT into it. I get a call an hour later, they like me, want me to come in to fill out paperwork next week to get the hiring process going. I laugh. I give them some excuse about how I think I'm actually more interested in neuropsychology, and all my expertise lies there, and I would be 100% interested in the material. They say, "Ohhhhhh, that's too bad."

In closing, to all you job-hunting, job-hating kids in NYC, just imagine! You, too, could move to San Francisco and study sh*t instead of being someone's lackey at a fashion magazine.

Back to my spreadsheets. Oh wait, no, I'm going HOME.

Freeeeeeeeeee Eeeeeeeeeee Day

It's freeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee day.

Use as many eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee's as you pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease.

Things that I am Thinking About

1. Eating a much-belated lunch. The waves of hunger hit me in full force at around 3:30. Note - I ate breakfast today, which is unusual for me, hence my delayed mid-day meal.

2. Seeing "The Devil Wears Prada" with the Private Eye.

3. Waiting for the other shoe to drop on Red Wine. (details available for interested and bewildered parties.)

4. Not writing haikus.

5. The miracle of antibiotics.

6. Shopping for a really big ridiculous hat for Burning Man.

7. Leaving work in the next 5 minutes, as it's 4pm and it's Monday July 3, for goodness' sake.

8. Trees.

9. Writing a haiku, or perhaps, a few. Note - two is few. And I do love rhymes, don't you? No? Boo. It must be low, your IQ. Ok, I'll stop now. Phew.

The Weekend

Time spent with parents
Burnt BBQ and no s'mores
Still turned out perfect

Adventure

Concert in Brooklyn
I still do not understand
Hipsters with babies

More Blog for Your Money

What? What's that? You don't pay me anything? Hmm.

I know, I know, I didn't post on Friday. I was in the office, but I had been vaguely ill for most of the week, hence the lack of a "real" post Monday, a flighty list (that you apparently all *adored*, for some reason) Tuesday, a regurgitated Wednesday, my most boring entry ever Thursday, and nothing on Friday.

But today is sort of a holiday. "Sort of" in the sense that I am in the office while many people are not. Coming up this afternoon, I promise you penance blog, for all of last week's sins.