How are you, on this day after The Hallmark Day Of Love?
Me? I’m great.
Here’s why, and really, it’s a snapshot of a Day In My Life:
I woke up on All-The-Time’s Day, knowing I am single, at 7:30am, Rocky the Pug, nestled beside me. We get out of bed (almost always simultaneously), and head to the kitchen. All Rocky wants, really, is to eat. I fill his bowl with a dollop of wet food and a smattering of dry and note how he digs in. I then prepare The Teenager’s lunch: peanut butter on kaiser roll (she won’t eat it, I know this already), a chocolate croissant, a tangerine, a Pink Lady apple, a bottle of water, a bag of popcorn. Not nutritious, just filling, things she can snack on throughout the long day she has ahead of her at school. I take the packed lunch into The Teenager’s room, where she is getting ready for school. I give her a box of Godiva chocolates that I picked up yesterday. She thanks me. My daughter knows how to say “Thank you” and “Please” and other manner-based pleasantries. We exchange calm, loving words and then I head into the shower. Rocky plants himself on his dog bed in the bathroom while I prepare myself for my day. By the time I’m done with the shower, The Teenager is gone, on her way to school. By 8:15, Rocky is walked, and I’m ready to begin my day. I am officially “in between” jobs again, so it’s critical to me that I do not spend my day on the couch, online shopping; my rule of thumb is that I need to leave the apartment by 10am. Fresh Direct drops off a delivery at 9am, while I work on BARB, write emails, and of course, read articles online. Trade a bunch of Happy Valentine’s Day texts. At 10am, I promptly pack up my laptop, my bottle of sumatriptan, and other necessities and head to the coffee shop, where I will write as well as daydream. There is no internet at this coffee shop, and that’s how I like it, as little distraction as possible is what I need during the day. I hunker down for a few hours until The Teenager texts me to remind me I need to pick up some health forms for her. I pack up, head downtown to the Village, get these forms from the pediatrician. I realize I’m hungry so I dip into the Grey Dog Cafe and have a spicy kale salad while l listen to Pod Saves America. I’m feeling really good. I realize I need to be on the Upper East Side for a meeting at 1, and hike up there. By 2, I’m done with my meeting, but it’s still too early to go home. Another rule of being “in between” jobs is this: don’t be in the apartment before 4. So I take the crosstown bus, and park myself at a Starbucks along 86th street. I find a cushiony chair near and outlet and I’m psyched; I basically have everything I need right now. The Teenager texts me, she tells me about her day, I offer many exclamation points. I painstakingly comb through an interview I’m prepping for BARB. And before I know it, it’s almost 5. Time to go home and walk the dog. Rocky is psyched to see me. I don’t have a lot of time though, I’m meeting my friend at Bar Tano in Brooklyn at 6:30. By the time I return, The Teenager is home. She tells me all the things of her day; we’re close, she and I. She feels comfortable confiding in me and I am always available to offer my ear. At 5:45 I head for the train, and immediately upon arriving on the platform, I know I’m going to be late. I don’t get to Bar Tano until 6:45. I love the food at Bar Tano; hearty portions, meals that are relevant to my taste buds, good atmosphere. I give my friend her MORRISSEY sweater. We eat. And then we go to the Bellhouse for Unloveable, a tribute to The Smiths. Yes, there is a cover band that plays songs by The Smiths and Moz. And so, there we are, on Valentine’s Day, in our Smiths sweaters, with a bajillion other Moz fans, watching a band play “How Soon Is Now” and “William It Was Really Nothing” and everything everything everything. And one point, the Moz singer throws roses into the crowd (he did it throughout the show) and I long-stemmed rose hits me in the face. Sublime. Throughout the show, The Teenager was texting me, a manageable issue at hand, but my advice was needed. On occasion, I sent her short snippets of a Smiths song; she’s a huge fan. I go to the bathroom. The women are friendly, chatty. We are all so psyched to be here. I mean. Even if you aren’t a Smiths fan, it’s a special feeling to be in a room full of people who love the Smiths and who are holding long-stemmed roses and beaming up at one direction. Anyway. Show ends. My friend and I walk towards the Barclay’s Center, so so so happy. I say goodbye. I hop into a taxi. And I go home. Luckily for me, The Teenager has walked the dog. So all I need to do, really, is get into bed. Of course I don’t. I tell The Teenager about my magical night. She tells me about hers. I make a phone call. I text. I start watching The Eagles of Death Metal documentary (worth your while, it’s the harrowing tale of what the band and its fans experienced the night of the Bataclan terrorist attack). And then…I fall asleep. And there’s the play-by-play of a day in the life of a woman.
Could Maude meet up with Harold on Tinder? Let’s suss this out.
Renee Johnson: “And uniting with other women of color reminded me why I care so much about legislation to begin with: most government policy disproportionately affects the communities of color I come from, more so than the people of privilege who are shaping it.”
Michaela Angela Davis on her new website with Dabo Che, BlackLovePower (I follow on Instagram, it’s gorgeous and inspiring): “The way black people demonstrate love-through our bodies, our style, our music, art, language, our food, humor, the way we love God is vast and mighty. The world loves to witness and learn from black love, we just want to make it easier for folks to see.”
Melinda Gates is on a mission to help 120 million worldwide have access to birth control : “When women are able to plan their pregnancies around their goals for themselves and their families, they are also better able to finish their education, earn an income, and fully participate in their communities.”
Burger King provided you with pleasure on V-Day.
Will you be striking on March 8?
And now have a laugh with Margaret Smith.