Friday BARB UP May 4 2018

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And now it’s time for a Day In The Life…

I wake up, reluctantly, at 6:41. Rocky The Pug wakes me, you see. He’s hungry. He has no qualms about waking me up. He just wants to eat. I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it. I roll out of bed. My feet are tingling. I spent the whole of Wednesday in my fabulous yellow Sven clogs, which were incredibly comfortable, but I haven’t spent time in heels since the weather turned cold. So the dogs were barking, literally. I prepared The Teenager’s lunch, buttered her toasted bagel, brought it into her room. Showered, dressed. Walked Rocky around the block, listening to Keep It on my former iPhone, now using it as a podcast listening device. The news of Michelle Wolf’s set at the White House Correspondent dinner still very much on podcaster’s lips. Returned, dropped Rocky off. Now for the day at hand. I went to the bagel store, picked up bagels for tomorrow’s breakfast. Stopped by Zabar’s, picked up lunch for The Teenager’s tomorrow’s lunch bag. Grabbed a fruit salad for myself. The day before, I’d eaten a Brussel Sprout/Kale Salad/Boiled Egg salad that sat lodged at the bottom of my belly, leaving me uncomfortable all day. I opted to go for my go-to, fruit for a day. After Zabar’s, stopped at the library and picked up Terese Marie Mailhot’s Heart Berries (I’d gone online at the NYPL.org and ordered it some time ago, it was waiting for me); I began reading it on the 1 train downtown, so engrossed was I that I missed my stop at Houston and got off at Canal Street! That rarely happens to me, so accustomed I am to the rhythms of the NY subway system. Still. This book. A memoir. Mental Health. Life on a reservation. Isolation. A paean to lyricism and revelation. All of it. So good. The lives of women, their stories, relentlessly painful and also uplifting, the in-between coalescing. Now that it’s already summer-weather, (instead of simply Spring), I walked in the sun back to Houston and Broadway, where I will be working for a few weeks. Oh, so grateful I am to be employed at this particular location. Soho. Every street, a store front of delight. I’ve slipped a little on my resolution to not purchase new indulgent items, outside of my birthday. I’ve bought a pair of Allbirds orange wool sneakers. I’ve bought a few lip balms. I’ve snuck in a pair of ran boots. So to be traversing the streets of Soho, feeling a little confident economically will be a test to my resolve. There’s a Rachel Comey up the block as well as Jill Platner. Jeez. I stop by a Starbucks, get my Iced Tea and head to the office. It’s a sunny spot where I’m working, people are friendly, my particular little ray of sunshine overlooks a Parisian-esque building. I feel happy as I dig in. At noon, I head to Cutler Salon for a quick trim. Now that I’m keeping my hair short, it needs a little upkeep before it turns into a pageboy cut, not what I’m going for. Return back to the office. Field phone calls from a variety of sources, including The Teenager. Prom is nigh and she’s looking for prom dresses. I straddle looking at the links with looking at the footage of what I’m working on, polar opposites. I’m still tired from traveling, just two days ago. I have so much to take care of, even though I am not home: bills have to be paid, a mammogram appointment needs to be made, other things, more private. How to fit it all in with everything else, the day job, the parenting, the attention to Rocky, my relationships, my mother who needs me to book her travel to New York in May. I’m looking forward to going to sleep. I feel happy. I negotiate with The Teenager the walking of Rocky; I have dinner plans with the Boyfriend, in Tribeca. She reluctantly agrees. Oh yes, the juggle is real. And so, at 7, I wrap my day of work, and begin my night, which kicks off with a walk back to where I started my day, a little past it actually, to Chambers Street and West Broadway, a night with my man. And that’s my Wednesday.

https://www.instagram.com/p/BiUCMGEheMm/?taken-by=rockythepug

Is the Fourth with you? 😉

Tracey Thorn: “Most pop singing is about having a distinctive voice and using it in a distinctive way, which technically might be completely incorrect. When you go to a singing teacher, they usually try to correct those things and what you then come up against is that anxiety of, “Well, am I going to lose the thing that makes me distinctive if I start trying to sing properly?”

Ali Wong: “Giving birth is hard core. Sex is not dirty. A C-section is dirty.”

Lizz Winstead: “Comics don’t do the Correspondents Dinner to make peace and harmony with politicians and the media; they do it to remind everyone in that room that everyone needs to be held accountable. We the People thank Michelle Wolf for doing just that.”

Mindy Kaling and Sandra Bullock. Listen, anytime Mindy Kaling speaks, I listen.

Heh heh heh heh. Wall Street. You Fuckers.

I love purple and I love this purple bag from Boden.

Boden.

The Chinese Opera is an institution.

As you may know, I love to write. And I try to do so everyday. And so this? Yep. Captures it.

The Nine Stages of Creativity by Grant Snider.

And now have a laugh with Amber Ruffin.

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