though i love the dutch and people bound for ghana, i wish they'd picked another day to fly. i look weird when i run and i look weird after traveling all day, so getting through a packed terminal and out of new york was altogether not glamorous at all. this is what one resorts to thinking about when one has read the skymall and airline magazines and one is too lazy to start rushdie's the moor's last sigh. it's not easy, being uninteresting and uninterested.
the ghana folks were visiting accra, my fictional home in our high school marriage simulation. i became a u.n. representative overseas after my 'husband' told me to to skip college and stay home to raise our ten children in the presbyterian faith. he never remarried.
who would have the audacity to put vile artificial butter on their in-flight snacks? northwest airlines, that's who.
the fun eventually concludes in san francisco, where i'll be preparing our erstwhile furnishings for new lives with my mom, sister 1, and carefully screened classified ad respondents. joe should be doing this. i want to pretend that my stuff has a wonderful new life on acres and acres of farmland - i can't be the one who saws the sofa in half if it doesn't fit down the renovated staircase.
if we were too hip for the inwood sublet, our brooklyn sublet is way too hip for us. it's a studio loft in a renovated williamsburg factory, a block from the waterfront. the conceptual artist / owner generally hosts sculptors and painters, but he tells us that business has been horrible since bush's tomfoolery in iraq. it's us instead of arty expats, then - he must be pretty disappointed.
the big cat was desparate to reach the loft's sleeping level this weekend. we're both in day 2 of hard core sleep deprivation, as he registered his displeasure by sitting in the bathtub and howling until four in the morning. a bit hoarse as of noon today, he's now learned to flush the toilet to get my attention.
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