Pizza for breakfast why are you so gooooood?
There is some jazzy jazz happening in Battery Park on the water right now. The man playing the trumpet isn’t too bad, and he has a subtle recorded accompaniment of bass and snare and occasionally breaks to sing a bit. It’s jaunty and nice with the sunshine and mild breeze.
Came down here to breathe. I can always breathe better by the water.
Pretty sure I’m not going back to the arch. That is/was our place. It’s just not the same without.
Wherein you’re in a Suburban your company commissioned and he’s not sitting next to you, holding your hand and saying everything you’ve always wanted to hear…
like the last time you were in this company-commissioned Suburban.
And you miss him. Tons.
(Breakfast)
Banana
Almond milk
Short ribs
(Other)
Chocolate chip cookies
Hazelnut frapp
Tomato mozzarella panini
Lemon cake pop
Gumball
Garlic bagel chips
Spiral mac n cheese with a wee bit of heavy cream in place of milk since there is no milk in the house, and extra butter
Short ribs
Hazelnut wafer cookies
Young’s double stout
Nope, I ate none of that.
The way he looks at her here. That hand. Leo could get it ANY DAY ALL THE TIME. But it’s not that. It’s the look. I know that look. I crave that look.
The boys forgot to get me dinner when they ordered, so to make up for it, I got the egg roll Scott was going to eat, some of his chicken, and then we watched two things I like: Daria-the Musical and “Once More With Feeling” the MAGICAL AWESOME musical episode of Buffy. I forgot how much I loved that episode and soundtrack. The boys (except N) fidgeted and sighed through Buffy, and I’m surprised they lasted. Pretty sure my food order won’t be forgotten again (though, seriously? It wasn’t THAT big of a deal. I wasn’t that hungry! But if they wanted to make it up to me, I will not stand in their way).
So many things today have reminded me of HWSNBN. Certain scenes in Gatsby, certain scenes in Buffy…
It’s an ever-present lonely ache.
As much as I know it’s a bad idea, as much as I don’t necessarily want to, I’ll probably compare the way Luhrmann does Gatsby to the way he did Romeo and Juliet (which is one of my favorites), and holy sweet newborn baby Jesus do I hope he doesn’t lose the delicacy of his overblown touch in this tale rife with 1920s excess. Though, I guess the argument can be made that the whole point of Gatsby is to show *just* how tasteless he is in throwing about his riches. So, whereas the Capulets and Montagues were old money and conducted themselves as such, (and likewise Tom
Buchanan…Daisy’s more frivolous), Gatsby is just sick with grandiosity.
We’ll see. We will see.
Women with curves in front and behind, and delicate enough on the sides to emphasize the others always made her wish for that efficiency. So much shape packed into a petite frame.
Lugubrious. Not generally used to characterize one’s body, but mine, she thought, could best be described as such.
