What do you get when you guzzle down sweets?
Here's what's happened to me so far this week:
MONDAY nights are when we close the issues at the magazine. For some reason, I haven't been sleeping at all since last Thursday or so, and I slept maybe three to four hours Sunday night tops despite my ingestion of Tylenol PM. I was basically useless in every capacity at work. However, I was wearing a very cute outfit and was told by several coworkers that I should not be in the office and should instead be yachting. I agreed.
TUESDAY I had lunch with one of my very favorite contestants from America's Next Top Model, Nnenna Agba. It is so only-in-New-York how this all came to be, but suffice to say, Nnenna is a) one of the most gracious, kind, engaging, interesting, and intelligent women I've had the pleasure to meet, and b) is so disarmingly, magnificently beautiful that we were ten minutes into our lunch before my head stopped buzzing. She's lovely and fabulous.
WEDNESDAY, after not sleeping again Tuesday night, I went to Duane Reade to drop off Josh's prescription. The pharmacist said, "Birthday?" And I said, "Seven ... Wait. ... One ... Seven ... [brain blacks out] Two. Oh. Hang on. Two. One ..." (Josh's birthday is in February.) I stood on the train platform thinking I would either pass out or throw up. This is the only time in a person's life when they welcome the stale, acrid breeze lifted by a train passing through a station. Wednesday I was also in receipt of a photo of Stacy's son, Bass, with his first friend, a stuffed bear named Pancake. I found this to be the most pleasing thing ever, and I feel confident that they will be lifelong pals and trade music and ride bikes to the drugstore together.
THURSDAY, today, I am in an uncomfortable Ambien haze in which I feel I've been dunked underwater and I'm floating up Sixth Avenue. To add to the hallucinogenic feeling, I received free candy from two Oompa-Loompas walking through my office, one of whom taught me how to take a photo with a BlackBerry. Five minutes later, I stepped aside so Yoko Ono could pass through a doorway. I am now at my desk, nibbling on my Nerds Rope, "Pop! Goes My Heart" in my head, and I have tickets to see The Police's "last ever" show at Madison Square Garden tonight, and I'm hoping Stewart Copeland hurls himself over his drum kit and beats up Sting because that would be fun and well overdue.
I need assistance in processing all of this. Your suggestions are welcome.
And Oompa-Loompa photo to come. For real.
MONDAY nights are when we close the issues at the magazine. For some reason, I haven't been sleeping at all since last Thursday or so, and I slept maybe three to four hours Sunday night tops despite my ingestion of Tylenol PM. I was basically useless in every capacity at work. However, I was wearing a very cute outfit and was told by several coworkers that I should not be in the office and should instead be yachting. I agreed.
TUESDAY I had lunch with one of my very favorite contestants from America's Next Top Model, Nnenna Agba. It is so only-in-New-York how this all came to be, but suffice to say, Nnenna is a) one of the most gracious, kind, engaging, interesting, and intelligent women I've had the pleasure to meet, and b) is so disarmingly, magnificently beautiful that we were ten minutes into our lunch before my head stopped buzzing. She's lovely and fabulous.
WEDNESDAY, after not sleeping again Tuesday night, I went to Duane Reade to drop off Josh's prescription. The pharmacist said, "Birthday?" And I said, "Seven ... Wait. ... One ... Seven ... [brain blacks out] Two. Oh. Hang on. Two. One ..." (Josh's birthday is in February.) I stood on the train platform thinking I would either pass out or throw up. This is the only time in a person's life when they welcome the stale, acrid breeze lifted by a train passing through a station. Wednesday I was also in receipt of a photo of Stacy's son, Bass, with his first friend, a stuffed bear named Pancake. I found this to be the most pleasing thing ever, and I feel confident that they will be lifelong pals and trade music and ride bikes to the drugstore together.
THURSDAY, today, I am in an uncomfortable Ambien haze in which I feel I've been dunked underwater and I'm floating up Sixth Avenue. To add to the hallucinogenic feeling, I received free candy from two Oompa-Loompas walking through my office, one of whom taught me how to take a photo with a BlackBerry. Five minutes later, I stepped aside so Yoko Ono could pass through a doorway. I am now at my desk, nibbling on my Nerds Rope, "Pop! Goes My Heart" in my head, and I have tickets to see The Police's "last ever" show at Madison Square Garden tonight, and I'm hoping Stewart Copeland hurls himself over his drum kit and beats up Sting because that would be fun and well overdue.
I need assistance in processing all of this. Your suggestions are welcome.
And Oompa-Loompa photo to come. For real.
Labels: health, pop culture, randomness, work
posted by Marla at 12:47 PM
3 Comments:
Screw the Oompa-Loompas: did you really see Yoko?! All the time I worked there and I never saw any rock royalty. Unless you count Ryan Cabrera (and obviously you don't).
Well, you have to give Ryan Cabrera credit: He so meticulously shellacked every spike on his head that he, for all intents and purposes, created a crown atop his noggin. So he kind of did deem himself royalty. Remember how shiny he was?
Yoko is exactly as you'd expect. Cool hat, sunglasses, teeny-tiny. I saw her once several years ago. She was at Sarabeth's for brunch, and when she got up, my group got her table. I sat in Yoko's seat and it was still warm. I like to think I inadvertently have Yoko's butt aura on my butt aura.
Wow. I knew there was a reason I like you so much. That explains it!
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