O. M. G.
What the HELL has been going on in here? I go away for a few days, come back, and LOOK at this joint! Clothes on the floor everywhere, dishes in the sink, makeup all over the bathroom, and in–come again? I left it this way? I see… Let me, ah, pick up a few things, ha ha, have a seat.
I hope everyone had a restful, easy holiday. My family of three certainly did. We got a dud turkey (expensive and totally unseasoned), plus undercooked green beans and unsalted, pudding-like gravy. But I spoke to the manager on Saturday and promptly got a second free, yummy turkey. My mom ominously noted, “Remember, [the manager] can get spicy.” I replied, “Have you MET me?!” I didn’t feel I should push as hard for the sides; my mom thought the gravy and greens were just as relevant. As I was the one marching out as Turkey Ambassador, I came down on the side of the main dish. I gave kudos to the manager for clearing up the matter with a quick “Come get a new one on the house at anytime today.” My mom thinks the unspoken part of this exchange was “We always f*ck up on Thanksgiving, so take a turkey and don’t go to Twitter or Facebook calling us out.” And guess what? She was diplomatic, and I didn’t call her out. I am, however, on my sixth day of eating turkey. I ran out of sides two days back and store owners looked at me funny when I asked for stuffing & cranberry sauce post-holiday.
So I was impressively ready for this ‘Trot’ on Thursday: all my clothes laid out, my fanny pack packed, iPod on my treadmill mix, and I’m up bright and early.
The park looks really…beautiful in the fall. Since I’ve moved further uptown in Brooklyn, it’s not as accessible to me and I miss it. I passed it all the time on the way to high school and took it for granted for years, even as an adult. It was just that huge green place across the street from the cooler stuff like the library and the museum.
I see some friends and make it clear they are not to wait for me. They all chuckle warmly and I can’t find a way to convince them I’m not being that jokester BSC who’s always winking and jabbing someone with my elbow. I do NOT want them to wait. They are all petite and are Runners™, and I am not. We’re in the front of the pack as the Trot starts and for all the bullsh*t I’ve heard about families and all these people who will be walking it out, I feel like I’m being set upon by those berserker fast zombies from 28 Days Later. These people take off like there are bars of gold at the finish line. Among the groups who breeze past me in the first 20 minutes alone: those chicks and/or dudes with the running strollers; parents with children ages six and up, keeping pace with mom and dad; a lot of tall women with dogs; and a few blind folks fast-walking with an assistant. I think the six year olds cut me the deepest.
I’ve never walked so much of the park, and was not anticipating the first bit to be uphill. The first mile was such a grind I thought there were no mile markers and I’d simply see the finish line. Nope! I see a sign with a 1 on it and ask the volunteer, “Does that mean one mile?” He nods and my reaction is a long and hearty “F******ck!”
So what’s up with this weird, sort of clichéd love triangle in The Frosting? It came to me while I was freelancing, doing something completely unrelated. On the sneak I typed up the entire thing in about 20 minutes. Quick shout-out to the nuns at my Catholic high school who taught me to type on old-school typewriters that took every muscle in my fingers to push down a key; I type about 85 wpm and I owe it all to you (picture me with a tiara and flowers, blowing kisses at shocked, 70-year-old nuns in an audience).
Anyway, this was one of those “Write it now” moments that again, don’t happen often.
The place where Corinne and Eli live is a place I lived in for a year. It was an incredibly small studio with a refrigerator improbably jutting into the living space. This was not a place built for two people. I barely survived it. With creative license, I added a breakfast table and some sort of computer space where they would never have fit realistically.
Continue reading “Licking off the frosting…”