When I first moved into my condo on Dawson St, my neighbor Betsy and I called our building the "axis of evil" because it was next to the fire department (hubba) across from the police department (hubba)* and because the building was in mid-construction when we moved in. Which meant it was half overrun with glossy, shirtless construction workers for at least twelve hours a day. Please note: I work from home. It was a difficult summer.
Things have changed, obviously.
I am now a block from that very building, sitting in a high rise hotel bar. I no longer live here. Men are currently invisible to me, so though I can look straight down the block and see those very same (hubba) firemen shooting baskets as they await a firey disaster (or a cat up a tree), their presence does not distract me. In fact, the most concern I can muster is a vague curiosity regarding whether they will have sense enough to put their shirts back on when the sun goes down. It gets cool here at night, this time of year.
I still work at home, but nowadays home is New York City. My annual compulsory and mercilessly dull meetings are completed, but I remain in my high rise hotel bar for the following reason: I am revising ny entire arsenal of course materials because I found out today, at the brain-liquefying staff meeting, that the entire curriculum has changed and that no one bothered to tell me. It is now six hours before classes start and I must "achieve compliance" by midnight.
Because of this crisis (it's THEIR crisis, mind you) I will be at the hotel bar, taking out commas and putting in dashes and slashing entire units and explaining, once again, the eroticism of the semi-colon and the coyness of the colon for the next six hours. I should be on my way to my parents' house right now, and believe you me, I am feeling it. I am pissed.
And so now I will sign off and start working - and also slowly, surely, steadily drinking the full compliment of alcoholic beverages I so richly deserve.
I will describe the hangover tomorrow morning, where I will post around 10am from the one and only Supajewie's kitchen. I am bringing cheese doodles (don't ask) and I feel pretty sure she'll greet me with a glass of bourbon and a donut.
Tomorrow, in other words, promises to be a much better day.
* Police officers are hit or miss. They carry firearms and I am afraid of firearms. Any IRISH police officer, however, works for me. Or at least he would if I were paying attention, which I most assuredly am not. (see: invisibility, emotional paralysis, cowardice, etc).
** It turns out that today I want to talk about hotness and getting drunk - but this does not mean that I have forgotten to post about Peru. I'll get around to it. Promise.