1. Today at lunch we were standing outside of Chicken Deli waiting for everyone to finish checking out, and an adorable little dachshund came trotting by, freaking out and smelling everything. “I wish anything made me that happy!” I said, because I am an idiot who makes cliched half-jokes. And then this random man putting money in the parking meter was like, “ALL YOU NEED’S A BUN!” And my eyes got big and I asked Peter if he got it and he said yes he did.
2. Then on the elevator up—okay let me preface this by saying our elevators are THE WORST ELEVATORS IN THE HISTORY OF MAN (WITH APOLOGIES TO LOUIS CK), and the entirety of people who work in our 20-floor, midtown Office™ wait together during lunch in the lobby, the line of us waiting for it snaking out the front door and making us all so annoyed that there is no choice but to dance around and laugh and say things like, “WHAT ARE THEY DOING IN THERE? I HOPE SOMEONE IS GETTING LAID ON FLOOR 3!” just loudly enough for the old lady at the front of the line to hear, and smile, and connect with you over this shared frustration in one of those redemptive etc ways. Anyway so today was a day like any other, dancing joking waiting laughing screaming groaning, and when the elevator did come we all piled in, lining up, really, businessmen and male models and janitors and skinny nerds who work for an up and coming blogging platform alike. I see that the 8th floor, our floor, is the lowest floor clicked, which is a relief because who likes the internal debate involved re: should i step out of the elevator to let this person out, or should i just kind of slink away and rub body parts with this human and pretend it didn’t happen? Anyway but then the elevator opens on 5 and all of us sigh collectvely and this adorable Jewish guy in a yarmulke gets on, all quiet and staring at us. I am up front so when he hesitates I whisper, “We’re going up.” He nods in silence and sidesteps in and won’t look at anyone, even though I am staring at him intently because he is adorable and wearing a yarmulke. So the elevator starts to move and THEN opens at 7. We grumble, waiting to see WHO ELSE we can squeeze on this thing, and the doors open to nothing— an empty floor, office abyss. We are relieved, but puzzled, disbelieving. My future husband looks at us waiting for an answer, for someone to step fwd and acknowledge that this is their floor. But no, those of us there from the beginning know that Floor 8 was the first stop so WHY ARE WE HERE? We squint back at him, wondering if he will say anything. He just hangs his head. Then a voice from the back, the male model in the neon green skullcap who looks vaguely like Devon Sawa via 1996 mumbles, somber, “It was your butt.” My husband cracks a smile. I am grinning at the wall of the elevator. We get to floor 8, spill out the lot of us, turning the corner and bending over completely just to scream and laugh. IT WAS YOUR BUTT. IT REALLY PROBABLY WAS.
3. Last night a man told me in 15 years european space stations would obfuscate our view of the moon. He pointed. He told me to Pay Attention. He studied Science. He was old enough to be my grandfather and I needed to look at the moon while I could. Okay I said, into the text I was sending. In the meantime, he says, “I am turning FIFTY-SEVEN on February 19th.” “Woo!” I said, “Good luck!” It seemed grave. Thank you! he said, and over his shoulder, through the crowds on 14th street, yelled, “REMEMBER, IT’S IN THE HANDS OF YOUR GENERATION!” “WILL DO!”
4. Also this morning in Union Square this guy looked me in the eye and yelled “YO, YOUR WEARING MY FAVORITE COLOR. PURPLE! I LOVE IT!” I was! And am.

3:37 pm  •  14 October 2010  •  68 notes