I forgot people outside of the east coast don’t know how to use escalators.
In my home town, which, until recently, was the home of the only escalator between Denver and Salt Lake City (now there are some in the ski resorts), people would go to the airport just to ride the escalator. Because, you know, escalators are almost as fun as roller coasters.
Dear Tumblr:
Matt and I want to go on vacation. The last weekend in Feb/first weekend in March. Somewhere warm. Somewhere easy to get to from NY. Somewhere out of the country, so his work can’t contact him.
We were thinking Grand Cayman. What place do you suggest? Please provide photographic or anecdotal (preferably 1st person accounts) evidence of your suggestion’s awesome-ness.
Love,
Marcia
(via lindsayneedscoffee)
Last night I begged Matt in multiple text messages (AND emails to his blackberry) to bring me McNuggets when he came home.
At 3AM he called and woke me up and asked if I still wanted them - I said no.
I instantly regretted it, but five minutes later, he refused to go back outside and get them.
(Question: Am I too spoiled or not spoiled enough?)
Coworker’s 30th birthday party was fun. Lots of pictures (not shitty cell phone pictures like you usually get) to upload. I’m home, falling asleep, and texting “McNuggets PLEASE!” to Matt. I hope he gets it and brings them to me.
I just said ‘I now know how Naomi Campbell feels. Sometimes you just get so angry and you just want to throw a cell phone at someone.’
The new girl who has the cube 15 feet away from me has been talking to her boss for 20 minutes, loudly. About restaurants. She particularly liked one place and said, “the food didn’t taste like it often does, you know, all restaurant-y.”
…
What?
And what restaurants are you going to?
(Note: I do not consider Olive Garden, Chili’s, Outback, or places of that ilk to actually be restaurants.)
For our “well, we feel like we should watch the Super Bowl but we really don’t care” party.
Maybe the top one, too, but “with less artichokes.”
(I just want to make the bottom one and fall into an Italian cured meat coma.)
BED. I’m trying to plan a super bowl party (Matt has this idea about “that huge sandwich that was in either Time Out or New York Mag this week or last week”), I have to go to my coworker’s 30th “get shitcanned” birthday party tomorrow, and oh yeah, my boss wants me to put three books into production in the morning, but when I show them to her, she’ll want two hours worth of changes on both of them.
I should take that codeine again, my arm is still killing me. And it will make all of that seem better.
