Fifty shades of yoga

I’m the most annoying yoga student ever: I go sporadically, with no commitment to a particular class, instructor, or studio; I usually stop paying attention to my breath or any zen feelings and instead enthusiastically plan meals, blog posts, or works of literature I will likely never write; and worst of all, I’m really hoping this is going to pay off in the form of awesome abs and killer (but still feminine and sexy) biceps. But you know what? I’m a paying customer, and this is America. Don’t take away my freedom to half-ass my way through your yoga class.

I am a gross slug person.

Well, folks, my office is near Union Square, and the street it’s on looks like this. So, I had no work again today, and will have no work for the rest of the week (at least) for now.

My roommates work above 34th St., so they decided to walk to work over the Brooklyn Bridge. It took two and a half hours and sounded like it was super fun. Neither of them are going to try walking to work tomorrow.

I, on the other hand, sat around my apartment like a lazy worm creature. Well, that’s not entirely fair. I left my apartment to go to the bagel place down the street, and then I came back to my apartment to eat it. Later, I then went to the hardware store to buy a lightbulb for my fridge, and then returned to clean my kitchen. I discovered that we now may have mice. Yay!

Later in the afternoon, I felt like I was losing my mind. So, I thought, maybe I should go to read in a cafe or something. And so did everyone else in Park Slope ever. Seriously, there are about five cafes in a three-block radius from my apartment, and they were all standing room only. Instead I walked up and down my street and bought some flavored pellegrinos. Go capitalism!

Tomorrow, I plan for a long walk. Perhaps additional purchases? I apparently can now take the F train around in a circle in Brooklyn; maybe I can just ride that around for a while.

Gizmo graffiti

Boston terrier graffiti, Prospect Park, Brooklyn.

(edited to add: graffiti is hard to spell.)

The Ceiling Project

Inevitably, in every apartment, little things start going wrong as soon as you move in. In Chicago, we had mice. They popped out of the burners on the stove and peered out at us in curiosity. When we started smelling a little extra gas smell after the stove was turned off, we called the management company to complain about mice messing with the gas pipes on the stove. Some dude showed up, looked around at our stove, and then told us there was no problem. He left us a copy of the incident report from the management company. RESIDENT BELIEVES MICE ARE CHEWING ON WIRES INSIDE STOVE, it said. Thanks for all your help. And for making us feel like we are completely crazy.

My apartment now, in comparison to all of the others in which I’ve lived, has had very few problems. Until the heat came on, that is.