Finish Dad’s father’s day gift.
Put Linus in a bag and board LIRR to Daddy’s house.
Lay out with Lea at Dad’s pool.
Play tennis or do something involving sneakers. Linus = ball hopper.
Work on my 4th of July Menu.
Have drinks on the roof of the Hotel Gansevoort with Yasmin, Erin, and Monique.
Go to Coney Island and photograph the Mermaid Parade.
Work on the novel with an umbrella drink in the other hand.
Find vacuum cleaner bags that fit.
Drop off Hermes scarves at drycleaners.
Grocery shop: Bread. Cheese. Jersey tomatoes. Fresh basil. Pink grapefruit juice. Caviar. Creme Fraishe. Bilinis.
Purchase a corset and shoes for Smelly’s Wedding.
Have my hair blown straight.
Get a much needed manicure & pedicure.
Organize my underwear drawer, again.
Get my business cards printed.
Take required photographs, which yield moolah…
I don’t know what it is with me these days. My Friday night has become my Sunday, my day of rest. I have no desire whatsoever to go out. Only a Catherine Maladrino sale could rip me from the grips of my apartment. I suppose that’s what drawing and chick flicks are for. I’ve begun to despise Sundays. Sunday in Manhattan means a park. It means couples and babies, and runners, bikers, and tourists in carriages. I fcuking hate Manhattan Sundays. They depress me. Maybe I’ll Long Island it on Sunday. So I can avoid crap ass overcrowded central park, and the couples, and strollers, and dad with kid on shoulders site. Oh god, I hope it rains. Sunday in Manhattan with clouds, movies, and Barnes and Noble… now we’re talking. Because you can’t when it’s sunny out. You just can’t. Though that’s what I want. I want rain, and blank notepaper. I want to read home decorating magazines, take notes, and plan menus. I don’t want the fcuking crap ass park. I think I said that already. I obviously have thoughts on the matter.
…Go to Barnes & Noble.
Find a good book beyond the self-help aisle.
See The Notebook with Monique.