Caught a great episode of Def Poetry this afternoon and skipped my Operations Review. (Now I need a small miracle for tomorrow's midterm.) Wish me luck?

He walked in and up the stairs, eyes fixed on me. Slowing and shaking his head, he said earnestly, "You have the kind of smile that wakes a man up when he's sleeping."

Thanks, K-K. You made my day. I'll keep that piece of sunshine and return to it often.

Happy Leap Day.

My taxes are done

(and so is the laundry).

Exciting, eh?

My heart aches
when I think of you

and I think of you
every
day.

A grey and hallow void
fills the inside of my chest

and your name
echoes there.

Nothing and no one can fill
the emptiness that lingers

sometimes quiet and deep
other times wild

and filled
with fire.

I just got home from one of the worst dates EVER. Let me repeat that, E-V-E-R.

This guy was like a bad version of Viggo Mortensen morphed with dude off the cover of MADD comics. I swear.

Not only was it Valentine's Day, but the guy hosted a "party" at his grandmother's penthouse on Fifth Avenue. Now erase whatever image you have in your head of this place, and picture this: In the mid-1970s a freak time warp causes a Florida retirement community to puke on top of a NYC apartment complex.

The old woman is sick and in assisted living right now, but her SMELL is very much still at home. Throwing a party at your grandmother's house when she's dying is soooooo uncool. It's wrong on so many levels.

Back to the ambience. I don't know what the hell this guy was thinking, but here's what I was thinking:

I never knew that Sherwin Williams ever produced that quantity of peach-colored indoor paint, or that green Astroturf could be glued directly to the floor of a Manhattan penthouse.

Remember wicker? Scratch that. Remember wicker chairs with cushions covered in palm trees?

And here's a question for Jeopardy: How many plastic plants can be crammed into a NY apartment before becoming a fire hazard? (If plastic plants are petrified, have they become flame retardent?)

My pity party and I are going to bed now. Maybe I'll see you in my dreams.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Here's hoping Cupid smacks you upside the head. *wink*

“A must-read for all of us who want to come alive to the promise of our time.”

What a great snippet. I wonder how the author felt when this review came out.

Tuesday mornings are my morning to sleep in, since I don't have class until 11:45am.

However, this morning I woke up at 8:00 on the dot to the voice of a very large man yelling, "Drop your weapon! Drop your weapon! Come out now!" (I assume he was large, given the gruffness of his voice.)

Ugh. I rolled over and pulled the blanket over my head. This is life in New York City.