New York 27/07/12 - Day 2
I woke up supremely depressed: worse than last night if that’s even possible. Not a hangover, just exceedingly miserable. I couldn’t even move my facial muscles into a smile and even a skype session with John-James couldn’t cheer me up, much to my chagrin.
A long shower and a walk to the cinema helped me distract myself. I sat through The Dark Knight Rises, Or, The Occupy Movement Terrorism Mixed Metaphor Movie for the second time because Rob, Mimi and Jamie hadn’t seen it yet. I wasn’t really paying attention because I was thrusting great fistfuls of peanut butter chocolate snacks into my mouth and sucking on a straw connected to the world’s largest soft drink container filled with delicious diet caffeinated soda. I had to make more than one trip to the toilet. Oh, sorry… ‘restroom’.
There’s a great (or not so great, depending on your views on this sort of thing) quote by Andy Warhol re: buying underwear:
I think buying underwear is the most personal thing you can do, and if you could watch a person buying underwear you would really get to know them. I mean, I would rather watch somebody buy their underwear than read a book they wrote.
Later I bought four pairs of underwear: turquoise, aqua, mint, lavender. I dread to think what dear Andy would make of my panty-buying habits. I got in, paid, got out. Does that say something about me? I didn’t erotically try anything on or linger fingering the packet. I think that quote is mostly guff actually.
After we trudged around town and I got a million more compliments from strangers about my pastel blue unicorn hair, we went home and I had the most WONDERFUL skype convo with John-James. He is so handsome I kept melting at his cute unselfconscious smile and even though we mostly had to type because we were being silly and my friendz were in the room, just seeing his face in motion made me so happy I completely forgot that I’d woken up suicidal.
I topped off the day with a burst of endorphins: Jamie and I ran around the reservoir in Central Park. I used to resent people who went running because I thought all runners were boring, but if running is dull, I don’t want to be right. Or something.
Here’s a washed out, overexposed picture of me looking moody and oddly orange. Enjoy!