No one in the history of the universe has ever worked harder to get to Newark that I did tonight, or this morning, I guess.
There should be a drama font.
After a surprise sickness on Wednesday evening tanked my chances of making my 8am flight on Thursday, the lovely humans at Virgin America rebooked me FOR FREE on the noon flight the next day. (I think that they thought that I was full of shit and hungover or something so the put me on the later flight and electronically pat me on the head.) In a very uninteresting turn of events, the flight was delayed 5 hours, and now I’m writing from the back of a Lyft, somewhere in Jers. But you know what is great? The driver is super into vintage Backstreet Boys, so it’s not all bad for me.
I am attending a sweetass conference tomorrow whether I will totally hang with Gloria STEINAM, and that just auto corrected to all caps on it’s own, because my phone gets me.
Oh shit, 98 Degrees is on now! Julia Wilson took me to this concert in like 9th grade and we made shirts with puffy paint and sat in the second row. I touched all 98 of the degrees, which grosses me out now. Shanice was performing at that concert too, and if your don’t know the song “I love your smile” you are missing out on a pretty formative song (for me.)
Anyway, conference and professional stuff. I am excited. I will have a whole 5 hours of sleep, but I’m excited. I won’t be able to see all the people this time in New York, because I will have zero free minutes in the 48 hours I am here, but I will never stop coming back to New York. So I will see those people soon.
Oh, driving through manhattan right now, and people are standing outside, in the rain, to get into a club with purple lighting. That sounds like a nightmare to me.
I am very happy that I get to sit in this lovely Lyft, now playing N’Sync, and thank the gods of Eileen Fisher that I am not 23.
That’s enough of this drunk-tired letter to nobody. I’m just kidding, it’s to you.
Bad photo of the rain by me. I’m no Tiffany Tsang.