Ah...October in New York City.
it should be cool...crisp...like lettuce; allowing me to flaunt the fabulous new denim jacket i got at Old Navy ($29 on sale). the leaves should be turning all those gorgeous colors that i can't see: brown, orange, red, ochre! it should look like the cover of When Harry Met Sally, and make you wanna sing Louis Armstrong or Ella Fitzgerald while wearing corduroy, falling in love and sipping cider, mulled wine or a Hot Toddie (not that i know what a Hot Toddie is, but it sounds autumnal, doesn't it).
instead, it's balmy and gross out. welcome Indian Summer.
it's 80 degrees today. the air is humid and putrid; the smell in the subway is absolutely apalling. my gorgeous new jacket is stuffed in my bag, wrinkled like Bob Dole's scrotum. i'm an absolute mess in the heat (as you may recall), and this wave is no exception. it's unatural and unfair. clearly the engineering department missed the memo about the heatwave, 'cause there's hardly any AC on today. maybe it's the heat, or maybe it's TNG, but i'm cranky and sweaty and i want to go home and take a nap.
"I am calling you/I will answer too/That means I offer my love to you/If you refuse it I will be blue/And waiting all alone"~Indian Love Call (Oscar Hammerstein)
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