I Think I Might Be Allergic ......

..... to New York.

Not that I care, mind you ...... I just thought I'd share.
Daughter #3 and I have been using a lot of Kleenex ...... and alternately not being able to breathe.
But some things are worth suffocating for.

I spent the afternoon today in the Park.  You know the one.
And I had a fabulous time.
I ate my lunch, caught up on my journaling and quiet time, and watched some very small boys practice t-ball/baseball.
I had to pull myself away at 5:00.  Really.
It was awkward.
: )

I had to leave then because Daughter #3 and had I had a date tonight to go see Betty Buckley.
For those of you who are too young to remember her from "Eight Is Enough" ...... I will refrain from telling you to go away, but really?!

Here's where I will digress just a bit to tell you that I not only loved that show (and who knew that I would end up living in my own version of "Eight Is Enough"?!) but I loved Dick Van Patten and wanted him to be my father in law.  Of course, that would mean that I would have to marry one of his sons, namely, Vince, which wouldn't be that much of a sacrifice because he was, and still is, pretty hot.

Enough of digressing and giving you my inner-most teen thoughts.

Betty was pretty good tonight.  Daughter #1 happens to work at the theatre where she was performing and she got us the tickets.
Daughter #1 rocks that way.

Here we are, all dressed up for the show:

Betty actually is better known for Broadway ("Cats", and Tony, anyone?) and is happier being known for that.
Anywhoooo, it was a fun evening.
Right up until the time that she sang "Memory", which I love, but didn't recall, until about 2 seconds after she started singing it, that it was the very first musical that Jim and I saw together.  His first intro in all that is Broadway and my love for it.
A love that he not only accepted, but dived into head first.
And the tears flowed.
I had to work to not sob out loud.
All out of nowhere.
That's grief for you.
Always there, waiting behind some unsuspecting corner, ready to pounce on you and take you down.
Thankfully, it takes a lot more to take me down than it used to.
No one rocks that song the way that she does.
In spite of the tears, I loved it.

So yeah, I'm still loving NY.
The more I'm here, the more I want to be here.

I've met several people in my building .... they've all be very nice and welcoming.  I even went to dinner with one the other night.
And yes, for those of you who are keeping track, or who have no life, that person was a male.
A friendly, and interesting, evening.

While everyone has been friendly, there is one thing that I've noticed ...... and have questioned, to myself and to the guy I had dinner with.
Upon being introduced to people here, the first question is usually, "Where are you from?" ...... and the second question, without fail (at least by all of the females I've met), is "What floor are you on?".
The first time I was asked that I didn't think anything about it.  The second time I didn't think much, other than it was interesting.
The third and fourth time, I knew that the question was more about finding out my "status" than about my physical address.
In other words, "What floor are you on?" is the equivalent of "How much are you worth?"
Or at least that's what I've gathered.
And just between you and me ...... my 8th floor address is the lowest address I've encountered.
Interesting, to say the least.

Oliver is slowing adjusting to city life.
Very slowly.
He is totally freaked out by Jack.
And while I expected him to slowly adapt to him, I didn't expect him to be as freaked out as he is.
I finally figured out the problem:  it's the cone.
Jack still has a cone around his neck, and I think Oliver is totally freaked out by it.  It's like he thinks Jack is some sort of alien and not just a cat.
Which is totally understandable if you watch Jack from behind.
He looks like a bobble head when he walks.
Seriously.
His head, and the cone, swings from left to right quite dramatically.
Which I guess would be kind of freakish to another cat.
Or at least to Oliver.
Who's his own kind of freak.

So yeah, that's life in NY.
Interesting.
Refreshing.
Freakish.
And home.
Amazingly, surprisingly, and wonderfully ...... home.
I.
Love.
It.

Happy Monday/Tuesday, Peeps.
: )