I woke up about twenty

I woke up about twenty minutes early this morning so I could get the voting out of the way before work. I didn’t even need to set an alarm because Max’s autumn routine involves meowing at 6:10, being locked out of the bedroom for an hour, and meowing to be let back in at 7:10. (awesome.) I was already feeling on the groggy side as we were up late last night looking at the voter guide so I could vote with confidence on the ballot questions. Unfortunately, this turned out to be a delicious little turn of irony for me, as my discombobulated state led to me leaving the booth having forgotten to actually vote on any of the ballots. Which I feel a bit stupid about, thank you very much.

Since my morning was already swinging in action mode, I decided to keep the momentum going by finishing up some weekly grocery shopping at the Whole Foods near work. Ever since J and I moved and FreshDirect has forsaken us, we’ve been at the mercy of Sunset Park’s grocery stores, which are stocked as much on whim as necessity. After several struggling weeks of last minute dinners consisting of scraps found in the house and bike trips down to Park Slope, we decided we needed to make a bigger effort to go real grocery shopping again and have a kitchen stocked with real supplies for real meals. So we begrudgingly began to make up menus for the week and compiled shopping lists and actually went shopping over the weekend. This usually works out to mean getting basics in Sunset Park and getting “fancier” stuff (unwilted cilantro, blue cheese, raw cashews—I know, it’s like we’re freakin’ ROYALTY) at Whole Foods. Whenever I’m at Whole Foods, I feel like I’ve been sucking on a sticky rootbeer candy my whole life and someone’s just thrown the doors of the Hershey factory open for me. I just want to set up a tent and live in the store, foraging for organic pastas and carob-coated almonds and never setting foot in another Key Food again.

I have holes in all my socks and I keep whining to J about them. Finally he asked me why I don’t just go buy some more socks, which is a logical question. It occurred to me that I couldn’t remember the last time I bought socks for myself. Often they turn up in Christmas stockings, and once—best present ever—I got a million fancy dress socks for a birthday. I guess I’ve gotten so used to them coming from some outside source that it didn’t immediately occur to me that if I needed more, I should go buy more. I’ve been spoiled by socks.

Also! I was invited to join the television-obsessed blog, Warm Glow, run by the people who brought you Ultimate Blogger. You’ll be able to catch my TV-related rants thataway.

--------