Where Am I?

I'm trying to wrap my head around the fact that I'm only in NYC for about 36 more hours before I scramble for Chicago and Portland, and all I have managed to do in my jetlagged state is drink coffee and unzip my suitcase and stare at the clothes I need to wash between now and tomorrow night.

I should be going into the office, but part of me says, nahhhh, do that tomorrow.

I'm going to meet Roni for pizza at the place on Bedford Avenue that we love. I always love real New York pizza when I come back from a trip, and the best is in Brooklyn, my friends. We have all those Napolitanos and Sicilianos you see, and they make the best pizza. Though I'm not a fan of the Sicilian pizza -- too bready. Gimme a nice thin-crust cooked in a wood-fired oven, with mozzarella that was made this morning, and I'm the happiest girl in the world.

We're having.regular summer here, too, which means that with the blinds closed and a fan blowing, my room feels all cool and cozy. I could lay around in here all day with the little miss and be perfectly happy to read and nap for the next day. She'd probably like it, too, seeing as she's happily thrown herself down next to me and is contentedly upside-down with that half-inch of tongue sticking out and her paws kneading the air. Now that her rather doglike "You're back! You're back! Oh my GOD, I thought you were gone forever!" frenzy has passed, she's perfectly content to just be Aileen-adjacent again with just the occasional pat with a paw. "Still there? Okay, snore."

I was going to call the SNF while I'm here in town, but decided, again, nahhh. Honestly, I just don't feel like shaving my legs right now. Plus, the afterglow of the redheaded pressman hasn't worn off yet, and I think I'll wallow in that for awhile.

Confession: while the actual grown-up rumpusing is oodles of fun, and I mean rolling around, changing positions, let's try this, ow that hurt, okay that's good, whoop-em-up OODLES OF FUN, I love the making-out-like-horny-teenagers part just as much. And the Woodpecker is a great maker-outer. Head-spinning, devastating kisses, of the hand on the small of the back, pull you in close like it's a slow dance at the prom variety. Savory.

I think marriages would be better if couples just made out more, don't you? If, instead of having sex appointments ("Well, honey, it's 10 o'clock on Saturday night, should we get it on?), they just randomly started grabbing each other and making out whenever the urge hits.

Now, I may be unqualified to make this statement, having never been married nor having had children myself, but I think it would be a nice thing for kids to see their parents are still hot for each other. I'll bet lots of couples had noisy, enthusiastic sex before the kids came along, only to turn into those couples having silent, furtive sex only when the kids were asleep. Maybe that's why so many married women get all fake-orgasmic and "Ohhhh, my gawwwwd," when they eat a rich dessert in a restaurant -- they can't make those faces and noises at home anymore.

Me? I certainly enjoy a great dessert, but I'm not transferring any sex noises to the creme brulee unless the creme brulee is being licked off my thighs.

Root beer. I want a root beer with my pizza.