About a month ago, I was reading my horoscope in Elle at the salon. It said such good things about the month ahead that I got excited for my summer. It said July 24 would be the best day of the whole year. Naturally, I made a note on my calendar. Here’s how it went:
5:55 Alarm goes off. I grab my phone and turn off the beeping and respond to a text I received while I was sleeping. My cat meows at me for food. The vet told me to cut back on the all-you-can-eat buffet. Gatito isn’t happy about it. I fill his bowl, take a shower, make scrambled eggs with asparagus (special treat. Usually I have bell pepper in my eggs), get dressed in my favorite black work dress — because if something great is going to happen today, I want to be dressed appropriately — and make a salad.
6:51 Uh-oh, I missed the window for catching the early train. I still need to straighten up my apartment, scoop out the litter box and take the trash out because my landlord is starting to show my apartment today. On my way down the stairs, I peek at the unofficial spot where residents in my building leave things we no longer need. The box I left there yesterday is gone except half a roll of baby shower wrapping paper. Makes me happy that people wanted my scrapbook stickers, old fan and some cat toys.
7:22 I get off the C train and cross 42nd street for Starbucks even though I missed the early train, so I’m cutting it close. As I wait to cross 42nd again, grande vanilla latte in hand, I scan the people around me. The Times Square crowd is odd in the early hours. I see people clearly going to work, obvious tourists in baggy shorts, stopping to check street signs and maps, but a third group fascinates me. They’re the younger tourists who clearly dress they way they think New Yorkers dress — we’re talking evening attire before 8 a.m. And they don’t look like they’re still wearing it (or wearing it again) from last night.
7:33 A man and I take the elevator up together. He also has a Starbucks cup in his hand. We don’t talk until I’m stepping off and he tells me to have a great day. I automatically say, “you too!” and refrain from mentioning that I’m planning to have the best day of the whole year. While I walk to my desk, I regret wearing my nude flats and not my black heels. I like a little extra height.
9:20 Quyn texts me that she’s going to urgent care. A few minutes later, she tells me they’re admitting her to the emergency room. I ask her if she needs anything or wants me to meet her there.
10:37 Quyn says it’s just a virus and she’s going home. I’m relieved.
11:45 I’ve been running the site this morning and the numbers are good, but I want one more fresh slide. I ask my co-workers if they’d seen anything good. After a discussion, I decide to elevate a couple bikini stories. They lead the page all afternoon. I’m torn between being glad my slide is doing well and disappointed that a bikini story is out performing more important news.
12:30 I’ve handed the page off to the afternoon team, and go to the kitchen to get my lunch. I only packed a salad today, not my usual yogurt and fruit, so I go upstairs to buy a banana and grab some cookies, too. The best day of the year includes some cookies.
2:00 While waiting for a team conference call to start, I check the paddleboarding schedule at the boat rental place I have been going to the last two years. I bought a Groupon for a Twilight SUP tour. I’ll use it tonight if I can. No dice, I sign up for a Friday class instead. I try to think of something fun to do tonight instead.
2:45 The call ends about 15 minutes early. I’ve got 45 minutes before my next call, so I look over some emails I stashed in my read-later folder. I check to make sure I’ve made the necessary changes to the CMS. Then ask a co-worker if she wants me to write something for her. She gives me an easy slide that I finish in a few minutes.
2:58 I text Quyn, asking if she wants me to bring her pizza.
3:30 Usually I go home at 3:30, but I had to stick around for another conference call. I listen, but literally say nothing until my boss calls me out, and asks if I have anything to say. I don’t really.
3:50-ish My officemates and I talk about the call we just had. It’s a complicated matter with no good answer, but it feels good to commiserate together. Then I pack up my laptop, mouse and headset. I have Friday off, but am working from home Saturday and Sunday.
4:00 My laptop is so heavy as I walk to the subway. I push aside any thoughts of stopping at Duane Reade or the grocery store — as I do every week when I carry my computer home.
4:07 Quyn replies, saying yes, bring pizza. Since I’m already on the train home, I text that I’m going to drop off my computer, and then I’ll be on my way.
4:16 I put in a Seamless order for carryout at our favorite West Village gluten-free pizza place, change my clothes and run out to the subway back downtown.
4:50 This is the slowest train ever! I am afraid the pizza is getting cold. It should be done now.
5:02 Arrive at Wild. The host tells me it’ll be a few more minutes. OK, I guess I didn’t have to speed walk from West Fourth Street.
5:20 Pizza in hand, I buzz Quyn’s apartment. Quyn tells me about her vacation, I show her pictures of my niece and nephew and tell her about the new breed of tourists in Times Square. We get a bit more sentimental when we talk about how much we’ve grown since our New York moves. Around 9:30, I go.
9:37 I text Quyn that I finally found my way to the 14th Street station from her door without directions. It’s a first for me.
10:05 I get home. Gatito runs out in the hall as I open the door, so I let him do his nightly sweep while I fill my water bottle. When he comes in, I lock the door, wash my face, brush my teeth and sit on my bed to write my blog post. I takes a while because I keep stopping to play with Gatito and his laser pointer.
Was it the best day of my whole year? Not quite, but it was a great day anyway.
I’m a journalist, content strategist, doting auntie, amateur bobsledder, fitness enthusiast, and wannabe health nut (who loves chocolate and pizza too much to fully commit). I don't want you to think my life is perfect. It's not.