I had one of those mornings where I once again thanked myself (and the other decision-makers involved) profusely for never having children. I am just not cut out for dispensing patient, gentle understanding to lesser-evolved and/or more helpless creatures than myself before noon.
Especially if I haven't slept well. Case in point: I wake up at 5:58am to the incessant yowling of one chubby calico cat (who is now rubbing up against my leg). I groggily acknowledge that 5 hours of sleep is not going to be enough for today, but sadly there are enough undesirable items on today's todo list that my mind is already being invaded by them and I know I won't get back to sleep. So fuck it, I'm a big boy, etc. I get up and feed the cat(s).
Except there's no dry food. Fine. That just means that we have a Gourmet Treat of canned food, tuna. Which makes everyone happy when they hear the can. Extremely happy, so much so in fact that Chubb Rock eats hers so fast that I don't notice she's eating Jo3n's as well until it's almost all gone.
Sigh. Ah, kids...they can be so cute. I stamp my foot once to remind Chubb how many dishes of food she's supposed to eat per meal, and she gallops away like a bloated squirrel. OK. Mission accomplished. Now: coffee. I hear the rhythmic gurgling of the coffee machine doing its thing, and I imagine a nice, steaming hot cup of...wait a minute. I didn't turn the coffee on. Say...that's not the coffeepot! It's....yes! The sound of a cat that has eaten too much too quickly, a sound which directly precedes the sound of 73 papertowels being ripped off of their dispenser and the Tourette's-style cursing of a crabby, crabby cat owner. Good morning!
Boîte: The Vnyl, a Sprawling East Village Club, Brings Back the ’70s - The four-story night life emporium features a cafe, cocktail bar, food and vintage LPs chosen by Adrian Grenier.
7 hours ago