It's rare that I am home during a weekday. But since I am leaving for Iceland this evening and just found out I have more vacation days left than I thought, I took the day off. I figured this was perfect because I could get another yoga class and gym workout in before I take off for four days. So that I did. I went to the early yoga class, which was great because I haven't been to one of Jeff's classes in forever and I like them a lot. Then I headed over to the gym. This is when I started to realize that Hoboken is just weird during the day.
The gym wasn't crowded for once, which was awesome. I also saw two of my new favorite people. The first was an older woman rocking hot pink running shoes and a fanny bag. Good for her! As if that wasn't good enough, as she was packing up her things I noticed she had a Song Walkman, that's right, a cassette Walkman. She is my new hero. As I was leaving the locker room I spotted a short stocky Asian man using the cables to workout. So what, you ask. His hair was unlike anything I have ever seen. It defied gravity in ways that emo kids could only dream of. It seemed to float above his head, angled to the right, as if he was stuck in a severe wind storm. It blew my mind a little.
On my walk home, I witnessed a classic argument between two lovers. The man, thin and tall, wearing a sideways baseball cap, walked ten feet in front of his significant other who was pushing their baby (I assume their baby) in a stroller.
He screamed back to her, "You're a cop caller. You're a fucking cop caller. We could have no money because you made us broke and I could go out and sell drugs to get us some money and you would still call the fucking cops. You fucking cop caller. Loser."
And I thought, "Well, I guess there are worse things than being single."
As I walked up to my apartment, my downstairs neighbor, who for awhile I was certain was dead because he didn't pick up his mail in four weeks, was walking up the stoop, laundry detergent in hand. So good, he's not dead, that's fantastic for him. When he realized I was behind him, I said, "Hey! You DO live here!"
"Yes, do you? Are you number two?"
"No, I'm three."
"Cool, I don't think I've ever met you before."
I've met this guy like four times and only three people live in my building. Maybe this is why guys don't call me—they've entirely forgotten they've ever met me. And thus concluded my morning in Hoboken. Now to finish getting ready for Iceland!