things that happened today.

My life is so weird right now—usually I just work and work, and try to squeeze in gossiping with my friends, squeezing my cats until they meow, and reading The New Yorker when I can. But in addition to the work I’ve now got all this building renovation/chocolate shop-building stuff, and man–it’s making for some packed days. I might collapse from exhaustion soon, but right now I’m really enjoying the newness of overseeing renovations and dreaming of how the shop will look.

Because I happen to have photos to illustrate this particular packed day, I thought I’d write a little blog post about it. Here goes.

(Post-publication update: this post turned out to have a lot of parenthetical notes, this being the first [yet, also the last, due to the miracle of editing.


I am suddenly realizing I am almost hallucinatorily {????!!!!} exhausted]. If that sort of thing annoys you, maybe you can catch up with us tomorrow.)

First of all, I woke up at the UNBELIEVABLY EARLY hour of 8:45 am, completely refreshed and ready to start the day.

This never happens.

I’m the night-est of the night owls. Partially it’s because my rock n’ roll boyfriend stays up until 3 or so every night, but even when he’s gone I’m usually doing paperwork until 1 or 2 AM.

Even more amazingly, I actually made myself breakfast—another thing that never happens. It was just some fresh-squeezed oj and a soy yogurt, but it was something. Usually I just jet out of bed and tear into the world, stopping to eat only when the dizziness interferes with work. I’ve been trying really hard to change this lately, because the days when there was delicious savory food around all day at work are over, and caramel for breakfast is not a mistake you make twice.

Once groomed and fed, I delivered these gorgeousnesses to The Cheese Plate in Water Street Market, then went to the building to check things out.

Everyone was buzzing around like crazy in the two apartments that need renovating—the dumpster had just been delivered and half-rotting walls (um. We got a good deal on the building for a reason, OK?) and sheet rock were being tossed into it with abandon.

I started scraping letters off the front door window, and in a minute our friendly contractor, John, asked me to come by and look at something.

“What’s up?”

“We just found a little pistol in the rafters. I don’t think it’s loaded, but you probably want to call the police.”

The pistol was pretty tiny, but it was also real, so I called the police and got to fill out a report and everything. Pretty exciting!

After the CSI part of the day was done, I finished scraping the window and ran a million errands that culminated in me eating Pringles for lunch as I drove to work. Wow.

You know what I could really use right now? A vegetarian home meal delivery service!

At work I fired up the tempering machines and made bunnies and matzo toffee all afternoon.

Then I packed ’em up, dropped them off at the PO, chatted with a friend I ran into (told her the pistol story, of course) and zipped home for an early night in order to catch up with some computer work.

On the way home, I bit the bullet and called this guy who runs a mega warehouse of wholesale kitchen goods where I’d seen a vintage chocolate display case. It was the kind of thing I knew I would regret not buying my entire life if I passed it up. I first spied it last week, in the flashlight-light of the unheated (and unelectrified) warehouse, shining beautifully despite a thick dusty patina, and I hadn’t been able to get it out of my head. I’m a sucker for vintage crap—that sturdy elegance gets me every time.

It needs to have refrigeration put into it, which doubles the cost, but I decided I had to splurge on just one thing, and this was going to be it. I negotiated a price for it and tossed in a brand-new three-bay sink with a drain board (word the wise: don’t buy a used commercial sink. You will regret it. I speak from experience.) too.

Both came in over-budget by a couple hundred dollars, but I consoled myself with two thoughts:

1) I made up the budget without actually researching any costs, and

2) I budgeted $100 for a fire extinguisher and only paid $60.

(I’m an amazing rationalizer, what can I say.)

At home I defrosted some homemade udon noodles (I’m mostly eating food from the freezer these days because there’s not much local produce yet and, more urgently, I’m trying to eat up lots of meal delivery leftovers in order to sell a chest freezer I no longer need. This project has been resulting in me doing things like eating Caesar salad dressing 10 times a week because I defrosted four cups of it, or finding amazing, inventive uses for three quarts of glorious smoky olive oil-refried beans [soup, with rice, with veggies, with kimchi, made into burgers, made into croquettes, a dip, with avocado, etc. Endless!]), tackled the giant pile of mail (when you start an LLC, unsolicited offers of amazingly high APR credit cards come in by the truckload, it’s truly astonishing.), and eyed a pile of receipts warily and wearily. Entering receipts into my accounting spreadsheet is a task I can usually only slog though with a glass of wine and extremely mindless TV shows in the background. Tonight I wasn’t feeling it.

But, the mail! It held a surprise.

The other day, I went by the building to drop some stuff off (I have a terrible idea that if I just bring a carful of crap from one kitchen to the next every time I drive by, the move will be painless and smooth. Needless to say, the contractor who’s going to be building the kitchen, my sweet pal Aaron—who can’t start work on the kitchen/shop until I get a building permit, which is contingent on the Planning Board granting me a Special Use Permit (hooray, red tape!)—is heavily against the idea of me filling up the space with endless boxes when he will soon be doing space-taking-up things like resurfacing a ton of concrete flooring. Not to mention that I am planning on doing all of the painting, including painting all the ceiling tiles, myself, and should probably not cram the place too much until that’s done, lest I trip over a pile of X-rated chocolate molds (oh, I have more than the vulvas, you better believe it.) while craning my neck to put a final coat on the ol’ ceiling. But the lure of the smooth move is so alluring—I can’t stop myself.

Anyway, I was finished unloading the car and was literally just staring at the building and daydreaming when the mailman came up and said “Are you Lagusta?”

“Yep–how’d you know?”

“It says so on your license plate. Oh, and on this really fancy letter you just got. I’m Steve, your mailman. Are you opening a chocolate shop??”

“Yep–how’d you know?”

“Ah, you know: small town. Wait–are you in Rosendale now, in B&S Plaza?”

“Yep–how’d you know???”

“I live right around there.”

So either I live in the cutest, quaintest small town ever, or…my new mailman is a major stalker.

Anyway, the letter was the cutest thing ever. Remember in this blog post when I asked people to write me letters to the new address? Someone did! And it was the sparkliest, most adorable letter ever. (The theme of the past two paragraphs is: “ever.”) Such a treat, among a pile of credit card offers, bills, receipts (grrrr) and insurance papers.

So there we are. A busy, rushing-around sort of day, but a good one.

Now: do I skip out on email and accounting to go watch salamanders cross the road, or not?


2 thoughts on “things that happened today.

  1. Lagusta, I’ve been wanting to tell you how happy I am for you that all is moving ahead on North Front Street (and that the moving of heads, and now pistols, is hopefully behind you!) Luscious news, and love that you manage to think about sallys amidst the demands of renovations, filling chocolate orders, and shaking up the world! xo

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s