Tag Archives: password

Experts say that it takes 21 days to create a habit

Well, I really thought I had this one wrapped up. But I have proved the experts wrong. After 6 months of writing on my blog every day I am quickly falling apart. Is it the heat? I don’t think so. Am I spending too much time vacuuming? Nope, pretty sure it’s not that. So what has rocked my world so much that I have let this habit of 6 months fall to the wayside?

And the answer is: My iPhone. Who needs a computer when I can check my emails and download a million apps to get me through the days of my life? Last week I downloaded wordpress.com because I thought I would like to post from my iPhone. So I downloaded the app and I attempt to sign in to my the sommertimes.wordpress.com account. I need my password. And, as usual, I don’t remember it so I have a temporary one sent to my Gmail. And then I sign in to the account on my iPhone — not so easy to type a whole post. But the most annoying part is that when I go back to my computer I am logged out of my account. So, once again, I have to request a new password. Why make it easy on myself? I always choose a password I am sure I will remember. Yeah, right!

Finished The Psychopath Test the other day.  So I’m pretty sure I’m not a psychopath. Oh wait a minute, according to the book — if you are reading the book and think that you might be a psychopath then you aren’t one. But what does it mean when you know you’re not a psychopath. Started reading A Tree Grows In Brooklyn for the second time. The first time was on the plane to Seattle sniffing bathroom fumes from my last row seat. My back room at home smells so much better. I was able to get through a few chapters and then I received an email from my library — the book I requested is ready for pickup. I am now ready Bossypants by Tina Fey. It’s gonna be a quick funny read.

We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act but a habit – Aristotle

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Filed under Books, Long Island Living, Real life

A Big Head and Other Fine Highlights of the Day

I called Drew yesterday morning. I was in the city and was hoping to catch him before he left for work. I called him at home with my iphone. Click, click, click, click . . . I put in my secret password and made the call. The answering machine picked up. I didn’t leave a message.

Took a quick walk on the High Line with Hannah. It was way too hot. Ended up sitting in a coffeehouse drinking iced tea to cool off. Hannah had an iced cappuccino and an arugula salad. Met Pam and Jan there. Jan wanted to see the big head in Madison Square Park so we took a walk over to the east side.

A big head, a comfy bed, a cute pup -- a fine time was had by us.

It was a big head . . . a really big white head — in the middle of the park. Took a cab to Pam and Jan’s room on Restaurant Row — The French Quarter. Cute room, tiny, but most importantly it was air-conditioned. Hot day. We told Rachel to meet us at the restaurant at 5:00. Phone call at 4:00: A shrieking Rachel, “I’m locked out of my apartment. I wanted to take a quick nap before dinner.” “Where are your keys?” says me. “Probably on the kitchen counter.” Ahh, a Rachel moment.

Hey, did I tell you about Hannah’s “Rachel moment”? Sunday night we are parked outside of Hannah’s apartment. The car is packed with her luggage and an air conditioner. She looks for her keys and can’t find them. They are in Merrick in her bag in her room.We are in the city. Luckily we found her roommates, unloaded the car, put the air conditioner in the window, and took Hannah home with us. (Sibling side story.)

Dinner at Sosa Borella on 50th and 8th Ave. — still good. And, as usual, Rachel was late. Why on earth she decided to take a taxi in the height of rush hour — from East Village — I’ll never know. And she’s surprised when it takes forever! We had already finished a carafe of sangria and all the appetizers by time she sat down.

Pam and Jan left for the ballet at 7:00 and we sat while Rachel slowly nibbled at her food and ordered another sangria. Afterwards, Hannah went uptown and Rachel and I took a cab going down. I jumped out of the cab at 8:06 and made the 8:08 LIRR. Drew picked me up and I walked in the door and checked the home phone messages. The first message was long and just a bunch of psycho babble. What the hell was it? Who does this? Could this be a butt call?  “That sounds like you,” says my drew to me. And — you know  what — it did sound like me — and it went on and on and on. It was me. Gotta learn how to use my phone. I keep forgetting to END my phone calls.

Still waiting for the original copy of the Bank of America reference letter I requested almost a month ago.

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Filed under Banking, Everyday Woman, Family, Food