Make My Day

by Julie Robinson

  Over the years I’ve become quite skilled at doing exactly what I want, when I want, simply because I want.  This approach to life—making every day count—is a choice that has left me happy/completely broke/sexually charged/selfish--and for the most part I’m okay with that.  Here’s my recipe for preparing for a day of self-indulgence:


1 C of waking up without an alarm at a time that completely suits me—sometimes early, sometimes late
1 TBSP of cuddling with Bennett (my dog) or the lucky guy who happens to be in my bed after the night before
1 TSP of lingering over a latte
½ dash of mapping out exactly what I want to do for the day

Sift the dry ingredients together until well blended and add wine/beer/margaritas until the mixture forms a stiff pastelike substance.  Bake at a warm, balmy 70 degrees and sunny.  Cut into bitesized pieces and share with friends and family.

Most days it’s me at the helm steering my world in the direction I want it to go.  I see it as my responsibility to make my life as blissful as I can.  That’s my job.  On other occasions complete strangers have stepped up to the plate and completely made my day. . . . .


Back when I was living in Washington D.C. I worked downtown at a brokerage firm as a secretary.  I probably could have shown up to work in just about anything, but seeing that I was fresh out of college I actually liked the idea of dressing up for work and wearing a suit.  The springtime weather and cherry blossoms took me outdoors for lunch, and as I was walking back a guy pulled up in his convertible, jumped out, thrust a bouquet of flowers at me, jumped back in, and sped off.  There was no card.

I have a favorite watering hole I like to go to on Colfax.  On the south facing patio I can sit outside in the sun all afternoon soaking in the people watching and counting the emergency vehicle sirens.  When the server came out and handed me a fresh beer without having to ask I was a bit surprised—good service is not really a part of this place’s draw.  “A guy staying across the street in the Ramada called and told me to buy the girl in the green shirt a beer.  I think that’s you.”

Most of the time I prefer local dive bars, but occasionally I also hang out with the tourists.  Strangers hold a special appeal for me.  This can be especially true when it comes to sex.  Hotel bars are the best for meeting out-of-towners with expense accounts.  While most women prefer to have a girlfriend as a wingman, I prefer working directly with the staff.  I was only mildly surprised when my bartender friend handed me a folded napkin and said, “The guy across the bar asked me to give this to you.”  My vivid red blush came instantly and gave the contents of the message away—MEET ME IN MY ROOM #119 IN FIVE MINUTES.

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While it’s true that I’ve never had a man bend on one knee and profess his undying love AND I’ve never been whisked away to a tropical island by a lover on a whim AND walking down the aisle to meet the man of my dreams at the other end is probably not in the cards for me . . . . I do have a pretty damn good life full of daily doses of adventure and a few surprises built in.

Have a great day!