Subway Ad Alteration on my Examiner blog
Food Porn #1 on my food blog
Food Porn #1 on my food blog
Last weekend felt like the greatest of the winter to spring transitionings ever. I’m not one for sunburns and sweat, but without the burden of twenty pounds of winter coat, walking outdoors suddenly seemed like a joy. After three months of holing up with Kamran in his apartment and dreading every social invitation, I realized that I don’t actually hate my friends. Incredible!
On Saturday night, I first met up with Jessica-the-German-intern and Erika-who-moved-from-Boston-specifically-to-work-for-my-company-a-month-before-they-laid-her-off for dinner at Cucina di Pesce, which we chose because it supposedly had outdoor seating and giant plates of delicious food for tiny prices. But no! My meal was four pieces of toasted raviolo for $2 each. And you know I’m a growing girl. But luckily, the fresh air made up for it, as did the intense debate about whether or not the craigslist killer is hot.
After that, I took the ladies to my favourite freaky sour frozen yogurt place (which is, just so you know, NOT PINKBERRY), where we loaded up on toppings so intense I’ll only be able to tell you about them when I review it in donuts4dinner.com. Look how yogurt-filled and glowing Jessica and I are:
Then we met up with our friend Sonya for her boyfriend, Adam’s, birthday party at ACE Bar, where she was busy wearing a romper, showing off her side tattoos, and basically making out with innocent drunk girls:
Despite the fact that ACE has skeeball, darts, pool, animal-shooting games, and frat boys, Jessica and I were sort of sticking to the vinyl seats and having about this much fun:
So we gathered our friend Beth, ditched the Asians, and went to an outdoor bar down the street for an all white girl party with frozen margaritas and lots of talk about how we should all move to Paris, the white girl dream capital of the world.
I’d planned to meet up with Sonya to continue the Adam-related festivities at Beauty Bar, but then Beth offered me a ride home in her Alfa Romeo, which is a convertible, and convertible trumps claustrophobic bar. So we drove through the streets, wind in our very short hair, lights blurring, people yelling at us from their balconies, “Nice car!”, us waving back:
And that was only the beginning.
Things that are great about working in downtown New York City:
watching the Staten Island Ferry roll in and out from the conference room
as you take the afternoon off to play your Nintendo DS
Statue-of-Liberty-gazing in Battery Park,
pretending you’re Patrick Bateman in American Psycho at Harry’s Steakhouse,
watching tourists cup the bull’s balls near Wall Street,
and so on and so on.
Things that are not great about working in downtown New York City:
Giant planes flying two millimeters from your office building and your security department coming over the loudspeakers to tell you that lots of other nearby buildings are evacuating but that you should sit tight and hope to not get smashed into.
Even not greater is that you happened to be downstairs at the building’s Starbucks getting your expensive iced coffees when the announcement was made, and you didn’t understand why all of these businesspeople were crowding the sidewalks until you came back upstairs to mass hysteria.
Also: your company’s facilities department is ordering facemasks and hand sanitizer for everyone in the office due to the swine flu outbreak. You’re trying to keep it a secret that you both were raised on a pig farm and had pork for dinner last night.
I was complaining to Dr. Boyfriend last Thursday morning that being one of the very few women in my office meant that I was going to be expected to care about the annual Take Our Daughters And Sons To Work Day and all of the tiny visitors it would bring. (And by all of, I mean all of two, because no one in my office is an adult.)
As a woman, I’m supposed to automatically care about and want to interact with children. Which I don’t. When I used to work at the children’s science center during college, I was always so envious of the one old guy in my department who had a bunch of stock questions he’d ask kids: “What did you have for breakfast?”, “How many years before you get to go to kindergarten?”, “Which is your favourite animal at the zoo?”
I never had those questions ready, so I was always fumbling around for something to talk about and ended up asking things like, “Have you ever accidentally seen Daddy kissing someone else’s mommy?” I was never first on the list when annual raise time came, as you can imagine.
But for as much as I had prepared myself to totally ignore the kids in our office on Thursday, I hadn’t prepared myself for this:
Come on! Baby Owen in multi-pocketed shirt AND pants, playing with Tim’s BlackBerry pouch, that totally squeezable belly hanging out of them? It almost makes me want to take this back.
I forgot to tell you that a couple of weeks ago, I was picking Dr. Boyfriend up from law school, and after a stop at the Whole Foods in Columbus Circle for dinner at the hot bar, we exited the Time Warner Center to find a movie being filmed.
We obviously think celebrity is lame, but we couldn’t help trying to get a look at the actors to see what the fuss was all about. The whole sidewalk was roped off, stage lights were set up all around, and limos were pulled up to every curb. It turned out that Sarah Jessica Parker and Hugh Grant were filming some new movie called Did You Hear About the Morgans?. Greeeeeat title, huh?
Of course, Sarah Jessica and Hugh weren’t actually anywhere in sight. It was merely their stand-ins rehearsing the scene while they likely sat in their limos–Sarah Jessica calling home to Ohio, Hugh wondering how he was going to get past kissing Sarah Jessica’s horsey face without losing his lunch. But the crowd, of course, was still totally enthralled.
I doubt I’ll add their stand-ins to my list of famous people I’ve seen while living in NYC, but if Kamran keeps running into Keanu Reeves and Eliot Spitzer, I might get desperate for something to talk about.