Numero Uno

I had a great weekend.

My scrubs, which I had been waiting on for about three days ended up being on the second floor landing. That box had been sitting there a couple of days. I had passed it on my way to the roof.

New York rooftops are a big draw for living here. One may be poor and homeless and unable to afford anything, but the view of Manhattan is always free, yours. The Empire State Building is yours. The Chrysler Building is yours.

Freed up from having to sit around the apartment waiting on the UPS man who wasn't going to come (because he had already come), I took the train on Saturday up to 81st Street. I got off at the Museum of Natural History, crossed Central Park, and got held up in the crowds who were watching a German parade. This was really weird, all these people in Bavarian costumes on floats and on foot, marching bands, a Jagermeister bus (really). I'm still finding my way around, and I ended up taking a really roundabout way to the Metropolitan Museum of Art where Yer works. She had told me to come up that day. I spent a couple of hours in the Asian Art section. There is really amazing stuff up there. I especially loved the Cambodian and Indian Art. I definitely want to go back!

Yer and I met Tom in the East Village, and we went to dinner at Tara where our adorable waiter, Charles, was rushing around providing excellent service, and being up front about the fact that he needed a cigarette.

Last night we went to a club where the music was a flashback to the early 2000's rave-era. Of course, Tom and Yer were in heaven. Before that, we had gone to the Phoenix. Nobody got pushed (Sondra). To be honest with you, I don't know where we went after that. Blackouts, woo-hooooooooooooo!

Today we had lunch at this really cute place in Williamsburg called Jimmy's Diner. It was not what I would call heaven for a vegan, but there were options for a light-weight vegetarian. The highlight of the meal was the deep-fried deviled eggs. It sounds disgusting, but it was AMAZING.

We took the train to the City and wandered around looking at extremely cute clothes that we cannot, alas, currently afford (I can't wait to be able to afford nice things!). The discovery of the day was not clothes, but this bead/home store called Beads of Paradise on 17th Street. They've got really lovely things there.

Outside the American Apparel at the Bedford Ave stop in Brooklyn, I sat beside two skinny hipster boys who work in the store. They went to great lengths discussing hand-rolled cigarettes. One of them, who was smoking a Marlboro, claimed that, back when he rolled his cigarettes, he would roll them for people who bummed a cigarette. "They always appreciated it," he said. The other one, who was smoking a rolled cigarette, said that people usually don't want a cigarette when they find out his are rolled.In front of one of the store windows, someone had written the following statement in chalk: "Every time I walk by an American Apparel, I want to break shit." The handwriting was very neat, sort of small.

The manager of the American Apparel (another skinny hipster) was wearing the tightest jeans I've ever seen. He was covered in butch tattoos, but seemed quite prissy as he paced up and down on the sidewalk, trying to get the morning shift covered on his i-phone. He was waving the schedule about in the air.

A very odd couple walked by. The guy was about 5'5, with tacky jewelry and a hairy chest. The girl was about 5'10, with curly blond hair. They both spoke with thick New York accents.
Her, stopping in front of the store: Hey, lets go in here!
Him: What do ya wanna go in there for?
Her, sounding rather indignant: They've got great stuff!
Him, spreading his hands wide: You go. I'm gonna take this stuff to the car (indicating take-out food boxes)
Her, walking past the store: Fine!
Him, still standing there: Go! Enjoy yourself!
Her: Forget it.

They then continued off down the street, so very mismatched and irritated with each other...