Tuesday, August 28, 2007

baked alaska

Once upon a time, I moved from Michigan to New York. I left six days before graduation with three suitcases, dyed red hair and some ambiguous plans in my head. Since then, some things have happened; some things haven't happened. I can't say I'm restless, but different ideas are sprouting and the more I consider them, the more they start to look like me.

I spent this morning planning an elaborate (and ultimately fake) vacation to Alaska. If I left in three weeks, I could get a roundtrip flight to Anchorage for $398.

In other news, my roommate is here and awesome. Despite some minor altercations on move-in day (there's nothing like a streetfight-induced police call to welcome someone to the neighborhood), we squeezed her bountiful possessions into the apartment and then drank much celebratory beer. Already, we have successfully carried out full, interesting conversations, and as a bonus, our book and movie collections complement each other. I'm optimistic.

As for the weekend? On Friday, I drank tainted Dark & Stormies (we were forced to substitute raspberry ginger beer for regular, and malibu coconut for dark rum), watched Dirty Dancingfor the first time, and sat on Ivy's stoop to accidentally watch her neighbor take a shower (beware the curtainless apartment). On Saturday morning, I had brunch at Tiny Cup with Ivy, Thew and Alicia (the new roomie), and bought clothes at Salvation Army with autumn in mind. Later, Brian and I celebrated our one-year anniversary. The planned Governors Island picnic was foiled (yet again) by unbearable weather, so we spent an air-conditioned afternoon perusing Richard Serra's exhibit at MoMA and staying deliciously cool in Brian's apartment. After making a pitstop at Rosemary's Greenpoint Tavern, we trekked sweatily to Moto for pork chops, mashed potatoes, chocolate pudding and two bottles of wine. By most standards it was a lazy Saturday but, you know, it's all that saccharine stuff about who you're with and not where you are.

Monday, August 20, 2007

you are alone

Oh, weekend. Had plans to picnic on Governors Island on Saturday, but stayed in bed too long for the trip to be worthwhile. Decided to attend the Yankees v. Tigers game, but rode all the way up to the Bronx in a congested subway car to find the game sold out. Headed back into the city for a very specific and tasty dinner, but alas, the restaurant was closed for vacation. We ended up eating at some outdoorsy cafe with tree shade, Christmas lights, overcooked hamburger meat and a big barking dog. Back to Brian's, where I fell asleep on the couch watching The Barefoot Contessa with Humphrey Bogart and Ava Gardner. woke up to unforecasted gray skies and a urinary tract infection. Classy. Postponed the Governors Island picnic yet again, writhed around in bed for awhile until hunger took over pain. Ate drenched, soggy french toast that I couldn't finish because of the freakish texture. Spent the day popping pills that turned my pee orange and watching movies with Brian at my apartment. Today, I'm home from work for a doctor appointment and with a list of procrastinated tasks to complete before my roommate moves in on Wednesday. It'll be nice to have someone else here. Also, she can abundantly add to my kitchen utensils, which consist of one big green plastic plate, six spoons and a few noticeably inexpensive pots with metal handles.

Friday, August 10, 2007


Last Thursday marked my move to Brooklyn, which began horribly. I had an argument with my landlord, who very illegally attempted to withhold my entire security deposit for "severe damages", i.e., microscopic nail holes and picture hooks. I am in the midst of writing a letter to threaten legal action. Hooray! Then on the way to my new apartment, we were carefully driving along in a construction zone when we hit something protruding and the passenger window exploded into my face. By some grace of someone or something, I emerged with only a handful of cuts and undergarments filled with glass. And luckily, I had (reluctantly) paid the $18 U-Haul insurance, and thus did not have to pay for the damage. So hey, I survived, and my new apartment is the bomb. The end.

After a two-year absence, Liz E. is back in my life and staying at my apartment this week. She's here for a schmancy law firm job fair through Cornell, so during the day she does stressful lawyer-y things and then I meet her and other Future Lawyers of America for dinner. These people read my company's books and get excited when I talk about my job. I am intrigued because this never happens and I never expect it to.

In other news, I'm sifting through intern applications, and I am aghast at the number of errors wreaking havoc on resumes and cover letters. Seriously, you studied in "Londan"? "As you will find on me atached resume?" Pain.