it's nearly drawing to a balmy end. after 3 steady months in the city, i feel like i'm starting to get comfortable.
in my job. in my shoes. in my new home.
not that it's a home quite yet.
a general contractor has been working on the basement i'm supposed to inhabit since june. for now, i'm still on the couch. it's glorious, really.
especially when the heavy evenings require me to stretch out in various states of undress before my unsuspecting roommates who have become all too accustomed to the shadow of a nipple too oft peeking over the edge of the blanket as i grumble in early morning half-stupor.
saturday started with a quick visit to the farmer's market to pick up a few pounds of brandywine tomatoes (that have now become my new obsession. i could eat brandywines, mozzarella, & basil every day until i die. and broccoli. but that's another story). afterwards, i helped my friend (and roommate carmine's gal) move into out apartment. i spent the day sweating and playing box tetris as i tried to maneuver her items into the space before our OTHER roommate moves out. carm & lulu rewarded my herculean efforts with the best cheeseburger i've ever had (bonnie's grill on 5th ave in park slope. AND they serve magic hat). we then proceeded to royale. i drank a few blueberry pale ales before getting in a cab to nurse my throbbing (... not head...) biceps.
sunday= brunch at olea in fort greene (which was a beautifully piquant bloody mary and cilantro scramble with olives & zucchini). then, we ran off to singsing, where i discovered that i do a brilliant shirley manson. we spent 2.5 hours (and ended with one verse of "only in my dreams" by debbie gibson. chosen randomly. i'm serious). later, brandywines & "a clockwork orange."
this summer dribbles down my chin in sweet, seedy goodness. and this time, i don't mind the stains.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Thursday, August 23, 2007
booty
damn widget only allows me to publish short posts.
the train of thought has left the station.
more later.
the train of thought has left the station.
more later.
hello, sexy.
i was 13 years old, with dirty blonde hair halfway down my back and my pre-womanly bits just starting form under my then favourite sunflower-adorned short overalls (always paired with the black cardigan & imitation doc martens i didn't take off for most of my adolescence).
only a slight nod to nabokov, i might have been the epitome of budding sexuality, but was utterly inept. i had let one or two boys try to kiss me in the dim corners of dances in the cafeteria of my suburban middle school, but rolled my eyes and cringed if their tongues tried to pry my mouth open. no pop music, but only pop kisses, i demurred.
it was my first time visiting new york. i had been dragged along to accompany my parents on the trip while my dad attended (or at least PRETENDED to attend) a medical convention. they managed to convince me by promising at least 2 broadway shows. i can admit it now- the surest path to my pubescent heart was seduction by overtures, choreography, and sequins.
i was trailing behind my parents as we walked around midtown (precise locations elude me now). a man pounding the sidewalk with a sure step and careful pinstripes was walking against traffic. he looked straight at me, gave me a sly smile and said, "hello, sexy." i remember running ahead to cling to my dad's arm in shock. both my parents had heard every word and were thoroughly amused, both by the stranger's manner and my response. so amused, in fact, that they still tease me about it to this day.
15 years later, i find that i still get attention prowling the same streets, now only slightly more familiar. not that i am by any means a great beauty or striking in a head-turning way, but strange men ask me a flirtatious question or simply give me a warm hello on a daily basis. the manner is always appreciative, quite unlike the drunken protestations i got behind the bar, but i still don't get it.
perhaps being in an anonymous city gives men carte blanche to say things they wouldn't in a place where you're bound to bump into them at the drug store or in line at the dmv.
only a slight nod to nabokov, i might have been the epitome of budding sexuality, but was utterly inept. i had let one or two boys try to kiss me in the dim corners of dances in the cafeteria of my suburban middle school, but rolled my eyes and cringed if their tongues tried to pry my mouth open. no pop music, but only pop kisses, i demurred.
it was my first time visiting new york. i had been dragged along to accompany my parents on the trip while my dad attended (or at least PRETENDED to attend) a medical convention. they managed to convince me by promising at least 2 broadway shows. i can admit it now- the surest path to my pubescent heart was seduction by overtures, choreography, and sequins.
i was trailing behind my parents as we walked around midtown (precise locations elude me now). a man pounding the sidewalk with a sure step and careful pinstripes was walking against traffic. he looked straight at me, gave me a sly smile and said, "hello, sexy." i remember running ahead to cling to my dad's arm in shock. both my parents had heard every word and were thoroughly amused, both by the stranger's manner and my response. so amused, in fact, that they still tease me about it to this day.
15 years later, i find that i still get attention prowling the same streets, now only slightly more familiar. not that i am by any means a great beauty or striking in a head-turning way, but strange men ask me a flirtatious question or simply give me a warm hello on a daily basis. the manner is always appreciative, quite unlike the drunken protestations i got behind the bar, but i still don't get it.
perhaps being in an anonymous city gives men carte blanche to say things they wouldn't in a place where you're bound to bump into them at the drug store or in line at the dmv.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
widget-friendly
desktop blogging will make it ostensibly easier for me to post. now, there are no excuses.
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