Back in the spring semester when I was taking my modern dance class (remember my interpretive dancing?) I made friends with an undergrad guy named Taylor. Learning that he had a work study program with my department, the friendship was solidified. Most of Taylor's friends are still under 21, so in planning his 21st birthday he recruited me to celebrate the night with him (being the reputable woman of legal age that I am) so last Thursday we went to dinner and then spent the evening bar hopping, pub crawling, and club dancing. (Starting at a hotel lounge in the financial district where he knew an employee. Translation? Free drinks!)
We were at a dance club in midtown, but taking a breather at a table when I saw two people crossing nearby us... was that...? It was! (Surprise!) My crazy ex-coworker Joe, and when I say crazy, I mean crazy! He was the one that I randomly ran into on my birthday this year who helped catapult us into a dance frenzy in East Village until 5am, and here he was now! You never run into people you know in the city! Joe and his friend were apparently just beelining to the restrooms but were happy to stay for "a catch-up drink." My favorite part of this was, as we were catching up, we started musing over when the last time we saw each other was.
"Was it my birthday back in the spring?"
"No, no way. We've hung out since then. Hmm. Why didn't you come to my birthday party?"
"Your birthday party? I don't remember any birthday party. You didn't invite me."
"Oh yes I did! I definitely put it out there, like on Facebook and texting, but you never came."
"NO Joe, I would have went had you invited me. The last thing I went to was that outdoor barbecue in your patio space at the beginning of summer. Hey wait... that was the party where you had that cardboard cutout to take pictures with... wasn't that your birthday party?"
"Yeah that was it! So you DID come."
"That's right! So I WAS invited!"
Cheers.
On Friday I had a stuffy council meeting to attend in the evening and was exhausted from Thursday, so planned to go home, but my friend Samantha suggested I meet her and Katrina at a bar in Greenwich. Just one drink, since she had to catch her boat back to Jersey at 7:45. Since my council meeting wasn't over until 6, I figured I would be lucky to rush down a drink with them, but went anyway.
I could have walked right by the Blind Tiger and not known it was a loud, bustling, stock-broker-exchange type of hands-up and carrying your beer over your head back to the fireplace type of place. It was an icy evening, so walking into that heatcloud was welcome and warm, and this place specialized in craft beers and I had a few nice pumpkin ales. Samantha, Katrina and I had such a good time talking with the after-work crowd and hiding from the outside cold that Samantha delayed her departure until the latest 10pm boat. Katrina and I were still in much too good of a mood to end the evening, so we continued to go around. (Surprise!) The Slaughtered Lamb before we found a basement place called Down The Hatch, which was such a college-frat party they were playing the likes of 311 and Incubus. I didn't mind. It was bright, and loud, with lots of game tables and lights and cheap drinks! We made more friends and essentially closed the place down.
I've been determined to be more disciplined with my writing, because I've never written so much in my life as I have been the past year or two. I have hundreds of google docs with a paragraph here, the spark of something there, and I just never have the time or peace to sit down and work on anything, especially if I'm ever at home. I did some research and after running errands around Astor Place, I came to the Vagabond Cafe, a small hole-in-the-wall deep in the Village owned by the same couple who worked it behind the counter. It was Central Perk if Central Perk had really existed and was a little smaller. Big couches and armchairs, table lamps and coffee and beer, wine, food on the menu. Everyone was cozied up with either a friend or (more likely) their MacBooks. A small brick corner with instruments and equipments ended up being a venue for a live acoustic performance shortly before I left. When I left, I couldn't go straight home, because I loved this neighborhood. I wandered a few places and went into some bookstores and random shops. I stopped in to eat on the wild MacDougal Street (that tiny road is a neon-lighted ping-pong table of people bouncing back and forth across all the comedy and dance clubs and lounges and eateries) and as I was making my way to the subway, I was surprised to see an awning and downward staircase to a very non-pretentious and sports-type dive bar on the block, and figured a Yuengling was exactly what I wanted before I went home.
As I went in, I took in my surroundings discreetly, noticing the pool table, the scattered stools that were filled with patrons, a singular table against the wall as full and active as the Dead Poet's Society, and a further expanse of another room to the back. I ponied up to the bar and got a draught beer. Once served, I was turning around to adjust my purse on the stool before hoisting myself onto it to sit, but during this process, I happened to glance over and froze awkwardly. The entire table of Dead Poets were parted down the middle so the whites of all their pairs of eyes had a view to visibly stare at me expectantly, as though they were waiting for me to make a speech. Uh, wut? Then I saw it. Back in the corner and looking with gleaming eyes just waiting for me to recognize him was my coworker Jeff, the one that came to the Colbert Report taping with me. (Surprise!) WHAT. WERE. THE. CHANCES.?! Jeff has never made it a secret that he doesn't do much of the bar scene, and I never go out in this neighborhood, nor was I planning to do so at all tonight, and here we were randomly in the same place together. It was the freak coincidence heard round the world. Everyone was musing on it for the rest of the night. I joined the table of Jeff's friends and roommates and brother and they so graciously took me in, and were all friendly and talkative and funny, I felt like I had come there with them and known them all for much longer. I think it helped that they all had very similar jokes and friendship chemistry as my own San Diego & Vegas Club group, so it was a little nostalgic. So my one Yuengling nightcap turned into 7 hours of festivities with Jeff & Co before we all wandered out and walked dry-eyed to the subway so late that the Empire State Building wasn't even lit up anymore. You really can't plan good nights, and there's something infinitely more rewarding about the surprise than the agenda.
Many an unforeseen night gave me the insight to set an alarm when I got home that evening, and thank goodness. I got up about 5 minutes before I was expecting the call from a friend to plan where we would be meeting in the next hour for brunch. I was able to wake up and test out my voice so it wouldn't show that I had slept in my makeup until the phone rang when the call finally came. Twenty minutes later I was fresh-faced and autumn-weather-clad and out the door on the subway into the city for a beautiful brunch on the Upper West Side at a charming French bistro called Nice Matin. (It's truly impossible to say that with an American accent, and therefore not sound like a pretentious chaamp when said with a French accent. It's neese muh-tahn, and I physically could never say nais matten. What is everyone else saying?!) The weather was so gorgeous, the place had the removeable walls down so bright air was breezing in from every which way, warmed by the greenhouse effect the sun was having inside. After brunch we walked through some street fairs into Central Park, where I had to take off my scarf because it was too warm. It smelled like fall, a lot of the dry yellowed leaves on on the ground had been crunched as fine as sand under all the runners, walkers, tourists, horse carriages and bikers. The sky was so blue that all the high rises on the far reaches of Central Park's hard rectangular shape looked photoshopped. There was nothing to complain about anywhere in our world.
The Yankees game was coming on soon, and since I had no inkling to return home, we decided to watch it in the city and found a lovely bar with the game on, unfurled ourselves on the padded bench across from the TV, ordered beers and appetizers and put our hands behind our heads to watch Detroit send the Yankees home losers again in this series.
Toward the end of the evening, a very elderly and obviously Jewish couple came to dine and sat next to us. We ended up talking all things New York (since my company was both NYC native and Jewish, they therefore had plenty to talk about) and I had to turn my face away to laugh hysterically as the woman, telling her husband what he would like and then ordering for him, dealt with the serving staff. "Yes of course we want the soup first! What a ridiculous question! Is today your first day on the job?" I was dying I tell you! I think the old woman knew and I think she loved the attention. She smiled at me and then even ramped up her insults. "No brain! That girl has no brain!" I felt bad for the waitress but this couple was so old you couldn't even really take offense to them, and the waitress really didn't look like she would be losing any sleep over it.
Going home was so anticlimactic after such a beautiful Sunday and an even better weekend. I have a kinda busy week this week too with our office being moved and relocated. I just moved apartments! I should be exempt from anything, even packing up my office stuff!
I wish I had music to personify the weekend, but I don't really. It was very varied and surprising and unexpected. If I had to choose something right now, I would venture some Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros. Hear how it's so catchy and electric and exciting and feeling?
You're all very welcome. Have a great week. But mostly, stay classy.
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