Sticking to the Point

What I did this weekend by Kiki

I arrive in Bear Mountain, NY early. A change in plans due to weather,

I pick Nina and HPD up Friday morning before work. Depositing them at home, I'm back hours later, someone small in tow, and we hang until M gets home.

As is our way, we have shopping to do, so Nina, HPD and I take off Friday evening for the mall. Planning to meet in one hour, we split ditch HPD and head off to Nordstrom. Nina and I are good at shopping together, something I don't take for granted. Normally I prefer to shop alone, (Nina's probably saying, of course she does), but we have similar shopping styles. Somewhat determined and focused, without a lot of lingering or waffling.

After working for a few hours Saturday morning, we take an afternoon train into Manhattan. I have a haircut appointment and we have plans later that evening for dinner. Leaving HPD on a corner, we head off for the East Village and a couple hours HPD-free.

We stop for a photo,

make-up,

and then we tried to meet-up with HPD, who allegedly had "cell phone issues" and was unavailable for almost 2 hours. Here's Neen annoyed, trying yet again to reach HPD on the phone.

We managed to entertain ourselves with coffee and a trip to the bookstore, eventually locating him in one of two bars M recommended.

Dinner reservations at 6pm turned into three rounds of margaritas with a little food. One might say, I drank my dinner. 

Drunk dialing began in earnest, as did bad decision-making, when I decided I too needed a nightcap.

It's a little fuzzy from the time we left the bar I have no idea where that bar actually is to us sitting on the train, but that's when my troubles began.

A happy drunk, I quickly realized I was in trouble.

"I need to get off the train. Right. Now."

"You'll be fine, Kiki"

"No, we need to take a car, I can't be on this train."

I have no recollection of how Nina convinced me to stay on the train, but we do.

At some point I began to feel hot and claustrophobic and decided the only solution was to remove my long-sleeved t-shirt. In my seat. There was a lot of shimming and I heard threads breaking as I removed a tight shirt, from the neck down.

Happy again, I decide we need photos, the last three photos my camera takes. In repose with a color issue, my camera is packed and ready to be sent to Nikon, in hopes that she can be fixed.

This photo is totally staged, although the level of intoxication is not. Just look at Nina's gaze drunken haze.

As you can see, the focus becomes unstable, so that the last photo, the best one, is a hand-shaking blur. That's HPD in the background. This picture sums it all up.

The rest of the evening quickly deteriorated. I began an earnest search for the train toilet so I can vomit, mumbling down the aisle that I'd reached a low-point as the only passenger on the train wearing a tank top in 40 degree weather. There are repeated visits to the skankiest bathroom imaginable, vomiting on the train tracks and also, at home.

The most remarkable thing about the whole evening? Waking up Sunday morning hang-over free. Really? How is that even possible?

The end.

The long walk

Neen had plans late on Saturday evening in Manhattan so we planned our day backwards; from drop-off, to the time we'd start our adventure.

We took the train to Brooklyn Heights, our home and neighborhood for three years prior to life in the suburban oasis. Walking along the promenade, I was reminded yet again, why I should not rely on the mister for weather-related clothing advice. Cold and without hats, we walked quickly towards the bridge, hoping to warm ourselves with exertion.

The view is stunning from the promenade. Lower Manhattan with its skyscrapers and docking boats. The Statue of Liberty in the harbor and the Brooklyn Bridge; our foot path back into Manhattan.

We paid tribute at the WTC site and we began our walk back up to Union Square, Mexican food awaiting.

Stopping for caffeine and a pee, we head into a small espresso bar on a corner in Tribeca; we need to relax and warm ourselves. How a cafe can survive without a bathroom, even if only for patrons, alludes me.

"if it's an emergency, you can go to starbuck's on the corner."

Perfect cappucinos aside,

the cafe quickly lost its charm when I glanced towards the open door and in walks a ghost.

"is that dude looking at me?"  I ask Neen, my whisper almost a hiss.

"i really don't want to be here anymore..." 

I mumble as  T. M turns towards my direction.

"Kristen?" he asks, walking up to the table and calling his wife over.

We talk as though we're friends. Technically we are, we were the last time we saw one another. Introductions are made. Chit-chat. I'm babbling like a fool, keeping a stream of words coming out of my mouth, trying to mask my nervousness. 

Once it's over, we quickly head out the door, me frantically dialing the mister to relay my freak encounter. I tell Neen the story, one that I'll share here another time. Good grief.

On our way to dinner, we stop again at Sephora, experimenting with bronzer, something I didn't know how to use and this is the one I buy. We also go back here, me walking out with two new eye shadows, better neutrals than the wrong for my skin tone one,  (chambord), I've been using. 

An hour wait here, we camp at the bar with made-to-order guacamole and frozen pomegranate margaritas. Neen drunk dials Jen,

and I counter-dial, relaying my side of the story, (which wasn't even a story, just two drunk girls being clever).

After dinner we walk South again to Soho, where Neen has plans. We have a drink across the street from the meeting place; a restaurant/bar institution, crowded for 20 years.

We have a nightcap before my train back home, having a good time in the crowded, restaurant bar. Neen spies a barstool holding all the coats of a party of three and she kindly inquires about the use of it. One of the men in the group, (the only tool I might add), mutters,

"they've been humping my leg all evening for the stool..."

I hug my friend goodbye, tell Mr. Fugly he wishes someone, anyone would hump his leg, let alone him. As if.

Instead rochambeau.2 would have been my style. It's a good thing I had a train to catch.

Last Friday

It's been awhile since I've spent significant time in the city, I realize that now. I go in every few weeks for a haircut, even an artist date. A few hours has always been enough; I'm always happy to retreat back into my suburban oasis.

Nina arrived on Thursday evening, after a tour of Newark Airport. I should have realized the parking attendant that couldn't figure out how to work the gate, blaming me for the mishap, would be the beginning of strange behavior everywhere.

Friday morning, we hit Manhattan running. We didn't have a specific route or itinerary for the weekend. We managed to see a couple landmarks and had our foot in almost every west side neighborhood below 14th street.

I felt a little off my game on Friday but by Saturday, I was back to my New York self, navigating the crowds and loogies; like salmon swimming upstream. We talked about that, the swimming upstream. Because Neen and I surely had some combined, invisible magnetic force that drove people with big teeth and a staggering walk, into our foot path every time. Seriously. Every. Time.

What is it about the need to hork? Women and men alike, everyone is projecting phlegm. One must be careful to watch where she steps, dog shit is not the worst thing you'll see or smell.

We milled about Union Square, watching pandemoneum break out on a busy street corner, a giveaway gone bad. We shopped a little, people watched a lot, and eventually made our way down to Soho, where Neen had plans.

Friday wasn't exactly walking around weather. Never one to miss a free hour in Soho, I set out down Greene Street, to freeze my fucking ass off, to kill time with my camera.

 

Later, we head towards Nolita, stopping along the way at a wine bar. A glass of red to warm our frigid bones.  It was bitter cold and windy all weekend. We forgot to bring hats.

Sake, hot or cold, is what you get at Chibi's, nothing more. How to describe the small cafe devoted to a Boston Terrier, with strange homo-erotic art displayed on the walls and the heady, intoxicating aroma of fresh hyacinth and incense?

In whispered tones Nina asked,

"kiki, is that a picture of a woman with a penis?"

On closer inspection, I couldn't really tell. 60/40 that the chick had a dick, but the artwork was an image of an artist drawing a woman, perhaps hermaphrodite. As I said, it was strange.

We sucked down our sake, inhaling delicious rice cracker nibbles and headed back out into the tundra, (me with a buzz), to my  favorite Thai restaurant, with the not-so original name.

Before the train home, we stopped at some crazy coffee bar on Houston for a night-cap favorite: bailey's and vodka.

Neen insisted on me taking photos when we arrived back in suburbia to the lightest of snow fall. I was a bitch about it, complained at the time, but she was right. The light really was perfect, even with my shaky hand.

While I was away

While I was away, we had dinner parties and sleep-overs, Frosty Fun camp for A, gifting us time each afternoon, to decompress at home.

We've reorganized and we've also done a lot of purging, with more to come in the immediate future. It feels good to rid ourselves of clutter.

While I was away, I knit a scarf for miss A, the same yarn as a recently knit scarf for myself. She insisted on wearing it today (it's bitter cold here), even though it's a little scratchy.

While I was away, I had an artist date. My favorite part of working through the Artist's Way, are the artist dates. I love to plan what each week will bring. Looking through vintage black and white photos and finding a few for future collages. A trip to the bookstore. A walking tour. It's a treat to myself for the hard work that comes with working through the book.

Last Friday, I had plans to meet Susanna in the city for an afternoon of photo-taking and walking our favorite neighborhoods. I arrived in the city earlier than our meet-up with the intention of having my artist date. (That's the thing about these dates, they are meant to be spent alone.)

Arriving at Penn Station, I quickly headed east to avoid the massive crowds in Herald Square and to venture into a part of mid-town I rarely visit: the Indian shops along Lexington Avenue. Roaming in and out of the little shops, I loved looking at the colorful spices in bins and sweet treats behind glass counter tops. Small clusters of men standing outside speaking in lilting voices, there's a community feeling to the neighborhood, often lost in the sprawling metropolis. I wasn't in a buying mood, rather I chose to look around, keeping my camera tucked away for later.

I wandered downtown to Union Square, our meeting place. On Friday's, there's a weekly farmers market. I plant myself next to a sign, incognito behind my sunglasses and a hot cup of tea, observing the stream of people passing by. It was exhilerating really, to just stop and watch, a lovely way to drink my tea, instead of sitting inside an over-crowded cafe.

Susanna and I had a plan to roam the East Village and Soho before heading uptown to 5th Avenue and the holiday window displays. We visited Susanna's favorite store, John Derian, where I boldly snuck photos of the magic inside.

We ended up in Soho, visiting this store, again sneaking photos, I especially like the second one.

Little Italy,

the New Museum,

and wonderful street art, my heart singing with each found image.

 

A stroll through NYC

I took an late morning train last Friday into the city.  An afternoon haircut, afterwards the plan was to meet M and go to the Met.

Arriving on the Lower East Side, I decide to stop for a quick cup of tea at Little Veselka, the kiosk off-shoot of the well-known restaurant on 9th street.

Somehow I wrote down the wrong time for my appointment and had to kill an hour before it was my turn. In Style magazine and a sugar-free Gingerbread latte, I sit in Star-crack and enjoy the time alone.

After my haircut, M and I decide it was too late to go to the museum. We make  plans to meet in front of J. Crew on 5th Avenue and I take photos along the way.

Arriving at the Union Square holiday market, I stop at the Beebop and Wally stall, hoping to find my size in the skirt I've been coveting. This is my third attempt and I'm in luck; I find my size and in my first color choice. Score!

Meeting up with M, we walk to the West Village, stopping in French Roast for a hot cup of tea.

Walking deeper into the village, it's too early for dinner, but not margaritas. We stop by Tortilla Flats for a quick one, ours frozen with salt.

We decide on dinner here, slightly disappointed when we discover the dinner menu isn't available until 6pm (we arrived at 5:30) and we had a lighter meal than planned.

The washroom has a common sink for men and women, allowing for this shot, my favorite.

After dinner, we weave our way up the avenue to Penn station, the city packed with holiday joy seekers and tourists.

Once back in our suburban oasis, we stopped at the local Italian joint for a glass of wine before heading home. We had a good laugh at the rumor that this bar/restaurant is a reputed "swingers" hang-out and talked about the potential couples cruising for new meat. We made sure not to catch anyone's eye. wink.

New York City is a place so nice

On Labor Day, Luzie and I finally got a chance to go into the city together. I wanted to show her the East Village, a place I frequently show in the photos I share here. A colorful neighborhood, your head swivels from side to side as you take in the cafes and shops, the people, and random street art that enchants me.

On the corner of 6th and B, we found a tiny oasis. A  beautiful, cooperative garden enclosed from the public and surrounded by ornate black iron and a big padlock. In one of the prominent plots along the fence is an amazing structure, constructed from found art, a relic.

As we snapped away, a man watering his own little plot, invited us in. There were others hovering around the gate, our benefactor the Willy Wonka of the gardens, just Luzie and I holding the golden ticket.

We left a nice donation, thanked our Willy Wonka and continued North. Looking around, we spied a fascinating fire escape. We marveled that the occupants chose to represent themselves like this in public and we couldn't resist a few shots. We even inspired another tourist to stop and snap.

In the 14 years I've called the east coast home, I've never visited the Empire State Building. When Luzie mentioned she was going, I tagged along and I was glad for the opportunity to go with a friend. Plus, it's #26, (in the just for me section), on my list. The Empire State Building is one of my favorite landmarks, especially at night. Everyday a different color scheme glitters from its deco facade.  When I'd leave school after evening classes, I'd look to my left for the colors, a story for that day. My favorite is an all white building on a foggy night. The lighting bolt spire peeking above the mist, the white lights muted and twinkling.

Our intention was to end the day at the Empire State Building for dusk. We were hoping to catch the city as it changed from day to night, a magical time to be so high in the sky. If it weren't so crowded and I wasn't a complete claustro-phobe, we would have been there for this transition. We caught the very beginning of the sunset and then I started to freak. I was antsy, pacing. Poor Luzie. I told her I was leaving, that I would meet her back home, that I couldn't stay any longer. In that moment I was panicked. I wasn't thinking straight. Hindsight being what it is, I would-a should-a, could have suggested I wait downstairs at Starcrack. I'm sorry friend.