… when the snow fell. It was the kind of day most sane New Yorkers would have spent indoors, curled up in bed with hot chocolate, an SO or a four-legged substitute.
But Lola wasn’t daunted. She threw on her rain jacket and marched outside. Snow, after all, is her preferred form of precipitation.
Luckily, the Manhattan-bound train actually made all the local stops in my hood (circuitous routes to the city are par for the course on weekends) and, get this, we got to Chinatown without me having to emit my patented grunt of MTA displeasure.
Why were we in Chinatown on a Saturday, aka the day of monster clusterfudges? Two words. Joe’s Shanghai.
There, we were seated at a table of high-schoolers who all knew each other (At least I think they were in high school. One of them had a full beard, and beards always throw me off). The bearded one dominated the conversation, which mainly consisted of them congratulating themselves on their decisions.
“Great call coming here.”
“My inviting you to hang with us is so justified, since you recommended that we come here.”
“We are so amazing at life.”
When they talked about their plans to go to Strand — one of my favorite places in the city — it was official. I wished right then and there that I was a full-bearded, self-congratulatory manboy.
Coincidentally, Phil and I also were going to Union Square because of a show later that night.
We had the choice to go to Strand ourselves (effectively surrendering from the challenge I presented myself in PROBAATD a mere day after I made it) or go to Barnes & Noble, book-filled yes, but at least with the prospect of distracting myself with coffee and a cookie.
“Can you solve this — First 10-digit prime found in consecutive digits of e (e is italicized so I’m guessing it has some kind of mathematical definition)?” I texted my brother.
After some back and forth that involved terms like “sliding windows” and the answer being a “clever use of SQL”  (obviously things I would never say), he asked me…
Him: Why are you reading that at 8 p.m. on a Saturday?
Me: I’m at Barnes & Noble waiting to go to a show nearby. So there.
Him: For shame. Reading tech books on a Saturday night in the greatest city in the world.
Me: What are you doing tonight in the most presidential city within 49 states in the continental US?
Him: Going to the market to get icing so we can make donuts……………..
Me: You guys are wild.
Him: We’re going to use REAL EGGS for it too. Watch out — badasses coming through.
Outside, we ran into this. I later found out it was this. I kind of wish I saw it, but there was another kind of party to go to.
I took a few pictures, but my BlackBerry pictures came out much better. I think it had something to do with the ethereal, grainy quality of the good ol’ BB and a much greater sense of wonder I had as a first-timer. It was fun nonetheless.
(Just to give you an idea of how slow-moving making concrete plans can be for two young professionals living in different cities: Phil said he wanted to see the show after seeing my post in June. We are now in an entirely different year.)
Afterward, we headed to the Lower East Side, only to find an incredibly long line at our destination.
I walked up to the bouncer: How long is the wait?
Bouncer: I don’t know. It’s like one in, one out.
Me: Seems excessive to me. (Looks at Bouncer #2 standing in front of a door adjacent to bar #1.) Are these the same bar?
Bouncer #2: No. Different. Where are you trying to go?
Me: I was trying to go there, but never mind. Got any recommendations?
Bouncer #2: Are you just trying to grab drinks somewhere?
He then opened the door to reveal a dark space with a second door that opened to a hidden bar. There was no photography allowed, but I’m pretty sure I was in Narnia. Except instead of talking animals, there were bartenders (I mean, mixologists). I’m pretty sure I even saw Ryan Gosling(‘s cousin’s best friend’s sister).
There was only one way to end the night: a late-late-night stop at Crifs, land of bacon-wrapped hot dogs topped with egg and sauerkraut.
But here’s the thing: the hot dog made it home. My phone didn’t.
After some mild (read: major) panicking that may or may not have involved me dumping the contents of my purse onto my bed while yelling “I can’t figure out the cloud!”, I eventually succeeded in tracking and texting it.
Just how did I approach the subject with my phone-napper?
“Hello. I am your conscience.”
I’ll never find out if such a message would have moved my phone-napper to repent, because this supposed napper turned out to be my friend. I’d left it in his car.
And so ended my Saturday.
How was yours?
 Upon reading this, my brother had this to say:
Him: Oh shit. That’s mathematica code not SQL. My stupidity is now shown on the internet forever.
Me: I’ll edit.
Him: No, no. It’s good. Leave it. It shows that I am human. Fallible.
Me: Is that a common error to make? Or is it like a writer mistaking “than” for “then”?
Him: Probably the latter. Two totally different languages. Two totally different meanings. The syntax is totally different.
And there you go, interwebs. He claims the donuts were his undoing, much like the hot dog was mine. Must run in the family.
In case you were wondering, the donuts were “Not bad, but could use more awesome.”