The Days So Far

IMG_6388

Been going through the archives and decided to share a few pictures from the last couple of months. No cohesive theme here. Just random moments.

I’ve been capturing things a bit differently now that Instagram has become my default channel. But this is still my favorite space for posting pictures.

It’s a lot quieter.

Which means, fewer people see what I post.

Which means, I feel more free.

Which means, this is really how I take pictures.

Funny how that works.

Let’s do dis.

IMG_6409 (1)Quite proud of this rug and its dust bunny friends.

IMG_6463One night Franco and I watched these guys change this sign to an identical, much cleaner sign. We were on our way to a distant bar in Brooklyn late one night to pick up the credit card I’d left behind a few days before (yes, I’m an adult). It was an hourlong slog. When we got there, the place was closed.

IMG_6476Whenever possible.

IMG_6541My super glamorous studio. See that mic stand over there? Swivels 360 degrees to and from your mouth. Patent pending.

IMG_6584A friend and I stumbled upon this cute little park right after this asinine dialogue courtesy of me:

Friend: What’s this?
Me: Ugh. Probably one of those rich-people parks you need a key to get into.
Nice old lady holding open the gate on her way out: Come right in, you cynical asshole.

Then we got chased by a chicken. It was glorious.

IMG_6609One day I dug up my cheapo watercoloring set that I’d bought about seven years ago and completely failed at but still lugged around through my many, many moves. I learned that when you’re bad at colors and coloring, you can get away with picking and choosing what to color.

IMG_6614Office permapup. Fully grown and pocket-sized. Want.

IMG_6699This is how Franco watches sports. You might think it’s really awkward to have a big ol’ window with no curtains. You would be right. But… we’re too lazy to ask the landlord if we can drill holes, so fish tank living room featuring a singing-dancing duo it is. You’re welcome, neighbors.

IMG_6762One of the first nice days of the year we decided to hang at Central Park at the last minute. That blanket is actually a plastic tablecloth from the dollar store.

IMG_6773A book about the joys of spinsterhood. Franco gets nervous whenever I read it around him.

IMG_6781Times Square After Midnight, one of my fave places in the city.

IMG_6785Another creep session. These guys had a synchronized routine. They marched to a spot, lifted some things, hammered some other things, and did it all over again.

IMG_6825Pretending to read the Times, but really we’re about to watch “Gossip Girl” while lunching.

IMG_6827One of those perfect days in the neighborhood.

IMG_6932Best wings in the biz and nicest people ever.

And with that,
~20 pics down, thousands more to go.
Until next time, friends.

Advertisements

New Year’s Eve, Party of Two

IMG_0882

I’ve had my share of extravagant New Year’s Eves.

But this year was the craziest one yet.

There was booze and wild dance moves and fisticuffs and A ROUSING GAME OF SCRABBLE.

OK fine.

Franco and I stayed in because we’re old and that’s what old people do.

And you know what? It was awesome.

All you Olds out there know what I’m talkin’ about. As for you Youths, stay wild. Wear warm undies.

IMG_0877Franco wanted to try out the new cocktail toolset his brother and sister-in-law got us for Christmas. We got the table ready for some serious mixing.

IMG_0886Our go-tos:

IMG_0887IMG_0890IMG_0894IMG_0895IMG_0898IMG_0900IMG_0902IMG_0910Dirrrrrrty martinis!

IMG_0917IMG_0918IMG_0919IMG_0923IMG_0932And Manhattans.
Dental toothpicks included.

IMG_0945For dinner, we made another go-to:

IMG_0947IMG_0950
FANCY PASTA FROM A BOX!

IMG_0960IMG_0967IMG_0970IMG_0976IMG_0979With sauce fresh from the jar straight to our mouths.

IMG_0982Let’s get the party started, shall we?
By the way, why yes that’s an airbed in our living room. We had guests a couple weeks back and kind of just never put it away. Because, AMAZING.

IMG_0987Cracked open the Scrabble set also gifted by Franco’s brother and sister-and-law. It’s like they know us really well or something.

IMG_0995Though we’d played with Scrabble sets as kids, we’d never played a real game before. Shocker, I know.

IMG_1006Modeling our new toy, totally aware of just how fucking cutthroat we, er, I would soon become.

IMG_1013With tunes from the record player I got Franco for Christmas. My dad, by the way, was in awe of this thing. When Franco unwrapped it on Christmas, my dad went from shock (“They still make those?”) to skepticism (“That won’t work!”) to straight up kneeling on the floor to take out the manual from the box before Franco could even get to it. His verdict? “Sounds better than the one I had.”

IMG_1020Round Two.

IMG_1022IMG_1030Don’t let this calm scene fool you. At one point we had to stop the game after I lost my shit when Franco used the tiles I was gunning for. He said something about “You’re too competitive why can’t we just play a fun game of Scrabble wah wah wah.” Rude.

IMG_1034IMG_1046Times Square countdown times.

IMG_1051HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!
Franco ended up winning 299 to 247.
Then he won 267 to 237.
After we both studied some two-letter words he again won 312 to 280.
Yes, we’re obsessed. And yes, I’m pissed. One day I’ll prevail.

IMG_1053IMG_1058Lauryn Hill sounds great as ever on vinyl. The only lame part is this version doesn’t have the hidden tracks. I mean, that was only like 90% of why we got it but whatever. Still good.

IMG_1061IMG_1062Texting loved ones is soooo hard.

IMG_1066The aftermath.

How to cross the street

You can tell a lot about a couple by the way they cross the street.

On Saturday, I witnessed four coupled-up street-crossers in the span of about 30 minutes. That’s what happens when you’re strolling down Fifth Ave in search of the perfect suit.

(The suit wasn’t for me, by the way. I spent most of the shopping portion of the day reading on the so-called boyfriend chair.)

On Saturdays, Fifth Avenue becomes a fashionable version of football. The teams are shoppers decked in their best leopard print ensembles, sizing each other up from opposite sidewalks. The “walk” sign flashes, and each team – a herd of maybe 20 or so – must reach the other side in the time allotted with little injury.

You must be ruthless. Standing between you and the end zone are a clueless tourist pointing at the sky, a mom who refuses to carry her barely mobile toddler, a grandpa recovering from a hip replacement. An elbow here, a jab to the ribs there. All’s fair in the sport of crosswalk.

Further, you must be prepared for the unforeseen. A stiletto-wearer might step into a crack or a carriage-carting horse might sideswipe a straggler.

Most interesting is how people reveal their true selves in the face of possible death by cab. In most cases, they will fall under one of two categories: Leave No Man Behind or It’s Every Man For Himself.

It is in that split-second decision that the couple is put to the test.

At Crosswalk No. 1, I watched a man cross just as the light turned green. Behind him, his wife or girlfriend was just stepping off the sidewalk. She was on the phone. She stopped.

“We can’t go yet!”

But it was too late. The man was almost across the street, barely acknowledging her.

At Crosswalk No. 2, another possible death by cab. This time, the woman was stepping out into the street just as the light turned green. She wasn’t looking. The man, waiting with the rest of us, reached out to pull her back.

As cars passed, they looked at each other, she with the sheepish “Oops” face, and he visibly annoyed.

At Crosswalk No. 3, the couple was hand in hand. They stepped out into the street together, confident the cabs were going to stop for them. They kept talking, never missing a beat.

At the fourth crosswalk, the couple was in the midst of conversation. A cab approached, but there was enough time to get to the other side. The woman darted across the street; the man hesitated.

“Ha,” she told him seconds later. “You’re always hesitating.”

It’s likely I’m looking too far into this. (Lucky for you, dear reader, I’m a fervent too-far-into-this-looker who likes to inject stories where they may not belong. As for the rest of you.)

Where the rest of you might see a man who saved a woman from certain doom, I see a woman so used to the man shielding her that she doesn’t even bother to look both ways anymore.

After all, relationships are made of little crosswalks. They are unpredictable. They are risky. You never know if, in the face of adversity, the person you’re with is going to look out for you or leave you behind.

Which makes it all the more frustrating. I mean, life would be so much easier if we could employ a reliable test to gauge a person’s crosswalk mettle. Like: Hey, you, let’s meet at a crosswalk, where I will close my eyes, step out into the street and, though I will not tell you this beforehand, you will pass my test by making sure we both make it to the other side.

But that’s not exactly foolproof. For one thing, you could be crushed by an overzealous texter should your mate be distracted by a unicyclist, a no-pants-wearer, a Uniqlo of epic proportions.

The more accurate measure, I think, is the one taken over time, time and time again. Because should you both survive one crosswalk mostly unscathed, albeit clumsily, there’s always the next one.

And maybe, hopefully that one will be a hand-in-hand kind of thing.