Summer Spontaneity
July 10, 2009
As much as I love planning, schedules, and lists, I equally love (if not more) spontaneity. (Maybe it’s the conflicting Gemini twins within me.) There is no place more capricious than New York, and no season that draws out impulsivity like summer. Maybe it’s the fact that you don’t need a jacket and the sun doesn’t set till 8:30 p.m. For me and my friends, there needn’t be a reason – it’s a Thursday in July is enough.
Last night was a quintessential random New York night – we went to three new (to me) bars (at one, weaseling our way to an exclusive rooftop party), made new friends (ones you would date and legitimate pals), and for me, ended with a Cup O’ Noodles from my corner store. Here is the play-by-play in my aforementioned favorite format, a list:
My night started off like this
- The night started innocuously enough in the UWS at Blondie’s for some post-softball wings, (glorious) cheese fries, and Miller Lite pitchers. Chatter included a fierce debate on whether bottom line-focused sales departments hurt publishing and the literary landscape or if sales just gives people what they want. Simultaneously, at the other end of the table, people argued as to whether Tina Fey has sex appeal. (I say yes.)
- After a quick change of clothes and train ride downtown, I met with Rach, Joy, and Neha in Gramercy. We stumbled upon the “soft opening” of a new swank Russian bar, Mari Vanna. The shabby chic atmosphere, including charming mismatched china, was perfect for catching up with the girls. The place also had great rosé sangria and delightfully unique assortment of beers.
- We were on the guestlist for a Patron-sponsored party at Thom Bar in the Thompson Hotel. Sadly the drinks
... and ended up like this
were not free, but Patron is always worth it. The scene was different than the usual (and a huge departure from my sporty early evening). It was also nice to chat with people who didn’t just graduate college last summer. Best part: After being denied by a bitter, model-type hostess, I sweet-talked my way into getting a card key from the flirty bartender, so we could gain access to the rooftop bar. There, we hobnobbed with CEOs and discussed American etiquette with new friends, a Kenyan named Arnold (not sure if that’s his real name or just his Americanized one) and a beautiful Croatian woman, whose name I couldn’t pronounce then and now no longer remember. They told us it’s a very American thing to ask, “What do you do?” It’s considered a rude question everywhere else.
- At the persuasion of Arnie, we walked down a block or two to Café Noir, which is much nicer and less cheesy than its web site conveys. I met a Hoosier there named Seth and talked about the Indiana State Fair (I’ve been!). Then it was time to haul our fabulous selves home, drunk off the spur-of-the-moment NY summer spirit.
Sure, we’ve all gotten texts before from people whose numbers we’ve lost along the way. Sometimes it’s accidental, other times it’s (definitely) intentional. Then, there are those rare times when the text sender’s identity remains unknown. Tonight I got a text from someone I can’t remember meeting (and I’m the kind of girl who keeps lists… ok, fine I’ll be truthful, I’m the kind of girl who keeps lists, remembers first and last names as well as hometown, but ALSO gets too drunk to remember who she’s given her number to). Transcript of the texts and my mounting confusion below:
9:42PM
- 347-XXX-XXXX: Are you in NYC?
Hmm. Who could this be? Not in my phone… yell to roommate, “What’s a 347 area code?” Erica shouts from her nearby room, “It’s a New York number.”
- Sorry who is this?
- Rich Greene
Rich Greene… Rich Greene… Rich… Type into Google. Nothing. Dammit. This was the absolute worst time to give up Facebook for Lent! There was that first date and now there’s a mystery texter?! Wtf. Gchat Allisonc99: Do you know Rich Greene? Call Leanne, leave message, “When we went to Cheap Shots that time, did we meet a guy named Rich Greene?” Check journal in case we made-out. No sign of Rich Greene in my life whatsoever. Have a vague recollection though that this guy has texted me before…
- Do you have the right number? Sorry not sure who this is
- Amanda-Tufts
Okay, this guy does know who I am. Creepy. Could he just be some dude I met at a bar? That name selection sounds like it. Too bad he didn’t write Amanda-Name Of Bar.
- Im sorry totally blanking here. Where did we meet?
- Uhhhh. Didn’t you go to tufts university…??
Call Maggie, “Did we know a Rich Greene at Tufts?” ”Do you mean Rob Greene,” says Maggie in between bites of her dinner. “No, Rich Greene, can you look him up on Facebook for me please?” She looks, equally concerned. He doesn’t show up on FB, he is off the grid! And certainly not a Tufts boy. Mags and I chat a little longer about First Date Guy among other things, then hang up.
I ask my roommate if people can trace you through your cell phone to your exact location. She tells me I’m not important enough to be stalked like that. We deadbolt and chain lock the front door anyway. Erica goes to bed. I Gchat Joy: “Do you know a Rich Greene from Tufts?” Joy is more adventurous, “Why don’t you try to find out how you met? What’s the harm?”
- How did u get my number? How do i know u? Its not fr tufts
Mystery Texter remains an enigma. He vanished as abruptly as he arrived in my Nokia Inbox. We may never know who his true identity is — and please contact me if you think you do — but wherever and whoever you are Rich, cut it out, I clearly don’t remember you or thought it was worthwhile to save your number. Give us both a break and save me the 10 cents, I don’t have an unlimited plan!
My Laundry Night Gone Terribly Wrong
March 26, 2009
Let me paint a picture for you. It’s 6:30pm on a weekday in January and I’m about to tackle a month’s worth of laundry in my Victoria’s Secret Pink sweatpants. I’m descending the stairs of my walk-up building in the W. 70’s and have only one flight before Soaps ‘n’ Suds nirvana, when I hear screaming. In my this-is-the-safe-UWS naïveté, I assume friends are joking around in the foyer. Much like my roommate and I pretend to push each other into oncoming traffic or the subway tracks. Except when I get to the landing I can see thrashing by the front door. The shrieking continues. The voice is shrill and panicked. “ARE YOU OKAY?! ARE YOU OKAY?!” I yell. No response. I take a step forward and reach for my cell phone… instantly my stuffed Ikea bag overtakes me and in a confusing blur I fall down the rest of the stairs.
A less messy recreation of that fateful laundry day
In short, my yelling or dramatic fall frightened (distracted?) the two muggers. They ran away and I consoled the young woman (it could’ve been me!) as she called the cops. Luckily, my neighbor Debra wasn’t hurt (although my arse throbbed for weeks) and they only took her iPod. This was a lesson in being wary of your surroundings no matter what time or neighborhood. The incident also elicited three amusing responses:
1) My cousin/roommate pointed out that the muggers saw me, got scared, but continued to harass poor Debra for a minute longer when they saw I was hardly a threat.
2) When the police arrived, they asked, “Is anyone hurt? Do you need medical attention?” The Victim’s reply? “I’m okay, but she [pointing her thumb toward me] fell down the stairs.” “I’m fine,” I said, embarrassed. The cop looked at me, the clothes catastrophe on the stairs behind me, and gave me a half smile. He took Debra away in his squad car to find the thieves/report the crime.
3) My friend Val calls this my Go-Go Gadget moment — my attempt to save the day was obstructed by my own klutziness, but like Mr. Gadget, I still achieved a happy ending (in my own quirky way).
