I ran past the Standard Hotel last night.
What with Jude Law sightings and Gwyneth Paltrow drive bys and its most recent mention in the Style section, the Standard is this year's Gansevoort (as an aside, perhaps one day I'll throw champagne off the roof of this hotel, too!). As such, the paparazzi camp out in front of the entrance.
It's not unusual, I see them all the time. Generally they don't give me the time of day.
Last night must have been a slow night. As I ran past 2 or 3 of the guys started screaming, "Smile, pretty girl!"
Made my night.
Showing posts with label New York City Girl. Show all posts
Showing posts with label New York City Girl. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Monday, November 2, 2009
Of Mice and Men
Right.
File this under "best laid plans."
It was a winter's day in New York City.
A Tuesday I think. Perhaps a Wednesday. Mid-week. Grey. Wet. Rough day at the office. You get the idea.
Anyway, I decided it was a pizza kind of night. I went to Arturo's and picked up a large mushroom pie and a 6 pack of Heinekin. Figured I'd bring it home and surprise my roomates with dinner. Got home, opened a beer, put the oven on warm, took a slice for myself and put the rest of the pie in the oven (can you guess where this went sideways?).
Some 10-15 minutes later I smelled smoke. Went into the kitchen and saw flames jumping out the top of the oven. I managed to pull the flaming box out of the oven and got it in the sink. The flames set the paper towel roll and the dish drying rack as well as the wooden spoon on fire.
Fortunately I had a full brita filter of water and was able to put out the fire.
Unfortunately, I lost the pizza.
Fortunately, I still had 5 beers left.
And that, is the story of how I set my apartment on fire.
File this under "best laid plans."
It was a winter's day in New York City.
A Tuesday I think. Perhaps a Wednesday. Mid-week. Grey. Wet. Rough day at the office. You get the idea.
Anyway, I decided it was a pizza kind of night. I went to Arturo's and picked up a large mushroom pie and a 6 pack of Heinekin. Figured I'd bring it home and surprise my roomates with dinner. Got home, opened a beer, put the oven on warm, took a slice for myself and put the rest of the pie in the oven (can you guess where this went sideways?).
Some 10-15 minutes later I smelled smoke. Went into the kitchen and saw flames jumping out the top of the oven. I managed to pull the flaming box out of the oven and got it in the sink. The flames set the paper towel roll and the dish drying rack as well as the wooden spoon on fire.
Fortunately I had a full brita filter of water and was able to put out the fire.
Unfortunately, I lost the pizza.
Fortunately, I still had 5 beers left.
And that, is the story of how I set my apartment on fire.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Walking Girl
Well the frost is on the pumpkin and hay is in the barn.
Or, rather, the homeless guy is burning trash and the radiators on.
I guess James Taylor lyrics don’t really transfer from the Berkshires to Manhattan. Le sigh.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Bye Bye Birdie
All morning I've had "One Last Kiss" running through my head.
It's been a week of "lasts." That bittersweet time in which one takes a moment to look around and say, "hey, this has been my life for the past 2.5 years and now it's over."
This is a good thing. I worked very hard to bring about this change and I'm excited for the future. But still, it's never fun to say good bye.
--
Apologies for the melancholy tone. I promise that I'll be back in top form soon. I'll regale you all (all 3 of you) with witty tales after the weekend.
It's been a week of "lasts." That bittersweet time in which one takes a moment to look around and say, "hey, this has been my life for the past 2.5 years and now it's over."
This is a good thing. I worked very hard to bring about this change and I'm excited for the future. But still, it's never fun to say good bye.
--
Apologies for the melancholy tone. I promise that I'll be back in top form soon. I'll regale you all (all 3 of you) with witty tales after the weekend.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Hot Fun in the Summertime
It's too darn hot.
And last night I was too darn stupid.
It's easy to forget, when you live in a walking city, that much of your daily activity is actually exercise. It doesn't feel like exercise, it feels like going to work or the grocery store. It is indeed exercise, especially when the temperature is 95 degrees.
Which brings me to last night.
I left the office at the normal time and had a leisurely walk home-- popped into a few shops along the way and chatted with friends. When I reached the park, I called my mom and chatted with her for a while. As we talked, I walked the perimeter of the park. 3 times. Or, roughly, 1.5 miles.
So, to recap, between walking home and walking around the park, I logged roughly 3 miles in 95 degree heat. Except! It didn't feel like exercise! And since it didn't feel like exercise and I wasn't thirsty, I didn't drink any water when I got home.
Then, because I am a gluten for punishment, I decided to go for a run. A nice 2.5 mile stretch of the legs along the Hudson River. Sounds great, right? Yeah, it was great until about 1.5 miles into it when I realized, quite dramatically, that I had not drunk enough water.
My right leg cramped up and down I went. Slapt on concrete sidewalk of the West Side Highway, right in front of the delightfully good-looking gentleman running behind me.
Because of course, if you're going to fall down in fit of dehydration and muscle cramps, you want to make sure you do it in front of the most handsome man around. It's just common sense. Or a complete lack there of.
Oy vey.
And last night I was too darn stupid.
It's easy to forget, when you live in a walking city, that much of your daily activity is actually exercise. It doesn't feel like exercise, it feels like going to work or the grocery store. It is indeed exercise, especially when the temperature is 95 degrees.
Which brings me to last night.
I left the office at the normal time and had a leisurely walk home-- popped into a few shops along the way and chatted with friends. When I reached the park, I called my mom and chatted with her for a while. As we talked, I walked the perimeter of the park. 3 times. Or, roughly, 1.5 miles.
So, to recap, between walking home and walking around the park, I logged roughly 3 miles in 95 degree heat. Except! It didn't feel like exercise! And since it didn't feel like exercise and I wasn't thirsty, I didn't drink any water when I got home.
Then, because I am a gluten for punishment, I decided to go for a run. A nice 2.5 mile stretch of the legs along the Hudson River. Sounds great, right? Yeah, it was great until about 1.5 miles into it when I realized, quite dramatically, that I had not drunk enough water.
My right leg cramped up and down I went. Slapt on concrete sidewalk of the West Side Highway, right in front of the delightfully good-looking gentleman running behind me.
Because of course, if you're going to fall down in fit of dehydration and muscle cramps, you want to make sure you do it in front of the most handsome man around. It's just common sense. Or a complete lack there of.
Oy vey.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Hand on the Telephone
My cable is out. This, in and of itself, is not an unusual occurrence. Time Warner is my cable service provider and I’m not afraid to say it out loud (or in print), but they suck the big wazoo.
The events of yesterday evening were, however, decidedly unusual. And I, history freak that I am, was without cable. Time Warner had rendered me impotent, and, just like Cher, I hate that.
What to do? What to do?
No cable. How would I know what Lady Macbeth, err, the senator from New York, was saying?
Aha!
Picked up the telephone and dialed the 10 digits.
The gentleman in Cambridge, my Guy Friday.
“Hey, it’s me. Cables out, are you watching?”
“Of course”
“Well, what’s happening?”
And that, my friend, is how I spent the evening.
I listened to Obama claim victory as the presumptive democratic candidate over the telephone.
One phone in Cambridge placed next to the television, me in my own little bed in Greenwich Village.
The wonders of modern technology married to the wonders of the democratic process
The events of yesterday evening were, however, decidedly unusual. And I, history freak that I am, was without cable. Time Warner had rendered me impotent, and, just like Cher, I hate that.
What to do? What to do?
No cable. How would I know what Lady Macbeth, err, the senator from New York, was saying?
Aha!
Picked up the telephone and dialed the 10 digits.
The gentleman in Cambridge, my Guy Friday.
“Hey, it’s me. Cables out, are you watching?”
“Of course”
“Well, what’s happening?”
And that, my friend, is how I spent the evening.
I listened to Obama claim victory as the presumptive democratic candidate over the telephone.
One phone in Cambridge placed next to the television, me in my own little bed in Greenwich Village.
The wonders of modern technology married to the wonders of the democratic process
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Merry Merry
My goodness but I am in love with New York right now. I know it's tiresome to go on and on about it. Who wants to hear "everything is so wonderful, I live in the best place ever"? Certainly not I. Much like when people go on and on about how wonderful their friends are. No really. Theirs are the best. No one else ever had a group of friends so wonderful and no one else could possibly understand how great it feels to have these friends. (My but that was a bitter digression, I'm happy you have friends. They're nice things to have. Got some myself. Really like 'em, too.)
But still. Christmas in New York is lovely.
Last night was the annual tree lighting in Washington Square. Leave Rockefeller Center and the madness of mid-town to the tourists and b&t crowed, for me there is nothing like my neighborhood tree. Right under the arch, at the bottom of 5th Ave.
A band plays and people from the neighborhood gather to sing Christmas carols. I stopped by for a bit on my way home from work. Got in a few bits of Adeste Fidelis and left as they started in on Rudolf. Ah. Life is good!
Merry Christmas!
But still. Christmas in New York is lovely.
Last night was the annual tree lighting in Washington Square. Leave Rockefeller Center and the madness of mid-town to the tourists and b&t crowed, for me there is nothing like my neighborhood tree. Right under the arch, at the bottom of 5th Ave.
A band plays and people from the neighborhood gather to sing Christmas carols. I stopped by for a bit on my way home from work. Got in a few bits of Adeste Fidelis and left as they started in on Rudolf. Ah. Life is good!
Merry Christmas!
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
When I was in college there was an ad for Tide or some other laundry soap. A shapely and comely lass walks into a laundry mat and proceeds to strip down to her skanties and then some eventuallly holding onto a modicum of dignity by way of a strategically placed New York Times.
After this commercial aired, several of the gentlemen living in my dorm made a habit of haning out in the laundry room. Hopping against hope, I suppose, they'd catch a glimpse. Or something.
Anyway, this died out after a couple of weeks. Reality v. television, or so I thought.
Fast forward to last night. My black trousers were in dire need of cleaning. Really, it was getting gross. My general laziness combined with my rather busy schedule left little time to get to the cleaners. Even if they are directly accross the street from my apt. I can't explain what came over or why it seemed like a good idea, but I walked straight home last night and, instead of crossing into my apt building, I strode into the cleaners and- TOOK OFF MY PANTS. Yes. I took my pants off, handed them to the girl behind the counter, picked up my ticket (no ticky, no panty). I wrapped my coat around myself and walked accross the street, up the stairs and into my apt.
What the hell is the matter with me?
After this commercial aired, several of the gentlemen living in my dorm made a habit of haning out in the laundry room. Hopping against hope, I suppose, they'd catch a glimpse. Or something.
Anyway, this died out after a couple of weeks. Reality v. television, or so I thought.
Fast forward to last night. My black trousers were in dire need of cleaning. Really, it was getting gross. My general laziness combined with my rather busy schedule left little time to get to the cleaners. Even if they are directly accross the street from my apt. I can't explain what came over or why it seemed like a good idea, but I walked straight home last night and, instead of crossing into my apt building, I strode into the cleaners and- TOOK OFF MY PANTS. Yes. I took my pants off, handed them to the girl behind the counter, picked up my ticket (no ticky, no panty). I wrapped my coat around myself and walked accross the street, up the stairs and into my apt.
What the hell is the matter with me?
Monday, December 3, 2007
One of Eight Million
Living in New York is like being in an abusive realtionship. One moment you're bruised and battered and the next, well, you're sitting in New York's lap and he's stroking your hair, whispering sweet nothings in your ear.
A weekend like the one just passed leaves me wondering how I could ever leave this city. The first snow, the over-whelming kindness of strangers, the convenience, the wonderful off-beat nature of life on this isle, it just leaves me feeling like the luckiest girl in the world.
What can I say? I love New York.
A weekend like the one just passed leaves me wondering how I could ever leave this city. The first snow, the over-whelming kindness of strangers, the convenience, the wonderful off-beat nature of life on this isle, it just leaves me feeling like the luckiest girl in the world.
What can I say? I love New York.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Rien n'y fait, menace ou prière
Last night I went to see Carmen at Lincoln Center.
I called my grandmother as I got ready for the evening. She loves to hear about my life in the city and I knew she'd get a kick out of this.
"So, Phoebes, you know that scene in Moonstruck where Cher is getting ready to go to the opera with Nicholas Cage and she's in her house listening to music having a drink and falling in love?"
"Yes, dear"
"Well, this is exactly like that, except I'm drinking tea and calling you!"
-My life, ladies and gentleman, my life.
I called my grandmother as I got ready for the evening. She loves to hear about my life in the city and I knew she'd get a kick out of this.
"So, Phoebes, you know that scene in Moonstruck where Cher is getting ready to go to the opera with Nicholas Cage and she's in her house listening to music having a drink and falling in love?"
"Yes, dear"
"Well, this is exactly like that, except I'm drinking tea and calling you!"
-My life, ladies and gentleman, my life.
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Marathon Sunday
5 Boroughs
26.2 Miles
Go team go!
--
In other news, Project Apartment continues. We're taking a small break this morning, (if you can count dropping another several hundred dollars on supplies "taking a break") and will continue this afternoon and evening.
Many thanks to my dear old dad who, armed with James Thurber, the crossword puzzle and the soundtrack to Camelot, drove us to the seat of Union County yesterday and waited patiently for 4 hours as we fought the Swedish dragon. When thanked, Pops only said, "Sometimes you just have to be a dad." Perhaps that's true. Still, extra points for "being a dad" with style and grace. Love you.
26.2 Miles
Go team go!
--
In other news, Project Apartment continues. We're taking a small break this morning, (if you can count dropping another several hundred dollars on supplies "taking a break") and will continue this afternoon and evening.
Many thanks to my dear old dad who, armed with James Thurber, the crossword puzzle and the soundtrack to Camelot, drove us to the seat of Union County yesterday and waited patiently for 4 hours as we fought the Swedish dragon. When thanked, Pops only said, "Sometimes you just have to be a dad." Perhaps that's true. Still, extra points for "being a dad" with style and grace. Love you.
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