Kinda Like Peeing Your Pants

It's warm outside, but wet. Hence the title. Welcome to New York, the clouds above say as I step outside, fashionably confused in a light jacket and heavy umbrella. I didn't even need the jacket, but I didn't want to get my arms wet as I walked to the train this morning. I can't say that I mind. The worst thing about rain, besides the clouds is the cold wind that blows it under your umbrella and into your face. Without the cold, the rain is actually refreshing- unlike peeing your pants.

My weekend went well, as long weekends go. Relaxing, stretched out and full of sleeping in. Sunday, Molly and I went into the city with empty pockets. We treated ourselves to vendor food (me a chicken sandwich on flat bread and Molls, the vegetarian, got a severely overpriced salad). Then skipped down Broadway where I got eye-fucked by fully uniformed Navy sailor boys and kept wondering out lout if it was my favorite holiday- Fleet Week. Somehow I ended up shaking hands with a tall, dark and handsome sailor and realized just how in love with D I actually am, because being single (and being me) and not finding out how long this statuesque man would be in town is practically taboo. Eventually we headed up to 42nd street by the New York Main Library where we were entertained momentarily by a trio of brothers (or maybe a Dad and his two sons) that were break dancing before a huge crowd. We moved on to BCBG, where we fantasized about having enough money (or nerve) to by $450 slacks, and left plotting how to come up with a hustle. The only thing we came up with (as we walked down to Union Square Park) was to sit on people and tell them we won't fart for $1. Needless to say we opted to keep our day jobs. Molly told me I haven't lived until I've had a shake from the Shake Shack located near the end of the park, but after seeing the line practically down the block and noting that the medium sized shake was $5, we decided to cross the street to Duane Reade and buy a Chunky Monkey to share. We sat eating ice cream on the bench and people (and dog) watching until the breeze turned cold and our arms became freckled with goose bumps.

Off to the cookout at Marshall's.

Yes, I know. But it was actually fun (after a heartfelt apology, followed by another; which I'm guessing was fueled by his five or so cups of Jungle Juice). I myself had about three cups on a-by then- empty stomach. Molly and me got into a deep conversation with Chris and Carlos' girlfriends about how cool our Women's Lit class teacher, Miss Plunkett, was back in California and then we bitched about boys for a little bit (I think). And eventually everyone ended up walking, wearily back down Fulton towards home at about 1AM.

Monday was a nothing kind of day, at least for me. There was a (nother...) cookout that I was invited to, but decided at the last minute not to go. Ralphy and Molly went to Atlantic City around 8pm, so I pleasantly had the place to myself. I stretched out on the couch and took a nap, did a little writing and a little TV watching. Talked to some friends on the phone for a few hours then made some tea and hopped in the bed. In my opinion, a good weekend. Full of warmth and sunshine...until the pissy-pant rain this morning...