In Which the Weather is Utterly Insane

So I prepped this Sunday night and thought, yeah I’ll write it on Monday. It’s now 10pm on Monday night and I just remembered this. I apologize for what is likely to be impressive brevity.

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My tiny kitchen on a sunny day.

Early last week we were enjoying balmy temperatures hovering around 20˚C and I was attending data events with bloodthirsty quants, listening to aging city planners condemn zoning regulations, and attending rather exhausting afterhours meetings. I also did a bit of dancing and tried to enjoy the weather. I did not enjoy it enough.

By Thursday the weather had turned and I was frozen. Despite the wind and my whining, however, I did make it out into the world to meet up with one of my oldest and dearest friends: Martina. After several months backpacking all over, she’s here in the city for a week so, no matter the cold, I was out of the house near as soon as I got home from work to meet Martina and another friend at Katz’s for some classic Jewish deli food.

Once stuffed with pastrami, we headed into Midtown to visit the Top of the Rock. It is quite the view. It was also bloody freezing, but the pair of engineers I was with entertained themselves with speculation as to the nature of the glass panels that surrounded the viewing deck and the characteristics of the nearby buildings. I don’t know how I’ve managed to fill my life with engineers, but it makes me very happy nonetheless.

After the view, we headed back down to the streets to stop through Time Square before settling into an Irish pub for a drink and chats. I had some ridiculous chocolate martini and we all had marvellous conversation. And then we all went home to bed.

Friday saw me heading to Harlem for a dance studio party where, by some strange fluke of the universe, I met a dancer I hadn’t seen in years. I’d gone to Ireland, she’d moved to Prague, we’d all but fallen out of each other’s lives and then there she was at a New York party. It seems the whole world has come here to join me. And am I ever glad to see it. As we walked from the studio to the train through the frigid night and were accosted by several of the local gentlemen I was very glad that I’d reconnected with an old friend who happened to be heading my way.

I spent most of Saturday around the house giving the poor thing a proper clean and turning a grumpy sourdough into a mildly amicable lump of dough. I also did my US taxes. It seemed to simple and straightforward. I am suspicious.

After a very responsible adult day, I then headed down to the depths of Brooklyn to join Martina, Eric, and a cross-section of the neighbourhood for a late night at the Brooklyn Museum. Once again the night was frigid but the galleries were warm and the company was good. When they booted us out of the museum, however, the walk back to Eric’s apartment nearly did me in. The weather was properly wintery and I had forgotten a hat!

Once out of the cold, however my feelings were soon mollified by a beer and a few rounds of asshole. I won’t say that cognitive impairment had anything to do with it, but I did end up President in the last round of the game and I don’t think it had much to do with my skill. Fortunately, we quit while I was ahead to go get Martina and Eric into their costumes for a Shark Attack party. Hilarious does not even begin to describe; especially not when you are trying to smear fake blood all over the twitching, ticklish face of a 6’ something or other guy clad in spandex, swim shorts, and a life jacket. He also had a shark hat and a loofah, while Martina was buoyantly clad in a floaty ring, water wings, and a blow up crown. They made quite the pair.

My second day of weekend started with bread baking and swiftly transitioned to a quick trip to Blue Bottle (finally) for a delicious cup of coffee and a surprisingly tasty miso cookie before I joined another New York food tour. You see, I have run out of coffee at home and have not been sufficiently responsible to restock so it was imperative that I mitigate any potential migraines and reduce the likelihood of my finding everything that dared to breathe intolerable by injecting a healthy dose of caffeine into my bloodstream. When I met the tour guide I was only too glad that I had.

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You see, some people are born tour guides all glittering wit and sparkling rapport, some learn the talent and still provide that warm naturalness that marks a true host, but not this poor fellow. He’d memorized a script at best, had some very interesting behavioural tics and was not at all able to develop a friendly rapport. I really tried to make conversation but I kept meeting a face of blank confusion so I quickly settled into the stroll resigned to the fact that the chocolate was likely going to be the only redemptive factor for this particular excursion.

Fortunately, the chocolate was very good. We visited Lilac Chocolate, the oldest chocolate shop in the city; Magnolia Bakery, the cupcakes are as good as they say and I am normally unimpressed by cupcakes; Milk and Cookies Cafe, which stood out mostly for it’s adorable decor; Royce’s Chocolates, a Japanese shop which stirred in me the most unexpected nostalgia for my mediocre Melties truffles that I used to buy from the convenience store in Shanghai; Bissouciao, which won my heart and a few of my dollars with floral flavoured maracons; and finally Vosges which is me all over with all sorts of insane and unexpected flavour combinations. Case in point I ate a paprika truffle and took home a bar of turmeric and ginger milk chocolate. I suspect that I shall be back.

And then I was back at home doing battle with the delights of Canadian taxes—they are so very inflexible about addresses—and trying to talk myself into accomplishing something. Fun fact: I did not. The lazies won and I ended my night with a lovely phone call with a certain fella who was out on the long and lonely highway between Baltimore and New Jersey. It was far nicer than trawling through tax documents, that’s for certain!

Today was one of those long days where there’s an awful lot to do and not nearly enough sleep preceding it. I almost fell asleep in a very interesting talk. But of course, when I finally got home and offered my silly head a pillow, it informed me that it had no interest in a nap and if I would kindly let it watch some shows online that would be quite nice. I conceded an episode or two but then bullied the insolent mass of grey matter into tackling some statistics and language study and then I realized I’d forgotten about this. So here I am tap tapping away and wondering whether or not my run of sleeplessness will finally give me a break and yield a more functional creature on the morrow.

Watch this space,
The Salsa Girl

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