At the Mercy of Hercules

I like visiting my family in Florida a lot, especially in the winter. I do not like it, however, when I have four flights out of Florida cancelled and end up getting back to New York almost a week later than I should have.

Such was the case after my life, and the lives of so many others (some people died!!), encountered the beast that was Winter Storm Hercules. Planes slid on icy runways, airports delayed flights hours upon hours, cancelled hundreds of flights, and shut down entirely. 

The feeling I had was the same one I would get when I would be home sick from school while something awesome was happening--sadness of missing out and not being able to do a single thing about it. Please, please get me back to my city! My life is waiting for me! I felt trapped for a day or two, and came down with a horrible case of FOMO (fear of missing out, for the uninitiated). Ultimately, though, I had little to complain about: a roof over my head, sunshine for a day or two, 70-degree weather...as opposed navigating snow-covered sidewalks and streets without snow boots in 1-degree weather in which one isn't supposed to stay outside for more than 15 minutes at a time. 

The first cancelled flight happened on Friday the 3rd. I was supposed to host an event I worked hard to develop and curate on Monday evening. There weren't supposed to be any flights until Tuesday, but I managed to find one for the next day, a connecting flight. It left from an airport an hour from my house. I got there with plenty of time and checked in for my flight, only to find after I checked in that the second leg of my flight had been canceled. I saw my nerves shriveling in front of me. Were there buses? Trains? Any flights, anywhere? The flight the airline had put me on for Monday connected in Detroit, and I was skeptical of making that connection. Hours later, huddled in front of the computer, I found one more flight, into White Plains, that would leave Monday morning at 6:45am, also at an airport an hour from my house. I booked it, not even caring that I would have to leave home at 3:30am just to be there to check in. And two hours later, it too was canceled. I would be missing my event, so I walked a team of people through how to host it (apparently it was a success, though, so hurray!).

And at that point, it felt like flights were being canceled for no reason. It was only raining in New York, and definitely above 30 degrees. It felt like no matter what flight I booked it would be canceled

Oh, and that flight connecting in Detroit was canceled, too. 

Nerves shot, I went out for a hamburger and fries. Fun fact: I love hamburgers. But that night, not even at a restaurant where the burgers where named after drag queens, could I enjoy myself. I kept thinking about what I could do, what mode of transportation I could take (the Pony Express?) to get myself back to New York at all, let alone by Monday.

I found the next possible flight out, for Thursday. I didn't even care about the date that point, I just needed to get back to New York. Just like for people, I save up a certain amount of time where I don't miss New York, where I just enjoy where I am. But after that time runs out, I wonder what else I could be doing, what I'm missing out on, what I need to be doing when I get back, and I get antsy. It's like I can't be away too long or, deprived of a life force, part of me starts to wither. One can only soak up the sun for so long! I joke, of course, and I don't mean to complain...but heaven's to Betsy, whoever that dame is, I am utterly relieved to be home. 

Top Great Moments I Didn't Write About But Should Have: 2013 Edition

As every year in publishing ends in a year's worth of listicles, so too does mine here at Miss Manhattan. Granted, I am in fact starting my year this way, but I like to use the beginning of the year as a time of reflection. So many moments come along that I want to write about but simply can't at a particular time, so I've selected a few of my favorites from the past year to share with you here. This is the second incarnation of such a list, my first being last year.

Get Published
I am fortunate enough to have been published in some amazing media outlets this past year. As I once said, it was a moment when I realized I had a career and not just a job. It's the stuff I moved to New York to do.

Here are some of them:
The New Yorker, Artforum, Glamour, New York Magazine, Bitch Magazine, Paper Magazine

And I got to interview the most recent winner of RuPaul's Drag Race!

I was also incredibly honored to have a photograph I took on the cover of Time Out New York's Summer Parties issue in mid-July.

Go Bhakti or Go Home
I had a wild night this past summer that began at a Bhakti Monastery and Community Center, the Bhakti Center, on 1st Street and 1st Avenue. Many thanks to RaGo, we attended a screening of the film Run, Lola, Run and participated in a discussion on the way the Vedic principles present themselves in the film. What I loved about this was not only the enlightening discussion and opportunity to learn about the Vedas, but that it was not at all dogmatic. It was simply a group of people discussing their beliefs and inviting me to listen, not begging me to convert. And frankly, all it was was a discussion on doing right by your fellow man, and I'm all for that, so it didn't bother me at all. It was followed by a delicious meal homemade by the monks (samosas! salads! pastas!) and a mingling session. And it was all free!

After that, RaGo, her friend and I made our way to The Blind Barber, a speakeasy in the back of a barbershop in the East Village. After a drink, I noticed a text from RE on my phone--he was in town for something like 16 hours, and since he normally resides on the West Coast, I was determined to see him. I raced uptown in a cab to 96th and Amsterdam, and there he was. We puttered around the area with a group of people, pausing briefly to dance at a very crowded bar that in between its live music session, featured a mix of top 40 and Prince tunes. But once the band started to play, we departed for Hell's Kitchen. We found ourselves at the Hourglass Tavern's upstairs Betti Bar with some of his friends. Soon, it was 2am, and RE departed to get something like 4 hours of sleep before heading back home at 6am.

I was just getting in a cab when AE rang my phone. He was in town visiting from Seattle, and we had just had the opportunity to reconnect after 8 years. I went to meet him at Links, a sausage and beer joint on the Lower East Side, where we hung out and talked some more until 4am. I thought I was going to pass out by the time I finally got in a cab. I heard birds chirping as I fell into my bed around 4:30. That's what nights in New York were made for.


Ailey Day
There are few more people I enjoy consuming culture with than DW. I had gotten free tickets to see the Alvin Ailey Dance Theatre's famous Revelations at Lincoln Center, and of course took him, my fellow dance and culture aficionado, with me. We sat and gaped at the amazing dancing (Ailey's "Sinner Man" is not to be believed, nor is Jiri Kylian's sassy, funny, sexy, smart "Petit Mort").

Afterward, DW took me to the wonderful Red Rooster Harlem, Marcus Samuelsson's gourmet Southern cooking restaurant. It was utterly sublime (and as I write that I am thinking the French pronunciation, "soo-bleem"): fried chicken and waffles with bourbon maple syrup, anyone? How nice it is to go out with a friend and enjoy a day at the theatre.

New Jersey
I will admit, I have a love-hate relationship with New Jersey. I find its suburban, culture-less presence irritating and fear for my life that I will one day end up living there. But, as much as I feel this way, I love visiting my friends' family homes--it's fascinating to see where people come from and everyone's homes are so beautiful in their own way. Such was the experience of visiting SJT's residence in South Plainfield. His family has an orchard in the backyard, bursting with pears, berries, veggies, and so much more. His father has a gorgeous old Dodge Dart in the driveway and a wild model train collection set up in his basement. His mother hangs clothes on the line outside, right above their roses. We made a lovely dinner and ate it while sitting on the porch, doing our best not to feed his dog Ginny (named for Gin and Tonics) any of our goodies. At the end of the evening, DW drove me to the train station and on the way we listened to Dylan's "Idiot Wind" and Kanye West's "Yeezus," opining our strong opines about each.

Cosmo Quiz
One of the world's great treasures must be when ladies have a beach day. Such was the day when AS and I decided to head to Manhattan Beach, near Brighton Beach in Brooklyn. She had never been before, so we met up at Union Square and got breakfast for the train ride. Then we stopped at the wonderful Brighton Bazaar for goodies, many of which she had never heard of and I enjoyed describing--they were mostly treats I had encountered because of my Russian/Eastern European background. We got ourselves a picnic lunch, complete with blintzes and potato salads and drinks and other goodies for a total of $15 (hardly something you'd ever be able to do in Manhattan.

Arriving on the beach, the very fair-skinned (or, as she laughs, "beach disabled") AS set up her beach umbrella and I generously applied my SPF 4. Partway through the afternoon, we decided to start taking the very inane Cosmo Quizzes, quizzes from the famous women's magazine, on her phone, and laughing hysterically at the results: Do you put your career first? Yes? You're the kind of girl that can't wait to get hitched! What? Young sorta-feminists taking hyper-feminine quizzes on the beach will of course end the escapade in laughter.

Gallery Hop
As MDP taught me this past September, it's wildly fun to go gallery hopping when all of the galleries have their openings--they're usually on the same night, a Thursday, and they all have wine and beer for visiting guests. We went from Philip-Lorca diCorcia's amazing Hustlers exhibition at the David Zwirner Gallery (at which I found myself in the company of the New York magazine's art critic Jerry Saltz and Elle Magazine Fashion News Director Anne Slowey) to the Steven Kasher Gallery's Warhol Love Indiana photo series. MDP's boss, a famous photographer, happened to be there and invited us to attend the opening of the FIT's Queer History of Fashion exhibition. It was raining so we hopped in his car and drove, talking about photography along the way. While there we took in utterly cool exhibition (including but not limited to leather harnesses, an all-pink sailor suit, and other visions of gender-bendy goodness), we sipped wine and milled about the space. Yours truly may or may not have posed under an urn of rainbow colored feathers, modeling them as if they were a hat.

After that, I had the pleasure of introducing MDP to the deliciousness of The Meatball Shop in Chelsea,  and of the alcoholic milkshakes at the Olive Tree Cafe. It was an evening of unexpected delights, to say the very least.

Thicker Than Water
I am often in awe of the people I am fortunate enough to call my friends, though this time I mean specifically Scott Wasserman and Shannon Deep. The duo have composed a new musical play called Thicker Than Water, in which a young man meets his birth mother for the first time. It is entirely sung-through, composed by Scott with lyrics by Shannon. They did a beautiful job of making a complicated story interesting and engaging, and at their first workshop at Ripley-Grier Studios, I was on the edge of my seat, wanting--nay NEEDING--to know what happened after Act I. We went out for empanadas and margaritas afterward. I am utterly spellbound by their genius and am excited to see where it goes next.

Remembering Lou
I found out about the Lou Reed memorial at Lincoln Center less than 12 hours before it happened, via Twitter. The immense talent passed away at the end of October, and in the middle of November a tribute was held at the Paul Milstein Pool and Terrace at Lincoln Center. It was a simple setup, by Lincoln Center's standards, anyway: two massive, high-end speaker set up at the end of the park near the performing arts library, and rows upon rows of chairs. People stood and talked, they nodded to the music, they sat and thought about the great man rock and roll had lost. Salman Rushdie wore a Yankees cap and took videos on his iPhone. It was nice to see so many different kinds of people coming together to honor and listen to him. "Sweet Jane" played and the cold bit my nose. I kept saying I would only stay for five more minutes, five more minutes, five more minutes...

Window Shopping III

Every year I've gone to see them, department store Bergdorf Goodman proves to me their holiday windows are the only ones worth seeing. While I didn't have the pleasure last year, my trip this year reminds me of how silly it is to miss them. In case you didn't know, the famed store spends all year planning their holiday windows and 15 days installing them, with a staff of over 100 people from beginning to end (for more Bergdorf's windows, or #BGWindows, facts, click here!). This year, the theme for their 5th Avenue windows was "Holidays on Ice," featuring icy interpretations of Halloween, Valentine's Day, Arbor Day, Independence Day, New Year's Eve, Groundhog Day, April Fool's Day, and more! Take a look at some of my photos of the gorgeous installations here:

Sights and Sounds of the Season

Like screens on a window, some things you don't notice until they're right in front of you. There are a few such instances I've taken notice of this holiday season that I find are especially New York in nature.

For example, nothing, not even the the monsoon-like downpour of snow last Saturday, can keep a New Yorker, myself included, away from their Christmas shopping. I trudged through the snow that just kept falling all day (perhaps it's because I'm from Florida, but I've never seen anything like that in my life; it was, in fact, rather bewildering) because that day was the only day I had to get such things in order. As garbage as it can be to trudge through the New York snow, there is no place else I would rather be trudging. And I did it like a champion, no thanks to the herds of SantaCon-ers crowding the subway whom I prayed would not vomit on me in a drunken stupor, only to apologize with a high-pitched "OMIGOD I'M SOOOOO SORRY" or "Oh, uh, sorry bro." Nonetheless, I enjoyed my trip to one of my regular gifting locations, the Strand Bookstore. I got lost as I always do in their miles of books, at least one mile of my own that I lust after every time. I stood in that crazy holiday line to purchase gifts, dreaming about what book I might like to buy next.

It's also wonderful to get a brisk, crisp chill alongside some sun, which I have been fortunate enough to have these last few days in the city. One night it was even warm enough to walk down the street with my coat unbuttoned, and I got to enjoy a nice cozy stroll before heading uptown. I started at Beyond Sushi, a vegan sushi joint on 14th and 3rd (only in New York, right? But it was delicious, and I highly recommend the Mighty Mushroom roll. It features purple Six Grain Rice, Enoki, Shiitake, Tofu, and Micro Arugula, and is topped with a delish mushroomy paste YUM. Wash it down with a cucumber mint lemonade, hello goodbye.) I walked through the West Village, past the gorgeous brick brownstones and 1970s apartment buildings whose lobbies featured leather armchairs for guests, praying silently to myself that I may one day have the pleasure and privilege of residing in one of them.

I like the wetness of the subway stairs when the snow has melted. I like the gift vendors in Union Square. I like the store clerks wearing elf ears with their Marilyn Monroe t-shirts against their will. I like the rush of the cold air on my hands, the posters of The Secret Life of Walter Mitty outside of the obnoxiously large Regal Cinemas on Broadway, and the proliferation of red Macy's shopping bags. I like the jingle of the Salvation Army bellringers with their red buckets. Older women in luscious minks as you head uptown and the younger women in their faux fur coats downtown.

After the Strand, I sat down in a bubble tea shop--called Comebuy, on 14th between 7th and 8th, it had the most kinds of bubble tea I had ever seen in my life, though I settled on a more traditional honey green that evening--and I opened New York Magazine's annual Reasons to Love New York issue. Perhaps it's the season, this time of reflection on the almost-finished year, but I too felt nostalgic. I had also just finished reading James Wolcott's memoir Lucking Out, about his experience living in New York in the 1970s, arriving here with little else than a letter of reference from Norman Mailer in his pocket. Wolcott writes about his experiences getting, as he says, "down and semi-dirty," in the city, living on Horatio Street and in a man-cave on St. Mark's Place as a writer, when such a thing was still possible. I wonder what my 2010s memoir will look like, should I decide to write one. Will everyone expect it to look like a season of Girls? I shudder to think. What will be the things that I miss the most about my New York now, thirty to forty years in the future?

I wonder if I am just kidding myself sometimes about New York being a place to go, for lack of a better phrase, to chase your dreams. People have a lot of things to say about the way New York is now: that it's inhospitable to artists, that it's all but eliminated a middle class that used to easily live here, that it's gone corporate, that it's a money-driven Disneyland. But I still believe in the hope of New York. You can get lost in the difficulty of it all, or you can just push past it and make your life happen. Maybe it's because I am but a relatively new New Yorker (going on three and a half years), but I haven't given up just yet. I don't know that I ever will.

Ladies of the Left Bank

Perhaps one of the greatest friendship phenomena I know of is that of the friendy date. Also known as the "ladydate" or "man-date," it's when two friends plan to spend a night out on the town together. You dress up, go out to a lovely place for dinner or cocktails or both, and you luxuriate in the fabulousness of your friendship. I have been on friendy dates with my bros (SW and I quite like Asiadog for our bro-moments--broments?--and BK and I have taken Empire Biscuit into our recent repertoire), and my ladies, like I did on Saturday with AS.

My friendy date sphere of thought began spinning this evening, when I reflected up on the utterly wonderful Saturday evening spent with my dear friend AS. AS and I have known each other for about eight years (ish), and she was one of the first people I swaddled into my New York life (and vice versa) upon my arrival in the city. Frightfully witty and insightful, she is one of my favorite ladies.

After making the utterly miserable mistake of trying to take a cab down the West Side Highway on a Saturday night, I arrived to meet AS at the restaurant of her choice, The Spotted Pig. She found out upon arriving first that the restaurant was known internationally for its food, which perhaps was supposed to alleviate our "Oh, fuck that" attitudes to the restaurant's two-hour wait, but it certainly did not. Instead, we wandered for a bit and, like moths to a flame, were drawn to an archway of trees set alight and sparkling with elegant white Christmas lights. Though the restaurant they surrounded was of no interest to us, we instead parked ourselves at Left Bank next door where the wait was instead 30 minutes. We figured this would be the best we'd get in the area for a place that wasn't a diner--and we did not feel like a diner that evening--so we stayed.

The very kind hostess gave us the option of sitting at the bar, though to our dismay no seats were available. We sat instead on the benches near the door, a chill swishing over us with each opening. Eventually, though, the hostess noticed some women (also on a friendy date??) leaving and gestured to us to take their seats. How kind! we thought to ourselves. Because let's be honest, in most restaurants if you can't find a seat at the bar, you can go fuck yourself and stand in the corner with your coat, no thank you very much. But she pointed out seats to us! And so we sat and enjoyed a carafe of rioja while waiting for our table. We contemplated for a moment to eat dinner at the bar, but AS said, No, let's make this a thing! We're going to a whole thing! So we did!

We shared a salad of shaved brussels sprouts with parmagiano reggiano and walnuts (I would direct you to the menu, but it changes every day!!), then I had a black fettucini (homemade pasta, by the way!) with calamari, and she the swordfish. Both were lovely dishes. We followed it with a dessert cheese plate and aperitifs (she an old-fashioned and I a Disaronno on the rocks), laughing at ourselves all the way about how we are "cleverly disguised as adults," to use AS's words. We toasted to ourselves and our friends and lovers and smiled at all the damage we did on the bill. Well, you get one life and, as my mother always tells me, you can't take it with you. One of the grand delights of a friendy date is spoiling yourself...a little bit or a lot is up to you.

Say what you will, but there is something magical that happens on friendy dates. It is the beauty of seeing exactly what you love about your friend and your friendship with them. I feel lucky in New York to experience the city with all different sorts of loved ones. Too often people get absorbed into themselves or their relationships and forget all about the people who where there first, or there when everything seemed to oil spill awful into the river of your life. It can be a challenge to see your friends sometimes, living here or anywhere: we are all very busy and important. But who doesn't love to know that they are cherished and adored? It is so nice to go out and get dolled up with a friend, no matter whether you are eating hot dogs or drinking old-fashioneds. Or both.

Feeling Radio-Active

Sitting outside today on Las Olas Boulevard, sipping a tea latte in front of a fountain (New Yorkers, my apologies if I've just boiled your blood a bit...) and staring at palm trees swathed in Christmas lights, I knew a Florida post was on the horizon. After a long and leisurely lunch and gossip session with my near and dear JS, I made my way to a place that was really one of my second homes as a budding music nerd down here: Radio-Active Records.

Selling everything from new and used vinyl (LPs, 45s, etc.) and any possible accessory to go with it, as well as new and used CDs, posters, magazines, and more, Radio-Active Records is not really a gem but an entire diamond mine of an independent music store. Nestled in the same shopping center as a tattoo parlor, a gay bar and an art gallery, it's a record store that has happily and effortlessly maintained that hipness all music stores once had: that positive, these-people-know-what-they're-talking-about-but-aren't-dicks-about-it vibe that makes for a good business and a stellar community built around it. In addition to their awesome selection of tuneage (Shannon on the Clams on vinyl, whaaat! In addition to obscure Maria Muldaur albums and an utterly rad David Bowie 45 where he sings "Heroes" in French...that last one I picked up for myself, thank you very much), Radio-Active also hosts cool, up-and-coming bands in their store: recent performances include blues rockers Deap Vally and punk outfit Remembering Never).

Even a swirling land of corporate music retailers, I always chose Radio-Active instead. The staff is friendly and helpful, not like Jack Black's character in High Fidelity who will balk at your distaste of The Jesus and Mary Chain despite your love of Echo and the Bunnymen. Plus, it's great to get into a conversation with someone who not only has varied tastes and can recommend you sounds you might like, but someone who is also willing to learn from you! (Thank you to R-A's Scott today, who told me about Burial and The Vaccines, and was willing to listen about my interest in Brooklyn band Parquet Courts). And of course I will admit it feels great when they heartily approve of your day's purchases, that my own good taste in music is hardly a figment of my own imagination.

Another fun part about today is that their 45s sale on this weekend (and hurrah, I got to support during Small Business Saturday!). There were crates upon crates upon boxes upon boxes filled with the things, all for $1 apiece. They were given to the store by a woman who had purchased all of them in hopes of filling a jukebox she never purchased. I managed to wrangle some oldie-but-goodies (Johnnie Ray, Tavares, The Seekers, and other divinities) from the crates, as well as my aforementioned David Bowie 45. I listened to the latter on their gorgeous sound system, headphones canceling all exterior noise and allowing me to lose myself in, forgive the Phil Spector reference, a wall of sound. Bowie swooned and lamented to me, the tune sweeping in a hopeful upswing through my ears. I must listen to my records more often, I said to myself. A good music store, a store like Radio-Active Records, will (and should) have that effect on you. See below for a photo of their sweet postcard with all of their contact info. If you're out of state, you can follow their radness on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram, where they're really good at showing what's up at the store.

Presents/Presence

I have been remiss in not writing my annual birthday post, so here we go!

November 2

I celebrated my 25th birthday! And I sort of had a birthday week because why the hell not?

I took my annual birthday trip to Bloomingdale's and got myself a lovely sweater coat, followed by a trip to Dylan's Candy Bar for gummies and yummies, and Serendipity 3 for the ridiculous/sublime/ridiculously sublime Cleopatra's Barge: potato skins topped with sour cream and caviar with a side of red onions. I'm 25, health be damned! Then, later...

"How hot are we getting tonight?" SD asked me via text.

"How well do you know me?" I said.

I texted AS: "In case it wasn't already implied, dress code for tonight is 'look hot, betch.'"

By accident I ended up eating my Dylan's Candy Bar loot for dinner. Nothing says adulthood like caramel creams for an entree. 

That evening, the ladies stepped out, heels and all, downtown. The first stop was Decibel, the rad, red-lit, underground sake bar where the waiters all seem kind of pissed at something but don't really take it out on you. We had octopus sushi in wasabi sauce, a variety of dumplings and a laahhhhhge bottle of sake. Even sipping little bits from those teeny glasses will get you a little more than buzzed (well, me anyway). "You know how I feel about drunken women," my mother said. "But one only turns 25 once..."

Next stop was The Slipper Room, the newly refurbished burlesque house on the Lower East Side. We hooted and hollered at fierce ladies being fierce, jiggling like there was no tomorrow. I was a little worried because it was EL's first burlesque show ("What is burlesque, exactly?" she asked) but she loved it! Another convert to what I feel is a sexy, empowering performance art. Huzzah!

After the show, we left to find another bar, but SEP stopped me. "I know a guy who can get us drinks for free," she said. I figured she knew someone who would be nice and get us a couple of cocktails, but  she actually knew the manager of Beauty & Essex, a rather swank restaurant and bar on the Lower East Side. We ended up getting a table and champagne bottle service. For free. They brought one of the champagne bottles over with a giant sparkler in it and everyone sang happy birthday. I never pictured myself as a lady having a birthday 'at the club' but there I was, and there we all were, and it was marvelous. It was followed by a rather drunken bout of disco fries (cheese and gravy...I know...) at the brilliantly 24-hour Remedy diner and a rather sleepy cab ride home. I even wore my heels the entire time! Like a champ.

November 3

November 3 is my actual birthday, and it was the perfect day to take it easy and relax. Even if that wouldn't have been what I wanted to do, I would have had to because it was the day of the New York Marathon! The marathon runs directly past my house, so there was no crossing the avenue that day to get to the train and go anywhere in particular. It was fine by me, though, since DL was running the marathon! All morning I tracked his pace then did some rough calculations to see when he would be running by me. Luckily, and much of a surprise to the math gods as myself, I did it right and waited for him out by the barriers, brightly glittered sign in my hands saying "Go DL Go!". I had made it the night before, before going out, so there was glitter all over my apartment. Since we checked in before, he knew where to look for me, and soon enough he found me. I got a picture of him and he wished me happy birthday. I have to say, it's one of the best birthday presents I've ever received because it's so unique--I don't know if he'll run the marathon again, or if I'll even be living in the same place, so it could very well be a once in a lifetime opportunity to be wished happy birthday in the middle of the marathon! I was so proud of him. The magnitude of what these people are doing doesn't really strike you until they run past you and...they just keep going. I don't know if they're crazy or brilliant. Or a combination of the two.

Then I went to eat my favorite omelet, granny smith apple, cheddar cheese and chicken apple sausage, at my favorite brunch spot, The Barking Dog. I went for a walk on the East River and read a book. That evening, MDP brought me flowers and sat on my couch eating Chinese food.

November 7
My bro (yes, I said bro) BK took me out to new restaurant Empire Biscuit for my birthday. It's a 24-hour biscuit joint, with rad homemade biscuits, biscuit sandwiches, gravies, spreads, and god knows what else. We sat and had girl talk at their long wooden tables about Nora Ephron, dating, and toothbrushes while indulging in these incredible concoctions. I had a biscuit and sausage gravy sandwich while BK went the 'pig and fig' route, bacon and fig jam. Both were to die for, and I'd go back in a heartbeat. It's great, too, for late night munchies since they're open 24 hours! I mean, who doesn't want homemade, gourmet snacks at all hours of the night?

November 9
It was soiree city at The Blue Banana, my apartment. There were a bunch of people I didn't know and a bunch I did, and everyone had a fabulous time and drank champagne. My delightful roommate made me a funfetti cake topped with pink cherry frosting--"To Our Favorite Diva, Happy Birthday Elyssa." With 25 candles!

November 10
EH stayed over after my birthday and we went gallivanting around downtown. Our first stop was the Daily Candy Bazaar, and we managed to scoop up some free Jamberry nail wraps (they're like sheets of nail polish with different patterns on them)! Next stop was Vanessa's Dumplings--you have to go to the one on Broome and Eldridge, because that's where you can get 10 dumplings for $5. No, I'm not joking. We also got bubble tea and a sesame pancake, then sat on the steps of Eleanor Roosevelt Park on Houston and Chrystie to people-watch. We then strolled through Bond No. 9 fragrances to see if we could swing EH a new perfume. While we weren't exactly anticipating their $275 per bottle, we did score a sample for her, which was pretty sweet. Shortly after, EH left and I bopped around SoHo getting my shop on before meeting MDP for tea at McNally Jackson, my favorite bookstore. Later I went home, all warm and snuggly from the day, and reflected on the past week or so--a perfect start to my 25th year.