Sunday, November 10, 2013


Yesterday I woke up relatively late yesterday, rolled over, and opened up S. I had a few hours to read before heading into Manhattan to meet up with some ladies for a movie date. In that time I also had to get dressed and eat, but I was more interested in the book. After completing another chapter instead of eating, I quickly got dressed and was out the door to make the movie.

And true to my habit, I showed up 40 minutes early. I always worry about being late. Alas.


I waited in the theater, continuing to read the truly magnificent The Lowland, until Amy, Amber, and Kelly arrived for a showing of About Time. After such a week, I was in need of a light-hearted romantic movie. I also am recently fascinated with the lead actor, Domhnall Gleeson, whom I loved as Levin in last year's Anna Karenina.

The movie itself made me bawl, as most movies and books and songs and everything does. It was a well done time travel movie, though everything's very nice. There's not much um, fighting? I'm not sure how to explain it. I recommend the movie, especially if you want a funny, drama-free romance with a few family-centric situations to make you weep. I loved Gleeson. I hope to see a lot more of him in the future. Perfect feel-good movie for four ladies on a Saturday afternoon.


Later that evening, I went to Clinton Hill with Jaime to visit the demo site of one of our friend's new restaurant. It won't be opening until next spring, but we got to tour the work-in-progress and sip on champagne in celebration of what it will be. It's going to be called The Finch and be a seasonal American restaurant focused on produce -- I'm very excited!

We took the opportunity to take a creepy photo in the future coat check closet, and then wandered around the neighborhood for a bite to eat.


We ended up sitting at a bar chowing on delicious greens and burgers and discussing, y'know, life. We chatted with a lovely bartender who also happened to be a tour widow. Our bonding began after she got a drink order and I tried figuring out who ordered it. It went something like this:

"Four dirty martinis!" from the table waiter.
"Ladies night," I said.
"You think?" said the bartender.
"Totally. No guy orders a dirty martini," I said as I scanned the bustling, crowded restaurant. I pointed to a corner table of four shiny-haired ladies in pastels with only waters in front of them, "that's the table."
The bartender went back to the register to check the table number.
"You're right! You're good at this."

And so we continued for a time. I wasn't always right. But taking tiny clues and surmising where they might originate? So up my alley. (See also: S.) And we got a free round for playing the game and mildly entertaining the bartender during her busy shift!


Then I went home and read S in bed while I waited for Jesse's call from San Antonio.

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