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Sun, October 22

Croissants, Bangs, and Pizza: A Full Weekend

Poor Shannon Doherty. I am watching her right now on an ABC Family program about witches and Satan. Or rather…Poor ME! Why am I watching this crap?

On the other hand, the night isn’t so bad: I’m drinking wine with J, waiting for his white bean soup to finish cooking. I had a fantastic weekend…Well, except for the part when I was up all night on Friday freaking out because I had watched “The Grudge” and couldn’t get the images out of my head (ironically, Ash is going crazy and insisting on sleeping in my parent’s bed because she saw the “Scary Movie” that showed the kid from the Grudge).

Saturday morning J and I walked to Soho for coffee at Balthazar’s takeout place. It seemed that croissants were the breakfast pastry of the day. At the shop, there was this one woman who took about half an hour to place her order because she kept on changing her mind. But that wasn’t the annoying part—she insisted on saying “qwa-sant” as if she were some fancy French wannabe. Her poor daughter—“Darling, would you like a chocolate quasant or a plain quasant?” “Mom, I don’t want anything!” The next couple in line, which I’ll just call the “model couple” because both of them looked like models, ALSO ordered the famous qwasant. Can’t you just say “krasant” like normal people? I mean, fine, if you’re French, or if you can pronounce it the French way (quoissan, I believe), by all means. But don’t talk in a thick Long Island accent and all of a sudden throw in the fanciness. It doesn’t work. Trust me. You sound like an idiot.

J and I snickered over the croissant fiasco on my way to art class. An hour into class I finally had a moment to eat my breakfast. I opened my Balthazar bag looking very forward to my pumpkin cranberry scone—and instead found a fricking CROISSANT! Of course.

At four, a friend of a friend, named Koby, fit me in for a haircut. I feel so “right now” because…I got BANGS. No other hairstylist has let me have bangs since I was seven. They said it was impossible for curly haired people to have bangs. Well, Koby has proven them wrong! I was really excited about my super new ‘do, but each time I looked in the mirror I had this tiny feeling that I reminded myself of someone. Took me until today, as I was dialing my parent’s house, to realize that I now am a couple of blonde highlight sessions away from looking exactly like my mom. It’s Okay though. My mom’s a pretty lady. But the irony is that my hair was inspired from the east-village ironic punk rawk-indie-hipster-scene, and my mom’s hair is circa 1980, which, if we’re being honest here, is really the same thing, though the hipsters wouldn’t dare to admit it.

Armed with a new look and a new shirt from Forever21, I went out for a night on the town with Jen, and sans J…J was having a little boys’ night with his, well, boys, so it was a nice opportunity to strictly hang with one of my girls. Jen took me and a couple other friends to a brownstone in the village, owned by the founder of MTV and sponsored by Chivas Regal. The party was pretty lame (no more than two dozen people were there, and they all seemed really young), but the house was amazing. Actually, the MTV guy was amazing too—he looked REALLY old, but was wearing a hoodie and a ski cap. He apparently has a thing for young twenty-somethings, especially if they are Asian because almost every girl there fit that description. It was fun to watch, though. There were a couple of talented performances on a makeshift stage in his living room, including a freestyle rapper, a hip-hop and R&B group, and a folk singer.

When the party got old, we moved on. Somehow a pair of tagalong girls managed to trail behind our group for a good distance. It wasn’t until we made it to Magnolia Bakery to check out the line (and try to nab some banana pudding) that I noticed them tiptoeing quietly behind. I don’t know how I started out an evening with Jen, and ended up with a party of eight of people from Columbia Business School, but I almost found myself responsible for getting everyone into the Gansevoort where I had planned to visit my cousin who waitresses there. Luckily, we easily made our way in, and even luckier—Margs was able to get us a great table outside. We hung out, drank expensive mojitos (I rationalize that I’m paying for the view, not the alcohol), and fought off two Norwegian guys who were in town “for five days only”, who were trying to mac to us.

The best part of the night, of course, was having pizza with Jen. It afforded us that unique opportunity to digest the night’s occurrences and talk about everyone (my favorite pastime). It was so beautiful outside that I decided to walk home, heels and all. J and I ended up getting home within minutes of each other. Perfect timing.

And now, we just got home from an after dinner walk to Barnes and Noble (i.e. “the vortex”). I swear I could stay there for hours and not know a minute has passed. Where else can you read every magazine that exists for free and not get yelled at (ahem, magazine kiosk guy on 23rd street, I’m talking ‘bout YOU)? Time for bed, and to finish the most depressing book in the world, “The Year of Magical Thinking.”

Posted by lexzog at October 22, 2006 10:21 PM

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