The weekend is a little hazy because the weather was hazy, and also perhaps because I started off each morning with mimosas for breakfast. I sweat a lot. On Saturday, I didn’t go to the bathroom between 1pm and 8pm, despite drinking over 40 ounces of water and one diet coke. This was shocking to me because I pee, on average, every 47.5 minutes.
My friend Lyd and I drove this time, hoping to save both money and Holly’s stomach, which is still funky after her flight back from Dallas. We didn’t even make it to Geneva before we got stuck in a 2 ½ hour traffic jam. We were upset about it. There was complaining. And then we found out a tour bus had pulled out in front of a tractor trailer, was immediately set on fire, and that the tractor trailer driver perished.
We felt a wee bit bad about complaining.
I have a love/hate thing going on with the British woman on the GPS. I love her because she knows where I am when I have no clue, but I hate her because she’s bossy and takes me through the Holland Tunnel when the George Washington Bridge is the better route.
We did find free parking one street away from Christine's apartment for the entire weekend. This is a miracle akin to turning water into wine. Or mimosas.
It took us ten hours to drive to the Upper East Side and six hours to drive home via the George Washington Bridge.
Lyd and I are not quite assimilated to the Big Apple, though we try to fit in. Lydia is, strangely, single. Otherwise I WOULD NOT be checking out handsome men in uniform on the street because I am happily married to a suit. I'm trying to help out a friend.
Holly: Lyd, did you see that cute pilot over there?
Lyd: Ooooh, yeah. Danny!
Christine: That’s a doorman, guys.
I was also concerned about how crowded all of the coffee shops were.
Holly: Is it always this crowded in these places? Even in the dead of winter?
Holly: (Deeply concerned.) But then where can all of the writers go to pen their great novels?
Christine: It’s the stupid writers that make it so crowded in here. They sit and they don’t move for days. (Glares at girl sitting at table with laptop.)
Holly: Oh. I feel sheepish. (I did not say that. But sheepish is just how I felt.)
I took fewer pics than I usually do, but here are some of them with commentary:
|A tourist boat sailing by the island. The orange boat is the Staten Island Ferry.|
|View of lower Manhattan from Governors Island.|
|View of Libby from Governors Island|
|Castle Williams located on Governors Island|
|On Sunday, we had Brunch at Cafe Lalo, which is the cafe from You've Got Mail. (Which I wrote about recently, right here. Tom Hanks goes to meet Meg Ryan, who sits waiting expectantly with her rose and a copy of Pride and Prejudice.) The cafe is renowned for their vast dessert menu. They offer an "Around the World" brunch. Christine got the New York brunch. Holly stupidly got the Irish brunch. If you ever have the choice between a New York brunch and an Irish brunch, go with New York.|
|At Cafe Lalo.|
|I love corner flower shops.|
|There is a Food Emporium located under the 59th Street Bridge. Wegmans has a nice ambiance, but this makes grocery shopping quite elegant.|
|We went to Tiffany's because Christine had a return to make. So, there you go. The inevitable Holly Goes Lightly at Tiffany's pic, sideways, because she can't seem to fix the Blogger pic problem. I'm wearing my brand new Angel Batista hat.|
We did not do that, of course.
Christine, by the way, lives one street away from Holly Golightly's fictional apartment building. I failed to get a snapshop, yet again.
We did too many things to list. Some stops: The GreenFlea Market, Zabar's (where I got Lydia a bag of coffee because John drank the last two brought home from NY for her), The Strand, of course, Pylos Greek Restaurant, etc, etc, etc.
It was good times and noodle salad, despite the heat.
Walking around with my girlfriends, I don't feel like a 33-year old mother of four. I feel fifteen again, wandering about with no resonsibilities, feeling a tiny bit rebellious having a mimosa with breakfast even though I'm of age. For three days, it felt like no time had past between now and the tenth grade.
Today, I feel very much 33. Daniel is waiting for me to open the garage. I better do that.
No one has their very own garage in Manhattan. Poor saps.