I should start this off with a quick recap for anyone that was smart enough to leave town this weekend.
Don’t get me wrong, there are many lovely things about New York City during the 4th of July. For example… the Macy’s fireworks – obviously from your apartment rooftop, not with the riff-raff watching downtown in red, white, and blue outfits. Don’t get me wrong, I am all about America and patriotism… but I am not a supporter of “festive dressing.” (On a side note – I am apparently a supporter of “festive eating,” as I proceeded to make “microwave smores” on the 4th, celebrating my inner, and I suppose outer after a bar of chocolate and a shit load of marshmallows, fat kid.”
Also, it is actually possible to get a reservation anywhere you want. The people normally holding those reservations are in the Hamptons at Nick and Toni’s with the rest of New York.
I unfortunately decided to brave it out in the city, with the goal of relaxing after an exhaustive 2 months of travel almost every weekend. I stupidly made a reservation at my favorite restaurant in the Meatpacking district, which shall go nameless for the innocent’s sake. I should have turned around immediately when I walked to the door, 15 minutes early for a 10pm reservation, and 2 girls in stonewashed flare jeans and sparkly tops were asking the doorman where Tenjune and Marquee were – and, oh my god, do you think there will be any celebrities, like there tonight?
I found myself craving a cheap beer somewhere with writing on bathroom walls rather than the 100$ dinner I was about to enjoy surrounded by fake-satin clad underagers dying for a glimpse of Ryan Gosling. After dinner my date and I walked around a bit, and he suggested having a drink at the Gansevoort rooftop. Last time I went, my friends and I skipped the line, eager to have a good cocktail and enjoy the view. We got to the roof, and entered a sweaty, gross little room inhabited by a large group of people that smelled like puke. Needless to say, I passed. I think it’s safe to say I’m over the neighborhood. I decided to go home rather than ruin my heels on that fucking cobblestone.
Let’s discuss quickly the fact that as I’m typing, stupid “Protect your computer!” messages will not stop popping up – obnoxious reminders of the fact that I must have downloaded viruses along with my attempt to download “hacking software” to try to infiltrate my ex-boyfriend’s email. Yes, it’s true that this weekend was that boring. I even spent 2 hours per day at the gym. Not nearly enough to make up for all the eating I’ve done in the name of America. Even Frappucino ice cream bars from Starbucks, paying homage to Britney Spears. Tomorrow it’s time to get serious again, I have a wedding to attend in a short month and a half, and undoubtedly an ex-boyfriend to run into (yes, my hacking attempt) – or not run into, depending on how good I look. Plus, it is much easier to justify spending money when you look good in whatever you’re buying.
I’m off to nap and maybe make some food for the week. Maybe. I might just lay down and lounge. More to come tomorrow when this crazy work week is upon me. Happy 4th everyone!
