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[personal profile] lawnrrd
We leave the suitcase out all the time; we use it so much that there's no point in putting it away.

After coming home Saturday night, unloading the car, and returning it to Avis, we collapsed at home for about an hour. We then took the bus across town to the Meatpacking District to meet some friends at Rio Mar, a mediocre tapas restaurant. Well, we got there, and the place was packed. Worse, our friends' group was bigger than expected thanks to last-minute additions, and we couldn't get another seat near the table. My wife just glared at our friends, and then turned around and started walking back down the stairs. I waved and followed her.

This was especially disappointing because one of these friends (my favorite one, actually) moved back to New York several months ago after living in Amsterdam for about eight months. I still haven't spent any time with her.

We got into another bus to go back east. We got off near our apartment, actually, and walked to [livejournal.com profile] tacologic and [livejournal.com profile] luxnightmare's new place for their housewarming. It looks like they still have some settling in to do, but it looks like a good, comfortable space. [livejournal.com profile] starkyld was there with her crutches.

We were tired and left early because we had to make another stop before bed. But I'm glad we stopped by.

From there we walked to Avenue A for karaoke at a place called Sing Sing Karaoke. It's Asian-style, in that your group rents a private room that you pay for by the hour based on how many people are in there. You pick up a phone when you want to order drinks, and a waiter will come in to take your order.

We were there to celebrate a friend's 45th birthday. He can't eat cake, so he had a birthday sausage into which candles had been stuck. I thought it best not to ask questions or to eat the sausage.

We thought we were going to say hi and go back home, but we soon were having a great time and stayed for about an hour and a half. We chose lots of songs in lots of styles and drank maybe less that we normally would because we were exhausted. We eventually ran out of steam and all left together. My wife and I caught a taxi home and promptly crashed.

Sunday my wife slept too late for yoga, but ran off to a cow-orkers barbecue somewhere uptown. I was invited, but it was socially acceptable for me to stay in bed, and I did. My wife came home, and I went to Pier 1 to buy wine glasses for another friend's housewarming while she showered. I then showered quickly, and we took the subway to City Hall for the start of a walking tour.

I made the mistake of listening to my wife when I got dressed, so I wore a t-shirt and jeans and didn't carry a jacket. I was thus cold.

The walking tour was of the "immigrants' New York." We started at City Hall Park, which was hear the old Irish part of town, as shown in Gangs of New York. It was very odd to talk at length about the movie and about its connection to fact and our location, especially in the shadow of the absence of the World Trade Center. I've mentioned before that sometimes I feel like a part of that history and its ongoing flow—and I suppose I really am—but I'm not used to feeling like a part of anything, and it always startles me when I do.

We then walked through the old Jewish Lower East Side and the old part of Chinatown, talking about the history of the areas, and the City, and the nation along the way. We ended the trip at Disney's Italyworld the tourist attraction that used to be Little Italy. We had a surprisingly good meal at a touristy place, including some of the best pork chops I've ever tasted.

After dinner, we stopped back briefly at home to change clothes and pick up the wine glasses. We then left for the housewarming in the Carl Fischer building, which is on Cooper Square.

On arrival, we stepped out of the elevator and into an episode of Absolutely Fabulous. The apartment was totally unacceptable: a six fucking thousand seven fucking hundred square foot loft on the second floor of the building. The space had been renovated with new floors and windows, but was unfinished in that it was all one immense space except for a tiny bathroom. The kitchen was a small stretch along one wall with a tiny oven and a tinier fridge. The apartment also needed furniture.

Out hostess was also celebrating her birthday, although I don't know which one, and it seemed impolite to ask. (I'm guessing early fifties.) For reasons that may become clear, I will call her Edwina, even though that's not her name. Edwina lives there with her daughter who is about nineteen years old and whom I will not call Saffy, since she seems much more the club-kid type.

If I have the story right, Edwina's husband was gay and died of AIDS. He left her with a good deal of money, with which she started a business that keeps an inventory of clothes and accessories and rents them out for photo and movie shoots. The business is run by two startlingly attractive foreign women, seemingly with little intervention from Edwina. But in a perhaps related fact, Edwina has many fashionable and attractive friends. She is also stark raving mad, although she has a very good heart.

The party failed to fill the apartment, as no party really could fill it. But it was fun to explore, and we chatted and had some wine and talked about how insanely jealous we were. And after about 90 minutes, we went home and collapsed again.

Today was work, and tonight was volleyball for me; we won all three games of tonight's match, and on Thursday night we play the worst team in our division.
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