Sunday was one of those perfect New York days. One of those days where you know exactly why you live here. It started with a late mimosa soaked brunch with the best friends. Benny's Burritos likes to pour them and keep on pouring, let me tell you. We sat there for nearly two hours in loud irreverent laughter. It was bliss. Then in our mimosa haze we took to the streets of the meat packing district, the Highline and the top of the Gansevoort Hotel (you know) with camera and cloves in hand, obvs. Eventually making our way to the LES for some intense life convo and bottomless Australian beer at Sunburnt Cow and some oldies rock & $2 Bud-light at Saint Jerome's. Looking back on the 525 pictures we/I took (yes, 525. we were a tad excessive) I just realize how incredible our 20-something life is. Please, excuse me while I get real annoying and slightly self indulgent. I'm just blown away by the life that I'm aloud to have and the people I'm aloud to spend that life with. It's going to be incredible when I'm 60 to look back at these photos and realize how young, happy, pretty and yes sometimes extremely cocky we were.
A little sensible nap on the dumpster after brunch.
Fellow Blogger Peter, wrote a wonderful and sweet short story about a photo I took of a dear friend of mine, Corrie. Peter, an amazing writer and apparently clairvoyant, really nailed some of Corrie's true life attributes just by looking at this photo (they have never met or spoken.) Please enjoy. Thanks to Peter for being so inspired by my photo and thanks to Corrie for being so inspiring. I am beyond flattered.
the photo in question.
“But I don’t HAVE an accent,” she said. With an accent. “Tell him I don’t have an accent, y’all.”
Looking from one friend to another.
Messy ponytail bouncing.
I just stared.
I may have blinked.
A couple times.
Every syllable dripped with sweetness.
But not too much. You know?
It was barely above a whisper, her telling me that she sneaks a flower home from each park outing with her friends. She saves them all.
She saves them all.
If there was a book about how to get me to become quickly smitten, I’d believe that she’d read, or maybe written, it.
If there was a book about how to get me to become quickly smitten…
That would not sell very well.
At some point, I was sick of the group conversations and really just wanted to hear this girl’s story.
That was twelve minutes after I arrived.
But I waited patiently.
Until fifteen minutes after I arrived.
I invited her to feed the ducks with me, explaining simply that, “The ducks may starve if we don’t. Would you want that to happen? Would you? Poor little baby duckies…”
She tried an angry freckled nose scrunch.
But got up off of the blanket, reaching out for my hand, that instinctively appeared, to help her to her feet.
I hated myself for letting it go as we started walking.
And we talked.
And I tried to learn every single fact that I could.
From what she said. From what she left out.
I did pretty well.
Moving to the city had pulled the sheets off of a fashion sense that had been for too long merely peeking out from under the covers.
She missed her family.
The beginning of every new day excited her.
She always felt bad for the first person eliminated from any reality show competition.
She said my name differently than anyone else on earth.
I liked her version the most.
Pretty early on, I asked for her phone number.
I’d like to tell you that I thought of some creative way to ask. Something that would make a good story for her to tell her friends.
But all I said was, “I think you’re great. I’d really love your number.”
“If we’re meant to meet again, it will happen. Fate brought us together once…” she said, in a voice just quieter than the sound of my heart breaking.
Sure. Fate. And me begging, bribing and a mildly threatening a mutual friend. Who, by the way, said “I thought you liked brunettes!” and then I “bup bup bup”ed her until she agreed to let me join them at the park.
“We met once before. Do you remember?” she asked, looking out over the pond.
Did I remember?
“Vaguely,” I laughed — through my pain.
I don’t think she got the joke.
Then I told her where. When. And what she was wearing. (I know. I know. Too much.)
She smiled. “Maybe you remember a little.”
I pulled the bread into little pieces.
I handed them to her.
She threw them to the ducks.
She hit one of the ducks, gently, with a little piece.
The others yelled to us that it was time to eat.
I was opposed to this idea.
But smiled and passed her the last morsel of bread.
She tossed it to a baby duck.
And she watched to make sure that he got it.
And she smiled.
We walked back.
We joined the others.
The rest of the afternoon went by in a blur.
Everyone chatted, but she and I sat next to each other and playfully bantered.
She asked questions.
Which, frankly, is a bit odd for me.
When she dropped a southern phrase that her grandma used frequently, I laughed.
But then it was time for her to go.
A work event.
I recommended her quitting her job.
Maybe getting some kind of adorableness grant.
She told me to process for getting one of those is “like, so political.”
I had to do it.
I had to.
I leaned in and asked for her number again.
“Not today,” she whispered.
My crest was fallen.
I faked a smile.
She hugged me.
After a delay, I hugged back.
She waved to everyone, picked up her flip flops and walked away.
I tried not to watch her go.
It was not an overwhelming success.
I stayed for a while after that.
Not because I was enjoying the conversations about artists I had never heard of, or foods I wouldn’t eat at gunpoint.
I just didn’t want the day to end.
When I felt like my mood was darkening too much to put up with conversations, I stood up.
I grabbed my shirt and put it on.
It seemed heavier.
I reached into the pocket and felt something. I pulled it out.
It was a flower.
A pretty little white flower.
There was a piece of paper, wrapped around the stem.
I unrolled it.
It was a name. Her name.
And her phone number.
Please visit Peter for more wonder words in many different forms...poems, doodles, short stories and open letters to his future wife. http://peterdewolf.wordpress.com/
Spring has FINALLY reached NYC and my friends and I are beyond happy. Exuberant. Joyous. Thrilled. Falling all over ourselves with excitement. It's definitely been the theme of the day with Central Park picnics and Sunday brunches being planned for the impending 70 degree weather we are promised, Tasti D being consumed for lunch, poems being written and new music being discovered for our summer play-lists. It's been an inspiring and happy day. In honor of all that I thought I would post some of my fave summer/spring shots I've taken in the city just to get us really hot and bothered. Enjoy and HAPPY SPRING Y'ALL!!!
Summer/Spring means a hat wearing themed daycation on City Island.....
...cute hipster boys...
...trips to Coney...
...vogueing on rooftops...
...chillaxin' in the park...
...and a free Jenny Lewis' concert in Battery Park.
Brittany Bell lookin' fly. Per usual.
The pretty Meg B. in Battery Park.
In the Summer/Spring we LOVE BEER....
...being silly in Brooklyn...
...chillin' a little more....
.... and dining in the Park. We love to dine in the Park. Love.
The South is such a beautiful, quirky and amazing place to be from. It's also where I've taken most of my favorite photos. I'm starting a new feature every Monday to share my gorgeous and sometimes odd shots from home. I understand that it is Tues but I really want to start Mississippi Monday today. I meant to start yesterday but forgot. Besides we do things slower in the South anyway so by starting MS Monday on Tuesday really fits perfectly. Get me? No? It's ok if you don't.
Only in the South are there still general stores like this and still general store owners like this. I'm also pretty sure Southerners are the only ones who say General Store. I get it from my dad.
So, this being a photo blog and all I don't usually post without...well photos. However, I've been super busy with work and haven't had time of my own to shoot anything new. So, I wanted to share with you a thought I had today. I just started thinking of what the perfect man would be and how I would go about getting that said perfect man. John Hughes had the right idea! So, here goes. My perfect man if I were to put on a bra hat and weird science myself a soul-mate.
He would have Conan's humor, Tom Welling's cheekbones, Zooey Deschanel's whimsy, Ryan Gosling's mystique, Johnny Cash’s swagger, Dempsey's hair, Ledger’s (r.i.p) accent, the pop culture savvy of Lorelai Gilmore, the brain of CJ Craig, the utter coolness of Bob Dylan, the voice of Ray LaMontagne, a dash of Clark Kent, a smidge of Kermit the frog, a sprinkle of Liz Lemon & a fist full of Jim Halpert. He would also have the style of Joseph Gorden Levitt in 500 Days of Summer and the boyish charm of Hugh Grant in Sense and Sensibility/Notting Hill. He would also play a mean guitar, make a kick ass sandwich, do a killer impression of Alf and be an excellent doodler.
Just thought I should write this down somewhere just in case one day I find this person I will have proof I thought of him first.
If you are out there dear sir, please contact me. I am extremely fly for a white gal. Thanks.