Brooklyn Baby

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Okay, so I guess I'll just move to Brooklyn and start over again for the 4th time. I love the wide sidewalks and the old walk-ups and the people-watching is unbelievable; like, duh, no duh, but it amazes me every time. While waiting for L & L to meet me at Port Authority, I saw at least ten people in a row that I wanted to take pictures of (though that's rude, I'm sure and touristy). And I heart the bodegas where you can buy everything from organic white vinegar to Virgin de Guadalupe candles. I got lucky too because L & L's neighbor were out of town and they were watching the cat (Samson, a big fat gray cat with a skinny tall and skinny legs. He slept with me and bit me on the nose in the morning, very gently) and so I got to sleep in their huge comfortable bed. On Friday, Liz and I went shopping for sneakers for me and some Hispanic old man grabbed my hand on the escalator, us going up, him going on the down side, and he said, Boo! I said, Never, ever, ever do that to anyone again. He said, I'm sorry, mami! I didn't scream, but did experience that jolt of adrenaline in my veins like when you almost get into a car accident.

Friday night, we stayed in and drank wine and I forced Liz to set up her own Facebook page and then we met the upstairs boy neighbor and sort of watched Bladerunner and that's really all that needs to be said about that.

Saturday, Liz and I made it to Beacon's Closet where nothing looked right and we tried on shoes at a bunch of other boutiques and went to the Farmer's Market and saw tons of babies and dogs. That's what Brooklyn seems chock full of--at least Park Slope--babies and dogs and dog babies and baby doggies. Saturday night, they had a garden party in their back yard and we slapped mosquitoes and ate cobbler with vanilla ice cream. Jeff and Carla showed up and it was good to see them--they're exactly the same in a really great way. Then I skinned my knee on the stairs and went to bed post haste.

Went to brunch at a Mexican restaurant where I ate cactus (well, most of it I picked out of the omelet, but some of it, I ate) and Liz picked at her banana pancake and kept insisting it was French toast. I helped them have their wedding pre-Cana or whatever it's called by having them talk about chores. That led to a fight. Not really.

Said bye-bye and hopped on the Greyhound and had a hellish two hours squeezed in next to a large woman who wouldn't stop singing along to her ipod, snapping her fingers, and bumping into me every five seconds. But I'm back now. Back in Philly where my neighbors continued to set off fireworks long into the night. I'll post pictures of the weekend later.


Oh, one more thing. Sunday, on our way to the Q line in Brooklyn, we passed that guy from Entourage sitting on the front stoop with some little girl (his eleven year old girlfriend? Models are really young these days, you know). He was wearing a gray t-shirt and holding a piece of paper like he was waiting for a realtor to show up or something. We exchanged eye contact, but I pretended I didn't know who he was, as if that would somehow compel him to chase after me and ask for my number.

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