This weather prohibits friendship. It looks white out, from all the rain, bouncing back up, but people call it gray. The sky is white, as are my lightweight cargo pants. I’ve packed all wrong and have only included warm-weather-wear. How can I go out in this? I can sprint, small distances, that’s how.
I inched my way across the street and ducked into a coffee shop on the corner of 14th Street and Avenue of The Americas because alone in the dark of a friend’s apartment too long wasn’t working out. Normally I’d dip into a theater and movie-hop for hours, or at least three back-to-back viewings of different films, but there’s absolutely nothing I want to see.
So before winding up here, at a table inside, watching people roll up their pants and run for shelter from the rain, I sat on the bed and devoured the July issue of Food & Wine magazine. A new friend of mine, K, gave it to me, with the tongue of a post-it tag attached to the article about Bravo’s show, Top Chef. I was an addict. It’s how K and I came to meet. She read something The Suitor wrote in the comment section of the blog, revealing my complete obsession with the show and drafted an email with the subject line, "I’m not your bitch, bitch," a line from the show. Immediately, she was a new friend. Anyone who can obsess with me over food is good people. I’ve also been reading up on making proper cocktails and bar food, as The Suitor and I plan to have a housewarming gig soon. I love the word "muddle." Muddle some raspberries for the drink, then add a simple syrup. Truffle popcorn! I can’t wait to have our new friends over.
But now that I’m over here, I want to catch up with as many of my friends as I can. It’s hard with weather like this though. No one wants to move. No one meaning me. I want to stay beneath the covers and wouldn’t dream of braving the drippy crowded subway full of leaky rain gear and oversized Duane Reade shopping bags. Instead, I’ll sit here, watching, listening to, what sounds like, the When Harry Met Sally soundtrack. Including the Christmas songs. Then I’ll wait for the weather to let up and hope my mood has too. Or I’ll check movie times and just see the dreck that is The Break Up. ‘Cause, um, I know nothing about breaking up.