Last night I hit Veritas for some liver damage.  Over whites, I whined about my destroyed camera lens. 
"What did you do it?"
"I washed it."
"Like in the sink?"
"Yeah, with some soap."
"Didn’t you think a wet towel would do the trick?"
"I didn’t think it would matter.  I didn’t think is the important part of that sentence."  You’ll be happy to learn that today the camera lens is in mint condition!  My liver on the other hand…

Hot Potato joined us with a Riesling.  I went to high school with Hot Potato, though we ran in different circles.  Actually, I didn’t run anywhere, and she was friends with "the nerdy girls."  "Oh my God, so was I!"  But we were friends with different groups of nerdy girls since we were two grades apart.  After her junior year abroad in France, she came into her own. " Her own" meant a goth stage.  I didn’t do goth; I did granola.  I ran into her last month at one of Bwags shows. While I was busy shouting trying to get Heather‘s attention, I captured Hot Potato’s.  We did the I know you stare, then she said she read my blog.  It’s a really weird feeling learning someone from your incestuously small high school now reads about your life.  I’m glad we’ve met.

I took hold of the menu and made the executive decision.  Short Ribs.  It wasn’t the short ribs that really did it for me; it never is.  I choose my entree based on what it comes with.  We all do.  After ordering, I look at Hot Potato and I know, the way you just know something.  "You don’t eat meat do you?"  I had no reason at all to believe this, but I was indeed correct.  I offered her my carrot. 

Before the three of us rolled across the street for more food and liver damage at Gramercy Tavern, we talked about writing.  Then I had to pee.  When I came back, I excused myself.  "Sorry guys, I have to write."  Then I whipped out my notebook and wrote this.

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