Night Out

Heels? Check.
Cape? Check.
Feather? Check.
Red lipstick? Check.
Winged eyeliner? Double check.

"Oh my god... Hi," he said.

Good night.

The Men Who Smoke Cigars

I left work tonight while the air was still warm, and walked through SoHo to go shopping. There's a cigar and smoke shop on West Broadway just south of Spring where interesting, creative, really well-dressed men sit on the stoop in the evenings to smoke stogies and talk. It's like something out of an ad, except you can smell the sweet bitterness of their tobacco.

Everyone sits on stoops in SoHo, and it gives it this very bohemian, neighborhood-ey vibe like everybody knows everybody or something.

When I walked by those men tonight-- one in a navy suit with a checkered shirt and bow tie-- all reclining on the wide black steps of this vintage smoke shop, I was struck by the magic of the moment. And I find I have lots and lots and lots of those moments in New York. This city may be hard, and it may be dark, and it may be dangerous and oppressive and scary and expensive and I may feel all alone most of the time... But this city is magic. And I'm so glad I'm here with those men who smoke cigars.

Day 1

Today was my first day at my new job. I woke late and stretched in bed before dressing and climbing into a cab for the short trip to work. I had curled and brushed my hair into sleek, movie star waves, inexplicably creating a glowy, golden haze around my peripheral vision that added to the already glistening, golden, sunny day.

Lunch was warm, albeit lonely. Taking time for new friends and all that. I missed my posse of rag-tag gentlemen making "That's what she said" jokes and poking fun about each others' body hair.

At 6:30 I slipped on my sandals and sauntered home in the perfect sunset warmth of cooling day. I walked all the way home, slowly feeling happiness creep in. A lot of relief. I'm glad I don't have to go back to that old place again. Never, ever, ever again. And that is good. But this new place is good, too. And I started to feel that hopeful happiness tonight.

I bought frozen yogurt for dinner and sat on an abandoned stoop in the Lower East Side, eating my cool creamy dinner in blissful solitude, thinking about how fortunate it is that a little girl from a run-down house in Pleasanton now gets to eat ice cream for dinner on the steps of a multi-million dollar brownstone in New York City. How wonderful is that?