A Pointless Post on One Sunday in Brooklyn
(Reader's note: There is really not point to this post except to convey a mood and, more importantly, bump the "diarrhea post" off the top. It was kind of starting to gross me out.)
Yesterday I was in a bit of a funk, despite the fact that I was having an INCREDIBLE hair day. I didn’t wash my hair in the morning and it had taken on a grimy, second-day wave, leaving me looking like I just spent the day sunning myself in a cool sandy breeze, or in bed with someone who spent a lot of time pulling and running his hands through it. Beach hair, if you will. It really would have been a shame not to share my messy, bedheaded sexy locks with the rest of the world, so I peeled myself off the couch, convinced there had to be more going on than a 3 p.m. Cinemax showing of the atrocious “film,” “Must Love Dogs.” What is an actor like John Cusack thinking when he takes a role like that? It’s one of the world’s deeper mysteries.
I had already checked everything off my list that I had to do for the day – church, check, exercise, check, groceries, check, lunch, check -- so after putting in a few halfhearted calls to see if anyone wanted to go drink some Bloody Marys, there was really nothing more to do than amble around the neighborhood and see who I might run into. It was a beautiful afternoon of golden light and quiet in Brooklyn. And yet, my mood was resigned. Fearing that I was helplessly sliding down the emotional ladder of my manic-depression* from manic to depressed (I had simply been in a good mood for far too long), I knew I had to do something nice for myself. My first stop was to visit the wine shop Smith & Vine, which employs a seemingly endless rotation of Totally Gorgeous Men. I don’t even think they’re gay. I swear I’m becoming a wino just because I crave a semi-weekly hit of the Smith & Vine eye candy.
On the way back from Smith & Vine, bottle of Lambrusco in hand (because bubbles banish the blues), I ran into my old roommate Giuseppe. Giuseppe (or, “Joey,” as he’s known to people who have seen him naked) is one of the more interesting characters I’ve lived with in New York. This guy is Really Italian. When we lived together in a share, he worked for an Italian company that made subway cars. He wore gold chains and track suits. He spoke on the phone in Italian to business contacts in Italy. One of his hobbies was making homemade ricotta cheese. He had the most beautiful girlfriend I’ve ever seen. This girl was like Eva Mendez times two. I suspected possible “connections.” Also, Giuseppe is Hot, if diminutive. The track suit thing can’t be overlooked, but the fact remains. We hadn’t seen each other in awhile and we caught up on our lives, and he gave me his new phone number and said he’d look me up the next time he was in the neighborhood.
Then I walked home, satisfied at least that someone had appreciated my unintentional good hair day.
*I'm not ACTUALLY manic-depressive. Sheesh. Just a tad moody, at times.
Yesterday I was in a bit of a funk, despite the fact that I was having an INCREDIBLE hair day. I didn’t wash my hair in the morning and it had taken on a grimy, second-day wave, leaving me looking like I just spent the day sunning myself in a cool sandy breeze, or in bed with someone who spent a lot of time pulling and running his hands through it. Beach hair, if you will. It really would have been a shame not to share my messy, bedheaded sexy locks with the rest of the world, so I peeled myself off the couch, convinced there had to be more going on than a 3 p.m. Cinemax showing of the atrocious “film,” “Must Love Dogs.” What is an actor like John Cusack thinking when he takes a role like that? It’s one of the world’s deeper mysteries.
I had already checked everything off my list that I had to do for the day – church, check, exercise, check, groceries, check, lunch, check -- so after putting in a few halfhearted calls to see if anyone wanted to go drink some Bloody Marys, there was really nothing more to do than amble around the neighborhood and see who I might run into. It was a beautiful afternoon of golden light and quiet in Brooklyn. And yet, my mood was resigned. Fearing that I was helplessly sliding down the emotional ladder of my manic-depression* from manic to depressed (I had simply been in a good mood for far too long), I knew I had to do something nice for myself. My first stop was to visit the wine shop Smith & Vine, which employs a seemingly endless rotation of Totally Gorgeous Men. I don’t even think they’re gay. I swear I’m becoming a wino just because I crave a semi-weekly hit of the Smith & Vine eye candy.
On the way back from Smith & Vine, bottle of Lambrusco in hand (because bubbles banish the blues), I ran into my old roommate Giuseppe. Giuseppe (or, “Joey,” as he’s known to people who have seen him naked) is one of the more interesting characters I’ve lived with in New York. This guy is Really Italian. When we lived together in a share, he worked for an Italian company that made subway cars. He wore gold chains and track suits. He spoke on the phone in Italian to business contacts in Italy. One of his hobbies was making homemade ricotta cheese. He had the most beautiful girlfriend I’ve ever seen. This girl was like Eva Mendez times two. I suspected possible “connections.” Also, Giuseppe is Hot, if diminutive. The track suit thing can’t be overlooked, but the fact remains. We hadn’t seen each other in awhile and we caught up on our lives, and he gave me his new phone number and said he’d look me up the next time he was in the neighborhood.
Then I walked home, satisfied at least that someone had appreciated my unintentional good hair day.
*I'm not ACTUALLY manic-depressive. Sheesh. Just a tad moody, at times.
posted by Had To Move at 12:32 PM
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