Today began as many of my days off do; over an hour later than I meant to wake up. I was out last night, but not terribly late, and I only had one drink, but still my 8 AM alarm fell on deaf ears. I suppose I must have hit snooze a good 6 or 7 times, but all I remember is the sun in my eyes and the ambulance siren which finally startled me out of my stubborn slumber at around 9:15. With one hand I pulled my computer onto the bed in front of me, where I was still lying face down in a jumble of pillows. I needed to know what frigid horrors New York had in store for me today. It's been a brutal week thus far. But the window which has typically been in the single digits most mornings read 39 degrees. "39?! Why that's practically tropical!", I would have said had anyone been near me.
After several consecutive days of very cold weather which happened to coincide with my body being a bit of a showoff about how not pregnant it is, I was feeling, for lack of a better term, like a sack of crap. Getting out in the fresh air, and having that fresh air do something other than bitch slap me, sounded like the perfect way to round out my weekend. So I flumped out of bed (this is when I sort of just fling my weight towards the edge of the bed and hope the momentum propels me onto my feet) and hastily readied myself for an excursion. I was nervous that I would miss out on any kiss of warmth that might be lingering in the air and instead find myself in a downpour, so I had to move quickly. I wasn't expecting it to be nice (to expect such a thing is to welcome disappointment) so I had no plan, and when I have no plan but need to be outside I go to Central Park and hope it works itself out from there.
And so I did, and here are some pictures to prove it:
(These are sunglasses. They protect me from the elements and make people think I am a much different kind of person than I am)
Central Park is not at its most lovely this time of year, but the lack of foliage does grant better views of the architecture. It was a perfectly satisfactory stroll. I entered at the East base and wound my way up to the West 80s, by which point I was more than slightly peckish and my heels were more than slightly sore. Furthermore the aforementioned kiss of warmth had dwindled to a peck on the cheek, so I exited the park and headed towards Amsterdam in search of an amenable establishment where I might linger for a while.
You can drink all the ginger-pear martinis you want, but the fact of the matter is that it is very hard to feel sophisticated while wearing a hoodie from Victoria's Secret. Such was my predicament when I found myself, quite unintentionally, in an overly posh bistro on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. I chose the place because their prices weren't terrible and by that point I really needed to pee. It turned out that their prices weren't terrible because the food was (terrible). Despite this particular establishment having no good reason to be impressed with itself, the level of dress amond the other patrons was fairly elevated, and I was not dressed to impress. These things don't typically bother me, but it certainly wasn't what I was hoping for. The martini tasted good but wasn't particularly strong, which was probably a good thing granted it was 2 in the afternoon but for $11 I was hoping the rest of my afternoon would go by in a haze, because I hadn't quite decided how to fill it.
I killed 20 minutes shopping at Trader Joe's and then another 40 standing in line (these numbers may be exaggerated) and then headed home to take stock of my life. The temperature was slowly but steadily slinking downward and I knew I didn't have much time to run any further errands before doing so would become an ordeal. I'm feeling moderately refreshed but also weary, because it is only January 26th and we have a long way to go before winter will release its choke hold for good. In the meantime I intend to keep my crap-sack days to a limited few by taking my outings when I can get them, and eating a lot of soup.
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