I'm certainly not the only one afflicted -- every half-decent brunch spot in my neighborhood is teeming with people waiting for an outside table. I had a brunch invite (at an indoor venue) today but needed to cancel because of 1) a raging hangover, and 2) it's way too beautiful out to sit inside over eggs bennie. As soon as this oogliness subsides (I'm trying coffee, fried eggs and Berocca), I'm hopping on my bike and joining the crowds in Central Park.
Wherefore the hangover, you ask? The night started with Best Friend at a birthday gathering at a midtown (midtown???!!) bar. Met a cute, younger Israeli guy, but quickly got the warning from his sister that he was a player -- and the fact that he disclosed that he had a sex tape wasn't exactly an auspicious beginning. I wasn't bothered by the fact that he HAD one... but why tell me about it 15 minutes after meeting?
Then to Cool Downtown Cocktail Lounge, where BF and I were joined by one of our favorite guy friends. They know about this blog, and I gave them the chance to pick their own blog names: according to notes I took on a cocktail napkin, she picked "Dreena" and he picked "4". (his name has four "G"s) He stressed that it had to be "4" as opposed to "four", even though in journalism, numbers below ten are written out -- but this ain't exactly the WSJ, so there you go. On the flip side of the cocktail napkin is a sketch of the Pythagorean theorem -- what can I say, I was a bit of a math geek in school.
4 also told us about a recent encounter he'd had with a woman -- once they were in bed, he discovered that she had the most awful marathon-ravaged feet. Huge turnoff for him. In his eyes, a good pedicure is more important than a bikini wax. Any other opinions on that?
Tonight: date number two with Three-Letter-Guy. He'll get to see my pedicure (yes! Sandal weather is here at last!)... but I suspect that's the only downtown grooming he'll be witnessing tonight.
UPDATE: shortly after writing the above, TLG texted me to cancel for tonight, saying that he was out late last night, and was still recovering -- but "maybe we could reschedule for sometime this week"? Canceling by TEXT, a mere four hours or so before we're due to meet up? A rude, dickless maneuver. At some point, I'll e-mail him to tell him so. Dreena suggested posing this question to him: "While you were out getting drunk last night, did you also lose your BALLS in the process?"
Happy Earth Day!