“Oh!” He says, “I dig this song. Teenage Wasteland!”
“Baba O’Reily.” I say.
“Hey! Nice purse!” I called out.
I was on the streets of the East Village, and a lady my age was carrying the exact same purse I have, which is made by a tiny company in Warsaw, Poland that no one has heard of unless they are Pinterest-addicted. It’s the type of purse that ages like a baseball glove, and I plan on carrying it for decades.
“Yours looks broken in,” I said, admiring it. “Mine is still crisp because I just got it. This is what I have to look forward to.”
“Oh, yours is so shiny. I like it. Mine’s been everywhere. I just took it to Costa Rica!”
“So then yours has stories on it! I can’t wait for the stories to show up on mine.”
We compared all of the stuff we shoved into our purses on a daily basis, and giggled at ourselves for carrying too much before parting ways.
The gentleman I was walking with wisely took a step backward and remained silent.
In a store, I hold up a dress covered in sequins.
“Beauty fish!” Jen and I both say together.
“When was it that we were shopping and the crazy shop keeper suggested I buy a dress that would make me look like a ‘beauty fish’?” I ask, hanging the dress back up.
“We were shopping for prom dresses.” she answers.
We both get quiet, and then she says what we are both thinking.
“Man, we’ve been friends for a long time.”
Happy birthday, friend.
“I like to say it’s not the ‘size of the ship’ or ‘the motion in the ocean’. It’s whether the Captain can stay in port long enough for all the passengers to get off.”
I drain my glass of wine, thinking this over.
“No, trust me: it’s the size of the ship.”
“You look nice tonight. My amygdala is really reacting to you. I mean, don’t get me wrong, my frontal lobe is still functioning, too, but my amygdala – man! – it’s firing.”
photo from my Instagram; to follow me, search for Amber Marlow
My go-to drink at most bars is any decent beer, but occasionally I snag a gin and tonic with bitters (whiskey and wine are usually at-home drinks for me). At a bar the other night, I was uninterested in ingesting alcohol but wanted to hang out anyway, so I asked the bar tender for a gin and tonic, with a splash of bitters, “hold the gin”.
He raised an eyebrow but made me one anyway, and no one knew I wasn’t drinking. He even gave me a lime! It’s delicious (and either cheap or free; I usually get bartenders waiving my money away when I order this, so I tip double.)
Lindsay and Kevin came to New York for a visit. They are going to have a baby, hopefully one that inherits a great big friendly smile, too.
Having to dig the chargers for my laptop, Kindle and iPhone out from under my nightstand every night was starting to get really old, so I fixed it with a medium (1 inch) binder clip.
(I am smug.)
I spent all week cleaning out my studio; this weekend it’s getting painted white. The dogs are digging the newly cleaned out space, and have taken to lounging around while I’m in there working at my desk. They refused to help with the renovations, though, citing no opposable thumbs and lack of interest. Bums.
I had no idea until Sunday afternoon, goofing around in the mirror while putting my makeup on, that I could move my eyes independently of each other. I wasn’t sure it was actually what I was doing, but this web cam photo confirmed that I am, in fact, able to cross just one eye, a feat I’ve spent all week demonstrating to every single one of my friends.
That thing about them getting stuck that way isn’t real, right? That would probably ruin my career.
May your weekend be full of fun discoveries.