Floral Avenger

So, I’m attempting, rather unsuccessfully, to settle into work after being in New York since Thursday. It was lovely, despite the blizzard dregs and Rahel having caught a nasty NYE bug of some sort.

In typical R n’ J fashion, I drank cappuccinos, she drank lattes, and we watched many episodes of The Hills in bed. I bought things at Beacon’s Closet that I did not need and she bought nothing. I wore her socks and earrings and coat. She took care of me like she always does.

On New Year’s Eve, when it became abundantly clear that she would be insane to leave her bed, and after I had retreated to the couch to read Just Kids and stew silently, Rahel forced me to get back up, get dressed, and join her friend Hannah at a party nearby. I don’t know why it was so hard for me to leave her apartment when I obviously wanted to. Of course I felt bad about leaving my ill friend, but I also felt nervous about going to a party where I knew essentially no one on a night like December 31st. But I braved it. I walked alone, through the city, past hand-holding couples getting into cabs, under the BQE, in vintage boots with no traction.

I had conversations with strangers about sailing and boyfriends and tattoos and Los Angeles and New York and DC and family and choices. A dude kissed me at midnight. He also kissed everyone else there. Hannah blew me a kiss from across the room.

After a brief stint at another party where I thought I spotted David Byrne but was clearly wrong, I walked home alone. Girls in too high heels were falling in big piles of black snow and people were making out 90’s teen movie style. I was smiling with teeth.

The next day Rahel was feeling a bit better, and to thank her for putting up with me I took her out to dinner at Freedmans on the Lower East Side. I had a rye cocktail with pomegranate juice and bitters, and my sickly date had a hot toddy which got her drunk. We both had the roast chicken.

Next time, I will drink something light n’ easy:

After dinner we saw Blue Valentine and I weeped and the next day we cuddled in the corner of an unmarked bar with a bunch of other ladies and drank and picked at overpriced cheese plates until I missed my bus to DC.

I finally crawled into bed last night close to 1, still wearing Rahel’s socks, and thought about how perfect the weekend had been. Because it was hard. Fun, but hard.