show your work

For the most part, I can say something completely out of left field and Amy will know exactly how I got there.  I can add something to a conversation we had three hours and 98 topics ago and she won't even blink twice.  When new people are around us together for the first time, they often feel a little left out because we're so in tune with one another's brains that we don't necessarily finish sentences or even begin them.  It's this weird, pidgeon language that makes perfect sense to the both of us, generally punctuated often with obnoxious laughter and sinister giggling.  (In short, it's pretty awesome.)

And then there are sometimes when the pslychic (that's a samyism in itself) connection misfires and one of us will say something that leads the other to give her WTF?!-face and we'll need to back up a bit.  Even then, there's still a little zap that occurs.  I don't remember what it was about, but a long damn time ago, we had one of those misfires where I just totally didn't catch whatever she was throwing at me and I just fired back at her, "Dude, show your work." 

And she got it. 

I don't know how many people would instictively know what I meant if I just said to them "Show your work" about a comment they'd made.  Mama Pants is probably making WTF?!-face right now.  (Math class--multi-step problems where you had to show the process of how you got the answer to prove you just didn't copy them from the back of the book.)

Anyhoo--there's no point to this entry.  Amy just told me to show my work in a conversation we were having and it made me laugh. 

Monday & Tuesday, NY Style

So I arrived in New York sometime after 9pm on Monday night.  Amanda was at a girls' dinner at a local burrito shop, a little astounded we'd landed early and there was no one in the taxi line to hold me up.  I was rather astounded at the taxi thing too, but I've read that airlines are now adding on extra time to all flight estimations to even out the late-flight percentages.  So if it's a 3 hour flight, they'll say it's 3 hours and 45 minutes.  Sneaky fuckers.  Anyway, I just took the cab to the burrito shop and got one to go before we walked the block down to her place.  Then there was the typical girl stuff; laughter, snarking, blah blah. 

Tuesday, Amanda had to work so I was on my own.  Initially, I'd planned to earn my passport and head off to the Brooklyn Museum to finally see Judy Chicago's Dinner Party exhibit but I'm apparently not meant to ever see that damn thing.  The Brooklyn Museum is closed on Tuesdays.  Molfuckers.  So instead, I hit the Metropolitain Museum of Art.  Amanda told me I could take the train down one stop and then take this bus, that bus, blah blah.  If I'd been in a hurry, I'd have done that, but honestly, I could simply walk from the subway stop to Central Park and then cross the park--bam, museum is right there.  It was a gorgeous day so that's what I did.  Also, someone outside the met was playing "I'll be home for Christmas" on a sax outside the museum.  Christmas music isn't nearly as irritating in New York City.  However, I think it will still get old after a while.

I wound up spending the entire day in the museum.  Like, the whole day.  I didn't leave until after 5pm and even then, I didn't see the entire body of work at the Met.  I wandered like mad, writing down pieces that struck me, stealthily snapping photos when I could.  (I don't get the no-photo policy, and why it's only enforced in some areas.)  At one point, I was overwhelmed by everything in there and I cried like an asshole.  Okay, so there's more to it, but explaining it doesn't really get the point across so I'm just keeping that experience to myself.  Suffice to say, I was overwhelmed and there were tears.  (I had napkins from the aweseome Lenny's bagel breakfast--mascara wasn't lost.) 

Amanda texted me to tell me where to meet her for girls' dinner, as she'd head up straight from work.  It was close to her apartment so I knew I'd be fine in finding it.  I just didn't know how long it would take me.  I walked across the park on the best lit paths, as the sun sets early in New York; I must admit to giggling at the fact that I was walking through the park after dark (even though it was full of people and their kids for the holiday weekend) because I knew my father would have a conniption if he knew what I was doing.  Hello, I'm 35 and still take pleasure in minor, childlike rebellion.  I found a subway station and hopped on a train (once I conferred with my map to make sure I wasn't going to wind up on the wrong end of town) and exited a few stops up. 

Still early, I hit a Starbucks to charge my phone and draw.  A nice, older Jewish man started chatting with me in line.  Amanda insists New Yorkers don't talk to each other, strangers, whatever.  I find this to be quite the opposite.  Everyone seemed to talk to me.  Of course, I also make a habit of making eye contact.  I think that's a "talk to me" sign in New York.  (Whereas, in my head, it's a signal that says, "I can pick you out of a line up--don't try any funny shit, asshole.")  The dude was nice, told me I was very attractive, and then asked his wife if she wanted a blueberry scone.  The scenario still makes me laugh.  I know he wasn't hitting on me--it just seemed like such a friendly exchange, not what's stereotypical New York.  (But, I guess, what is becoming my New York.)  I worked on a drawing I'd done some initial lines for; I decided to freehand in as much as I could without having to plot a million more points.  I was surprised to find that I could get the whole drawing finished without the need for more points and lines!  Go me!  (This is what I was working on.  The points plotted general outer-shaping, but that's it.)

I then met the girls at Angelina's for delicious pizza and wine and chatting.  Girls' dinner will be one of my favourite things when I finally move to New York.  I love all the girls' dinners I have when I'm there.  It's probably criminal how much fun we all have.  And Amanda's friends (mine now too, by proxy) are extremely intelligent.  It's so nice to be able to jump from a conversation about totally inane subjects to something rather heady and highbrow without blinking an eye. 

We hit a local pub because, well, it was on the way.  Or something.  And well, I like beer.  So yeah.  We kinda took over the pub.  Amanda and Audra sang karaoke, I asked the bartender (hi Frances!) for a pint glass that I later broke cos I'm a dick, and we drank.  And drank.  And entertained friendly boys, some of whom had ties to our party, some that just decided we were a fun group of gals and they'd like to assimilate.  *cough*  That's the story and I'm sticking to it.  I think we stumbled home around 3 or 4am. 

Living 4 blocks from a bar like that would be soooooo dangerous for me.  So deliciously dangerous.

Edit:  Whoops!  Updated the sketch link.  Sorry about that!

you were like a phonebooth

Right, so I met up with an old friend over the weekend. We hadn't seen each other for a good 3ish years or so and after reestablishing communication recently, we decided to meet at the old haunt for a drink or two. Pants Veterans whom have been around for a good while might recognise his old moniker, Jalopy, but he will heretofore be referred to as Captain Kryptonite. My brain has taken to its usual antics and I'm a little bewildered by the whole thing right now.