Living in the City

I've determined I can officially claim to live in NYC.

It's an apparent signifier when you can offer confident directions to lost tourists, but even more so yesterday afternoon when I was approached by just such a tourist while wandering in a somewhat unfamiliar neighborhood.

His destination though: Hooters; and amazingly enough, I knew exactly how to get there from where we were.

So yes, I think I officially live here now.

And as part of living here, I took part in a random cultural event last night (no, not a foam party). Laura (mentioned and modeled in Photo Essay 1: Rooftop Farewell) recommended an event at the Lincoln Center Out of Doors Celebrate Summer series, and we saw the Paul Taylor Dance Company - sadly from such a distance that the bulges in the men's tights were not as visible as one might require to be entertained at such an event.

You could still make out how hot they from as far back as we were, and it was even more obvious the way they tossed about some of the girls like extreme frisbee.

At intermission while Laura went to find us more booze I made conversation with a Colombian woman next to me. In an effort to practice my strained Spanish I spoke eagerly and enthusiastically with the woman for ten minutes, discussing how she was a small woman and needed to sit on her purse to see anything.

At one point I became confused, and repeated no entiendo, no entiendo, to which her adjacent son responded in English that the whole time I was (or thought I was) conversing with her about her height, she had actually only been commenting about my beautiful girlfriend (my firm grasp of the Spanish language...)

Laura and I ended the evening at Pete's Tavern, one of the oldest bars in NYC and famed to be the location where O Henry penned Gift of the Magi. I myself, ended up penning my phone number to the bottom of our check that I hope the hot waiter will call shortly.

He was, in Laura's words, dreamy, and to both our amazement while I wasn't looking, supposedly checking me out. So before departing I penned neatly at the bottom, 'For a good time:' and my phone number.

Cross your fingers...it might mean free calamari rings for when you come visit.