Sleeping with a lawyer…
Handier than you’d think.
Lucky duck in her magical Louboutins. Bet you can click those three times and go absolutely anywhere.
PS: A story for you (was reminded of while chatting with Emily on Saturday): I had a pair of brown suede platform Louboutins. So hot. I inadvertently left them in Dublin when I picked up sticks lickety-split and moved to NOLA after Katrina. My ex said he’d send them to me. He did not. Some size 41 Irish bitch be wearing my shoes!
So let that be a lesson to you: vindictive exes and fancy shoes do not mix.
On a side note, I never thought I’d come back to the States for good ‘til I visited NOLA two months after the storm; what I saw there pulled me back and made me want to … I dunno … be an American again. There was no question in my mind that my then-boyfriend was not the man for me (nor I the woman for him) so the decision to break up with him was not difficult. What I don’t understand is how one person in a relationship can see things so clearly and the other still thinks marriage is down the road. No offense, but guys take a long time to catch on to things that are right in front of their eyes: basic compatibility, likelihood of everlasting excitement. At least in my experience.
Or maybe I just get bored easily. Which is true. But I think I’ve met the two things that can keep me interested my whole life long: a little city called NYC and a little man called M.
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
Bob Dylan, “Shooting Star”
This song can bring tears to my eyes even on the good days.
Seen a shooting star tonight
And I thought of you.
You were trying to break into another world
A world I never knew.
I always kind of wondered
If you ever made it through.
Seen a shooting star tonight
And I thought of you.
Seen a shooting star tonight
And I thought of me.
If I was still the same
If I ever became what you wanted me to be
Did I miss the mark or
Over-step the line
That only you could see?
Seen a shooting star tonight
And I thought of me.
…and twin chocolate-raspberry cakes topped with light-as-a-feather butter cookies. (The rose syrup he used to write our initials melted a bit.)
On Saturday, M. made me an exquisitely romantic dinner: oysters in champagne custard, butter-poached lobster in a pool of beet essence and topped with crisp potatoes a la Boulangere, pink champagne on ice (no mirrors on the ceiling, though)….
And then we slip-slided down to Times Square in the snow….
Last night we went on a date. In midtown! New York City, wrapped in feathery snowflakes, was as beautiful and romantic as ever. And before we even left the apartment we were drunk on good news and each other’s company and we may have even skipped to the F train.
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