This picture is a shout out to Drone, who always says he wants to pick up fat chihuahuas and sqeeze them until they squeak. In a loving way, of course. I wouldn't mind having this trio of so-ugly-they're-cute things guarding my apartment against future invasions.
Anyway, I had quite a lovely weekend--so lovely, in fact, that I'm going to blather on about it for a while and probably bore you.
On Saturday day Perplexa and I wandered around Nolita, where I failed to find a single thing I wanted to purchase--a rare phenomenon, indeed. I got to live vicariously through Perplexa by being the devil on her shoulder as she decided to buy an overpriced but insanely cute jacket/hoodie thing at the Vice store. After the requisite stop for corn and plantains at Habana, we headed to the Upper East to visit her amazing 94-year-old Austrian grandmother. She gave us cookies, a little German lesson, and stories of her drunken escapades as an 18-year-old in Paris. (I can only hope that in 70 years I'll be regaling my grandkids with the tale of Grandma making out with a hot French chef in a cab on the Westside Highway and then puking out the window.)
Anywho, after a nap and a gross but effective vodka concoction, Perplexa and I met up with our cool job-having friend Jeff for the interesting and awesome Tracy and the Plastics show at the Knitting Factory. You can read a pretentious review here. As the weather was for once not crappy, we walked up to the West Village to the Misshapes party. We danced like maniacs to our favorite music for about four hours, which is probably longer than all the times I've danced in my entire life combined. And we only fell to the floor in a tangled mess once! Just about every blogger in the world was there it seemed, and I managed to hold my drunk ass back and only accost the british brigade. The one I actually know showed up a little later and obliged my request to get drunk enough to dance with me. He took this pic of me and my future bride in civil union.
I made it home for a brief nap until I was awakened with a phone call from last year's team captain. Just like the old days, only this time my still drunk ass was hauled to Penn Station and not the bus to the river (might as well just say that the sport is rowing since almost everyone reading this already knows that.) The weather in the Jerz was beautiful, I saw lots of old friends, and didn't even catch a glimpse of PEG. This probably had something to do with the fact that she completetly avoided our school's tent. I also spoke with one of the Offended Older Alums, who was very nice and even suggested an alumni gathering in the city sometime. Awesome, but I will certainly not be sending out that invite. At least not to PEG. But most importantly, Columbia, totally not true to form, KICKED SOME ASS!!! During the race I was screaming "oh my god oh my god" so loudly that the girls heard me, and I was so happy for them I almost cried. Then I returned home to nurse my atrocious but very worth it headache.
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