Men Require Patience!

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Sorry for the lack of posts! I know you all turn to me for shallow, mindless entertainment to help you get through the day at your unfulfilling jobs. Oh wait, that's just those of you who work in finance...ha ha ha

Anyway, I haven't been bothered to write anything lately as I've been busy with a lot of things - getting back on track with a few personal and professional goals, but balancing it with some amazing times with friends. Cue Toca's Miracle =)

The past three weeks have been an insane mash-up of mid-Saturday afternoon parties at Bagatelle, sweating it out at PS1 Warm Up, late night backgammon games at the lounge above downtown Cipriani (closed until Sept 2, tear), goodbye dinners, renting a ridiculous Zipcar to go Philly just for the Coldplay concert (and a cheesesteak!), happy/hookah hours, great reunions with old friends, breaking lampshades at Bijoux (it's too dark, I couldn't even take a picture with my BB!), rooftop cocktails, underground mixers, noodles (Momofuku, Ippudo, Soba-ya, Matsugen have been covered thus far!) picnics and naps in Central Park, surprises, disappointments, dalliances, run-ins...and much, much more! Now, I'm just craving some time at the beach with a book and one of those coolers with the cup holders on top!!

My dream is to fly...

Coldplay concert in Philly

Chris Martin is not just another punk from UCL!

The promotional (and cheap) Prius zipcar we rented.

You can't see me, but I'm behind the monkey...we got a few looks.

Perfect night

Perfect skyline from The Frying Pan

Isabelle, my friend who came to visit from DC

She's still recovering from that weekend b/c I'm an excellent hostess! =)

PS1 in Queens

(little known fact: AMAZING street meat truck by the entrance)

The crowd at PS1 for Au Revoir Simone 

(or was this from LCD Soundsystem?)

I love Central Park Sundays

A random Tuesday night luau-themed party! 

Laughing at "Bowery Lounge"

Rooftop

(You'd be that happy too if you were ON VACATION in NY 

and LIVED in the Bahamas!)

Snow & sparklers!!

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A few weeks ago, I was digging through an old box of junk and came across a photo of my parents and me - I'm an only child, as if it weren't obvious - taken in Montreal in 1989. I was four at the time, my dad had just finished his Ph.D. and started teaching, my mom was still doing her residency in neurology. They were new to the city, and probably had no money and few friends - just a lot of hope for the future and especially for me. Since I pretty much look the same as I did at that age, and this blog is anonymous, I'll just have to describe the photo to you. It's a candid shot of them in a park, probably near McGill University.  It was probably at some time in the fall since the foliage in the background is a wash of yellow, orange, and red. I had just broken my left arm, which is in a sling and pitiful pink cast. He and my mom are totally ignoring me (typical!!) and laughing about something - and not just laughing, but laughing-from-the-gut-until-you-cry-laughing.

I stole the photo from a family album because it's my favorite picture of my parents. Theirs is the most enviable relationship I know, not just because it's withstood difficult times, including a near-divorce when I was in fourth grade, but because they're never boring and always have fun together. They wake up everyday with a different attitude than most people I know - everyday, even bad days, are fun with them and they never go to bed upset at each other.  They are each other's best friend; whenever I swear one of them to secrecy about something, the other finds out within an hour.  The photo struck a cord with me because lately I have been so frustrated with dating in this city! I really just want to be single, but of course, my life is situational irony at its best (or worst?). When it rains, it pours.  Everytime I meet a nice guy (yes, they exist in NYC!), I lose interest in about two seconds because I find him...boring.  And there is nothing worse to me than being boring.  Guess I just like the crazy/cocky/workaholic/alcoholic/model-aholic/player guys, and they sure do like me! Sigh...

But earlier this week,  I got an email from I couple I met at Bagatelle that dispelled any cynicism my hopelessly romantic self may have developed recently.  Bagatelle is a restaurant in Meatpacking, managed by the same people behind Kiss & Fly, the club next door.  It is the only restaurant I've been to repeatedly where I have no interest in the menu. The chef is last in command there - after the DJ, the bartenders, the (mostly) cute waiters, and the energy on Saturday afternoons.  Where else are people dancing on tables and chairs, banquettes and the bar, at 3pm?! Rain or shine! Where else are bottles of champagne delivered by a waiter in a Superman cape carried by six guys with sparklers?!

This Saturday, I was at Bagatelle, in the restroom line, when I met a really sweet woman, Viviana. She was probably in her late 50s/early 60s, not exactly the general demographic at these parties. Screaming over the music, she told me that she and her husband were in town for the weekend visiting their four kids who all lived in the city.  When I got back to my table, I noticed she and her family were next to us - their kids had convinced them to stay  after their actual (civilized) brunch, but they felt slightly out of place.  It's akin to dragging parents to a club, except replace the strobe with broad daylight, and the vodka with magnum bottles of rose!

Bagatelle "brunch"

(a speaker caught had on fire, and no one stopped dancing or noticed it was removed)

Bagatelle champagne delivery!

Of course, I'm all about everyone having a good time, and somehow convinced Viviana and Andres, her husband, to dance on chairs while I took videos of their family.  Turns out, they have been married for over 30 years, and were the liveliest, funniest, most interesting, successful, and chic-est couple over 60 I've ever met.  (When I grow up...)

I got this email from them on Monday:

Dear CM:

We had a great time at Bagatelle on Saturday and were very glad to meet you.  You are a very lively and lovely woman.  You will find love when and where it is least expected.  Men require patience my dear! I will upload the pictures from Bagatelle and send them to you soon.

I hope we can do it again sometime soon.

Stay in touch,

Andres & Viviana 

To get to the point, uhhh...I'm not sure if this story had a point.  If it does, I guess it would be that I just like hearing stories about great, fun relationships like my parents or Andres & Viviana have, even if it's far removed from my life! Also, men require patience!

One last pic for Bruce, who suggested more male-friendly content: Enlighten me as to whether or not these are the same...and why anyone would want two of the same?!

Cain: A Retrospective

I love my friends, really. Even when they tell me everything I write here sucks and/or is so boring they can’t get past three sentences. Or think it’s stupid I put up random photos, like Daphne Guinness in Alexander McQueen. When I was in middle school, while other girls plastered their walls with boy band posters (ok, I had a Take That poster), I had a wall devoted to Alexander McQueen. But mostly, HELLO, I work full time. In finance, where my creative writing skills put to the test daily by creating Powerpoint pitches that people never read (but do recycle – we are a green company!) Putting up a photo is kind of a cop-out to writing.

Take That (Back for Good video)

Doesn't Gary Barlow (2nd from left) look like Mr. Mazzoni (my high school Calculus teacher)?

Anyway, I haven’t gone out much recently…ok, I haven’t gone out much during the past two weeks. Let's take a moment of silence to regret not going to the Paper Mag party at Santos last Tuesday. The aftermath of moving and this past weekend's hyperactivity is overwhelming. But last night I put on my favorite dancing shoes (Sigerson Morrison peeptoe wedges…in a dusty rose color…sigh, beautiful) since Steve Aoki was DJing in NY for one night. At, of all places, Cain. I have a love/hate relationship with Cain and other Chelsea clubs.

Ooh, sponsored by Hypnotiq...I thought people were just tacky

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TANGENT ALERT
My introduction to the mess that is Marquee/Bungalow/Pink/Guesthouse/Home/Cain (and now Mansion and Suzie Wong's) was two summers ago, when I was a new and wide-eyed resident of NYC. I remember a friend of mine advised me that the best places to go in NYC were Double Seven, which I guess never reopened, and Cain, which he said was “the Rumor of New York.” Rumor is a club in Boston where some of my friends frequented a lot in college (*cough* spent the majority of their college career *cough*). I’m not sure if that meant a lot of our mutual friends went to Cain, or it was full of European/South American/Middle Eastern/other international kids with drinking problems and an affinity for sparklers – it was both actually.

One random night, a girlfriend of mine and I were out, and in the unfathomable days before I had internet access on my phone, I was at a loss as to where either Double Seven or Cain were. I think we just kind of knew there were clubs in Chelsea and just wandered around. My phone was dead and I couldn’t call anyone, but we found our way to the 27th St strip. Rachelle only liked to dance to hip hop, so we quickly exited Guesthouse (and Pink as well?), frightened by the identically suited bankers inside, and by the old French doorman in the purple/blue/80s tracksuit – anyone else remember him?

We explored further down the street until we stumbled upon an oasis in clubland: Cain. The music was good, the people were hot, and the place just had a good energy. Mostly I liked that it was small and not crowded. I also ran into a few kids I knew, and a good time was had by all. But like many clubs, Cain has since suffered an undeniable slide into trash-dom (aka Phase 2). I won’t comment on the people who you’ll find there (that’s not my style), but let’s just say it’s not as full of eye-candy it used to be. The upside is that if you’re with a lot of friends (read: guys), it’s pretty easy to talk your way in sans hassle or bottles.
TANGENT FINISHED
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Anyway, back to last night. The last time I went to Cain was also when Steve was DJing, in late May.

Why are these parties (Wednesday nights at Cain) called Bunny Chow? Is that someone’s name? Huh? The music and crowd were awesome that night, but unfortunately I had dallied away my time at 1OAK and Tenjune, and didn’t get to Cain until 2am, nearly my weeknight-if-going-out-bedtime.

So last night, I decided to arrive early, midnight-ish. My friend Gemma (she of the Noodle Review – a post soon) told me that the night before she had a dream (nightmare) that we were at a club, but it was so empty we were helping the staff polish glasses. Funnily enough, that was pretty much the scene at Cain when I got there. It was so empty the photographer was taking still life shots of glasses and ice buckets. How sad. I attribute it to the rain and not me being lame for getting there so early. Luckily my friends soon arrived and we all had a good time. It’s not where you are, but who you’re with, right? =) I think Aoki came on around 1:30am (not 12:30, as promised), the music was good, the energy was great, but the crowd was just terrible. Too many people, and too many trashy people. I especially loved the crazy drunk girl who tried to have a heart to heart with everyone at our table, one at a time.

So, to get to the point, Bunny Chow Wednesdays are fun if you 1) go with a group of friends (that's my fun factor anywhere) 2) get there after 1:30, and 3) when a DJ you like is spinning.

Btw, I felt pretty bad for him. His father, Rocky Aoki, passed away recently. Clubs must be either a good distraction for him or the worst possible place to be when you are grieving.

Tonight…Matsugen. I might even write about the noodles...

I Don't Smell Bad

Will add pictures later...

Moving is probably one of the few things everyone in NY can agree sucks – including movers. My previous moving mishaps have included 1) attempting to drive a UHaul the same day that 150,000+ college students were graduating (in Boston) 2) SLEEPING in a UHaul truck overnight – don’t even ask, and 3) having to have my friends pack my stuff for me to put into storage, while I ran to the airport after missing two flights home.

This time, I actually thought I was pretty on top of things. While my friends were at the beach/at PS1/in the Hamptons/picnicking in Central Park/at the Made in Italy party/at Bagatelle “brunch” (a future post)/etc etc, I was at home like a good little girl, packing away. Yet somehow, I STILL ended up in a frantic state when my movers (surprisingly) showed up on time, and I had to resort to the throwing-shit-into-boxes approach. Thanks CK for the last minute help, and thanks girls for helping me unpack and clean!

Anyway, my new place is sweet, although the two guys who already live there have a unique sense of décor. The first words that come to my mind are “frat house basement” – but that’s why they really need a girl like me to live there. Baby steps, though – I’m painting next weekend, and then I’ll deal with the flamingo mirror/bar (seriously).

So last night, after unpacking/organizing/cleaning for two hours, I completely gave up and went to Stanton Social. I really like the place, and not just because the kitchen closes really late (3am Thursdays to Saturdays, 2am on other nights) – I like a lot of things on the menu, which consists of only small plates meant for sharing (wasn’t there something in Times about entrees being passé). Ambiance is nice too, although the acoustics are terrible – the walls are all stone/concrete, so noise just bounces off them making it really, really noisy. Anyway, avoid the ‘special’ Monday night menu...it’s…well, it’s just bad. Someone decided to pick the worst things on the menu and put them together. Sweet & sour chicken & cashew spring rolls (ehh), braised short rib soft tacos (ok), grill apple & brie quesadilla (yuck), crostini w/a spectacularly gross crème fraiche concoction, goat cheese croquettes (not on the regular menu, it was ok). and wok charred edamame (soooo good). Just order off the main menu – i.e. the kobe beef sliders, my favorite! Oh, and the warm donuts, which are served with a warm dark chocolate sauce. For some reason, the staff REALLY wants the tables turned over quickly on Mondays. Don’t get distracted talking to your friends because the waiters/waitresses have no problem removing your plate whether you’re finished eating or not!

I’m not sure if anyone else has noticed this before, but there was this AWFUL smell in the main downstairs room last night. I couldn’t put my finger on it until today and then I realized – hemp necklace, the kind that was popular in elementary/middle school. Anyway, at first I thought this smell was coming from the guy sitting to my right. When he got up for a smoke, and the smell was still there, I figured it must be coming from the guy sitting to my left. Then he got up to make a phone call. Since everyone else was sitting either down the table from me, or across (far), I thought – oh shit, maybe it’s me!! But I don’t smell (except of Serge Lutens A La Nuit - best jasmine perfume ever), plus I just showered and was wearing a dress I took out of a dry cleaning bag. For a good half hour, I was very disturbed that it might have been me causing the stench. It wasn't until we left that I realized the entire restaurant smells like a wet hemp necklace.

I dropped by Butter with Bridgette for a little bit since she's going to be out of town for the three weeks. Yes, Mondays at Butter are still very fun - good music, good crowd, and not too crowded while I was there...although, as always, I left "early" so I could GO THE GYM THIS MORNING. Yeaaa!!

This was only 665 words. Brevity is the soul of wit, as Hamlet/Mr. Georgandis used to say.

BTW, I used College Educated Movers . Yea, I’m totally elitist…no, actually, I saw their ad on Craigslist – their sales pitch was something along the lines of “Wouldn’t your rather support aspiring writers/filmmakers/starving artists than some 15 year old punk who’s going to break all your stuff?” Yea, I totally would! I had imagined two skinny hipsters who wouldn’t be able to carry much, and would take excessively long smoking breaks. But they were great! Punctual, efficient, and professional. And they charge a flat rate, so I didn’t really care when they took excessively long smoking breaks.

Ok, 779 words.

Meet me at the club, it's goin' down...turf war at Rose Bar

bathroom wall at 1OAK

Last night I left the office at 6:48pm Eastern Standard Time. Momentous!!! 

Seriously, I was jumping down the street, a la Mary Tyler Moore. Not only that, but I have the day off today (Thursday), and it's July 4th (US Independence day, for my international readers) on Friday, so a four day weekend awaited me.  Unfortunately, however, my plans to sit on my butt and read all night, which seriously is my idea of fun - sometimes, were quickly dashed by - surprise surprise - none other than my annoying-as-all-hell roommate. 

Right on cue, Jason, a promoter/friend (the only promoter in NY I will party with, occasionally...and that is including the one I dated briefly...) calls me to see if I was interested in going to dinner and 1OAK later.  Upon inquiry as to who else would be in attendance, I find out two girls I know and like are joining, so off I go. Dinner was at Bocca (19th St. b/t Broadway & Park) - the pastas were pretty good, especially the lobster ravioli. Chunky lobster meat.  Dinners like this really amuse me, as all the other girls are full-time models who eat virtually nothing, leaving plenty of food for me. Sweet! 

Post-dinner, we pile into Rose Bar where the action goes down. For anyone reading this who does not live in NY, Rose Bar is probably the best bar in the city, at least in terms of decor. That is, unless there's another bar with a Picasso sprucing up the walls. And since I'm not the only one who thinks highly of it, it's kept really exclusive, although I am not sure if places like Rose Bar are exclusive because they're great or great because they are kept exclusive. (LOGISTICS - we were at the table directly in front of the fireplace.)  The place is relatively empty when we arrive, and aside from the tables of hot guys a few tables over, I am just enjoying the music, my lavender and cucumber fizz, not listening to my roommate, and the Keith Haring painting on the wall I'm facing. More people begin arriving and the place fills up. 

Then BAM!

Another group of models/hipsters/pretty-young-things arrive and take up the table on my left.  Two girls from this table, most definitely successful full-time models, come to our table to talk to Blake, Jason's friend.  Jason doesn't promote anymore (he's a full time fashion photographer now), but is still riled up. 

He tells me, "ChippingMademoiselle, you have NO IDEA the politics of this situation right now! You are so naive, but sh*t's going down!" 

Politics? Who the f- cares? I want another lavender and cucumber fizz, dammit, and keep 'em coming! Where's the cocktail waitress?! The bottle of Veuve is near empty! 

So apparently the turf war was such: who has the best girls (more famous models) at their table, and who can convince more girls to "switch sides" The Hendricks might have been going to my head because I thought this was all f-ing hilarious!! FYI I do not model. 

So Chris, this very sweet guy I met at Tenjune, a club, a few weeks ago, is part of this "enemy group." He texted me after we met, but sadly I responded, "Who is this? How did you get my number?!" - oops! But he models, and I have told myself to avoid male models at all costs - no offense. Anyway, Chris comes over to my table to chat, but before I could exchange two words with him, Jason taps me on the shoulder.

"CM, I know this seems ridiculous, but you're my homie and I reeeeeeally need this favor. Those promoters are pissed that their two best girls are at our table talking to Blake. So they sent that kid (Chris) over to talk to you. Pleeeeease can you just talk to him when we leave here. PLEASE, I am begging you."

Champagne is coming out of my nose at this point because I'm laughing so hard.  This is so high school! But fine, whatever.   

So I turn to Chris, "Chris, dude, my friend is buggin' out.  He forgot he's not a promoter anymore. Let's talk to later, k?" Smile. 

Chris is obviously a very nice guy. Cute too, actually...he winks and goes back to the enemy table.  

Bridgette, one of girls at my table, tells me that she knows the promoters next to us. Yet, because she is at another table, they refuse to acknowledge her existence when she says hi!! But had she not been with a group of models, they would have been very, "Oh, hi dAHrling" with her.

Hahaha...calm down people!  But whatever, the music and drinks were great. Bridgette and Alaina are fun, and have good senses of humor.  The other girls are nice too, although I can't really talk to them.  On to 1OAK (a club, one of the newest "good" places in the city), where they were celebrating Independence Day with red, white, and blue balloons, fire eaters, scantily clad women in Uncle Sam outfits walking on stilts.  If I were American, I'd be so proud...

guys juggling/eating fire

dancers on stilts

Future posts: why Chilean sea bass will stay on the menu at BONDST, dating misadventures, street photos, and nutrition