I could've sworn I wasn't alone

This is my first weekend in NYC with heat and sunshine.

I made a big mistake and didn't bring my flipflops, though. I've worn them for three summers: this is the fourth, and they're perfect. Reefs, you know.

So I left them and brought some trendy, white BCBG sandals that I *never* wear. Why? Oh, because of the blisters. Yeah, I forgot, or something.

Yesterday I just fucked up my left foot with this nasty blister, but I didn't want to make Asit go back to his apartment where I could put on my chucks, so I bought blue flipflops that didn't quite fit right.

Well, not like my good flipflops.

Today I'm limping because my foot hurts.

But I have an extraordinarily high pain tolerance (I hate the word "threshhold").

Yesterday we went to Williamsburg and had iced tea with Mr. Peter habbit. He had a pen in his hand the whole time, which I think says something about a person.

I always have pens. And a Sharpee.

Asit was buggin about my birthday present, and needing to pick it up, but he didn't want me to know where it was from, becuase that was a major part of the gift.

I had no idea what it could be, but I love LOVE surprises so I went with him, uptown, of all places, and I sat in Central Park while he got my gift.

The grass where I sat felt wonderful to my feet and the sunshine was too bright for me to keep my eyes open. I expectedly pulled out my notebook and picked up where I had left off with whatever it is I'm writing there.

A young Israeli man sat down right next to me and began talking about how he's "only two months in this country". And he asked if I wrote poetry? songs? love stories? No.

I told him it was about a girl who always had strangers come up and talk to her.

Seriously: I cannot sit alone in this city because people just start talking...

Asit rejoined me, and I closed my eyes, held out my hands, and would you believe he gave me a little blue box, tied with a white satin ribbon!

I could have just died with only that, and not know what was inside. He remembered from ages back when I had mentioned never having received anything from Tiffany's, but every girl wants a little blue box...

Inside is a gorgeous sterling silver pen. I couldn't love it more.

I haven't taken the ribbon out of my hair since. I even slept in it.

That's because I got sloshed yesterday.

In the evening I had a huge margarita with my bbq dinner, then after a few hours we went to Patio, but it was boring me, so we went east and ended up at Doc Holliday's.

Fat girls dancing on the bar, country music, and $2 PBR.

We were there for hours.

I picked out three guys that I thought were attractive, and two out of the three picked me out, too.

Asit seemed to think I was a dork for complaining that all three hadn't smiled at me.

I am! a big dork!

Patio again where Riley spun and Vanessa told us about the new management. They're gonna call the place "Mugsy's Garage".

Eric isn't working all weekend and I'm sad. I haven't seen him in so long.

For god-only-knows-why Asit pushed me into Mars Bar as we left - as if I hadn't had enough tequila and beer all night long - and he bought me one more shot.

It's three thirty-three right now, and I'm drinking a smoothie, becuase they're good for a hangover.

I found a napkin on the sidewalk, and jotted all over it is a list of good books I think I should buy and read. Some of them I already have.

I just remembered Matthew let me listen to the Fountains of Wayne on Friday and it was good.

Today, after commenting that only diarylanders were giving me friendster testimonials, I got one from an old friend. Those of you who know Daniel Ryan would also be surprised: he didn't say anything about me that I expected to hear. I'm hard to love, he says.

Well, I'm going to go enjoy this Sunnyday and wait for my phone to ring.