Dashing and daring.

What is this song and where did it come from? Ever since I started the dare it has been on my mind and it has been a week, so you can imagine how annoyed I am getting even more so because I am not supposed to get annoyed. Then again it also reminds me of my friend Sam, who initiated the word dashing into my vocabulary. Probably because he himself is quite dashing. Just like Mr. Darcy or Sean Connery. Luckily the combined image of Sam, Mr. Darcy (did he even have a first name??), and Sean makes the whole song in my head a bit more bearable.
Anyhow, technically the dare is over, but yesterday I decided I shall add another week, because the results have been quite astonishing. I was thinking about it last night when I was taking my make-up off. Usually I think about such random stuff in the shower, but yesterday I was just busy with a cotton pad. While I was thinking that my life is by no means perfect (yet!), but has just gotten a whole lot better already, I put nail polish remover on the cotton pad and luckily realized this before swiping my face with it. I started to giggle, which is always a bit weird when on your own, and thought it was in fact a nice metaphor for the results of the dare: No perfect life, but a better one. Now I seem to at least realize it when I am about to figuratively put nail polish remover on my face, which is a lot more than I can say of my life before.

In case you feel bad now, you could either try it too (and don’t pretend you don’t need it, I do know a few likeminded people and I tend to call them my best friends…) or I could share with you my failings from last week:

1. I swore frequently. Though not at other people, which I guess is an improvement.

2. For a week that was supposed to be pasta & wine free there was quite a bit of both and only one night the pasta was gluten free and not by my choice.

3. Though I didn’t tweet snotty replies, I still thought them out in my head. The whole 140 characters.

4. I got really upset at the video store when my booked movie didn’t come in on time. But that was after I had just seen the Frenchman so I think it only counts half as I was already aggravated by him.

5. Forget about no. 3 – I just tweeted the snotty question whether the Grand Café can really be considered fine dining these days. Though I do believe that is a valid question and the answer is no.

So there you see - my life and me are still very far from perfect, no need to be envious. And in case you miss my disastrous stories about me & men – don’t worry, I have just playing it safe and staying away from them as best as I could. Knowing me, I shall get bored soon, approach a male human being, will manage to mess it up royally, and boom! great post for you. You just be patient…

New York Miss-Much

It might be the wind, but my mood is sombre today and I miss New York much. It might also be due to my New York friends leaving today. All I want to do is jump on the plane with them. Not even the 17 hour trip can be scarier than the prospect of staying behind right now. Mind you, in my mind it is summer in New York though...scorching August heat (I am the only crazy person firmly believing that August is the best month to visit New York). In my perfect August day I would like to...

... order iced coffee and get it right. Americano, ice cubes, done. New Yorker baristas do know that whether to add hot or cold water must not be asked.

... fight my way through the aisles of Century 21 and emerge with an oversized Martin Margiela jersey and yet another little Pucci bandana.

... be told by a stranger in the elevator that she likes my shoes and replying with a mysterious smile that says ‘I got them on sale, but I will never ever tell you’.

... be stuck in traffic in a yellow cab, missing the voice of Elmo saying “This is Elmo from Sesame Street. Elmo wants you to be safe. So please, buckle up for safety.”

... drink fresh lemonade at a street fair. I’m sure there is one somewhere. As a rule there is always one somewhere, each street in New York is worthy of celebration it seems.

... eat arepas at Caracas. The usual. Two La Del Gato with no plantains. And then being told (in Spanish, but I can gather as much) that having a La Del Gato without plantains is like, well, literally a cat without a tail.

... go to Barney’s. Just to look.*

... dinner at Bar Pitti with Sam. And the waiter standing next to me throughout the meal. Just in case I need more fresh parmesan cheese graded over my plate**. Which I will. That is a given.

So for now I will indulge myself in this bit of fantasy and hope that the wind will die down, so I can sit on my balcony and enjoy the city I’m actually in...just now.

*Of course this is a lie. You cannot ever just look when at Barney’s.

** Selecting pictures today makes me sad. So I was just browsing a bit and then decided against. But this I did find (the internet is a wondrous place) and have to share:

This is a picture of the original Rigatoni Pitti, which I always, always eat there.