Let's Hear About My Weekend Now

Hi, my turn:

Friday I simply cannot remember, not because I was drunk, just because I don't think I did anything really. I know I took the ferry home from my temp job in Jersey City at Lehman Brothers, and after that I come up blank. I know I wanted to watch Intervention, but remembered that my cable has been out since I returned from Buenos Aires on August 1st, which I am not really complaining about because ever since the tv has been off I've seen a bunch of good DVDs, and otherwise have been alternating between reading The Economist and studying Spanish. So it follows that that is probably what I did on Friday night.
Saturday I went to the Delicious Sandwich Social (DSS), with Alanna, M.C., and Adrienne, held in Prospect Park and orchestrated by Jon Friedman. Here's what you do to go to this thing once a year: You make or get a sandwich (after not much thought, I went with Classic baloney and mustard on white, purchased at the Superior Deli), cut it in half, eat your half at your leisure, label your other half, adding your email to the label, and give it to the DSS Committee, and then eventually you pick a sammy half out of the grab-bag and hopefully you like what you picked and you eat it!! Then you're meant to go around and find who made your sammich and who ate your half. This breakdown of events is what I thought was supposed to happen. I wasn't quite right about how I figured it would go down. It is quite an unusual and creative event and I don't know if I or everyone else knew just what to do...I didn't socialize much too much with those I didn't know and I found out who got the half I provided this way: all the sammiches went into big garbage bags (divided by vegetarian and meat, for those of you who ask questions of the sort I ask), and you had gotten a number when you turned in your sandwich half which was now randomly called, and when you go up you stick your mitt into the bag of your choice and then read to the crowd triumphantly what type of sandwich you pulled out and everyone cheers. So utilizing this process, everyone knows who got their sandwich bc you see someone getting it, eliminating half of the social opportunity to go meet people and seek out your foodmate. Then, when I got my sandwich half (hot roast beef and mozz on a hero) I read off the name of and thanked the guy who'd made it, giving him a chance to get props for the good vittles and also to see who it was. I guess I was trying to find a shortcut to knowing the sandwichmaker rather than actually asking everyone in the party, esp. because I didn't see a lot of that happening. Noone replied. The next day, I emailed him (remember how I said you put your email on the wrapper?) to thank him this way and dude never wrote back!!! How very extremely anti-social!! I'm not saying that it wasn't a nice day in the park and that there weren't free cupcakes, which was generous and they were really good, but I am saying that I am going to spearhead the Logistics Committee next summer bc this event needs some tweaking. If anyone on the committee is even remotely interested in my constructive criticism, they can take a meeting with me. Oh, one other good thing was this guy Tony who would now and again get on our blanket during this party and who for some reason said you can get on the L.I.E. and it will take you right to Belize.
After the DSS, I went to this coffee/chocolate/wine bar in Park Slope so Adrienne could get a latte. I rather admired the place, liked the art on the walls and approved the furnishings and the backyard garden. After my little lookaround, I perched in a windowseat with a tiny ledge behind me that held little votive candles. In the middle of discussing media on which to print photographs Adrienne suddenly shouts "Oh my god!" I gaped at her and then I smelled it. One millisecond later I too shouted "OH MY GOD OH MY GOD" when I realized that the acrid smell was my ponytail singeing away in the fucking candle that these crackheads placed right behind a person's back when they sit in this seat. What I didn't like was that I grabbed my hair with my hands which could have been burned if there were actual flames. This was not a Michael Jackson scenario though bc I think the deal with his hair inferno was that he had a lot of products in his hair. I myself am a natural beauty and use virtually none...so my hair did not go up in flames. Evidently hair just singes. A lot. A chunk came off in my hands as I pulled it around the front to see what was happening. What struck me most about this occurence is twofold. One, Adrienne, when requested that, in future occurrences of such fiascos, she say more words like Oh My God Your Hair Is On Fire or Oh My God Your Hair at least, admitted that she was lame for not saying more or snapping into action and yanking my hair from the candle or the candle from my hair. She is basically excused bc she is my friend, and bc she did have a period of self-reflection where she was befuddled by her inability to find her words or kinetics and be more proactive. At least she knew that her stillness was wrong and didn't think it wasn't her job to get involved, as some of my nameless narcissistic friends would think. Two, NONE of the employees in the shop ran over, none came with a bucket, none even ambled over to see if I was okay after the incident seemed to have peaked. I had to walk past them at the far end of the shop on the way to the bathroom to finger-comb all the crispy ends out of my locks, at which point they inquired what had happened and if I was all right. These people should have done something. Their lack of concern really motivated my thinking that if I had burned my hair off or burned my skin, I would have sued the chocolate out of that place, taken ownership of it and turned it into a god damn Candle Emporium.
After, we went to Habana Outpost in Ft. Greene BK which is always cool but I think I am losing interest. It is always so completely full of all of its elements- soul music, young designer's market, the grilled corn with the queso blanco on it, the too gorgeous multi-culti customer base- that it feels superficial, like all the parts were brought together and the people were cast to create a show called "Habana Outpost". There is no real there there and it is really hard to get a seat. Eh, I probably won't go again on the weekend for a while. Saturday night I stayed home, avoiding a bday party in the last dangerous part left in the LES, and I think I watched "The Last Kiss" with Zach Braff. Did any of you see it and what did you think?
Sunday I woke up early and went to sticky-floored Nevada Smith's to watch Chelsea Vs. Liverpool. It was a tie, 1-1. I saw a bunch of my soccer-watching and -playing friends there who genuinely seemed like they actually noticed I was gone for a month and that they had missed me. Lovely. And the chicken pie was the best I have ever had there, literally 100 times better, they must have gotten a new meatpie distributor. What else? Oh we went over to Central Bar after the game and watched some Latin American soccer and I ate cheesy beans on toast and turned my nose up at the black & white pudding. Noone knew what is in the white pudding part but they knew what made the other part black and I wanted no part of it.
After this merriment I cruised on home to join a party at my apt that was thrown by my roommate Sarah for her female college volleyball team that she coaches as her profession. The place was packed with Amazons and enough food to feed a team of Amazons. I ate seven layer dip and made some charming comments about feeling like I was in the waiting room for auditions for America's Next Top Model (many of them were pretty good looking) and after making them all love me I went into my room to play with my cats and go to bed early.
When I got to work Monday I asked the IT guy how his weekend was. He said, "Great- I was in a drunken stupor all weekend!" I countered with, "Oh yeah? My hair went on fire!" and he said "You've got me beat. Trumped!" Alli esta! (There it is!)

Nicole