In which I allow that it is possible that I [heart] New York.

As I'd feared, this past weekend was a dangerous thing: put Nora in a big city and give her some friends and a real burrito and what happens? She begins to draw even more unfavourable comparsions between this possible life and her current life.

Yes yes y'all (tick tock y'all, to the beat y'all, ya don't stop...), my maiden voyage to New York was a total success. On Friday night, as we walked to the diner, we acted as first responders to a pretty serious cab-and-bike accident that happened right in front of our eyes, and my lady hit 911 first--an accident in New York reported by a native Wisconsonite visiting the city from her home in Boston but calling on a phone with a Chicago number. We are modern young America and we move around a lot.

We walked all over the place on Saturday, a fine, sunny, cool day to be in Central Park, watching the beautiful people stroll their bebes about and the bikers ride their beautiful bikes... Then to Brooklyn to the art museum and the feminist art exhibit including The Dinner Party, about which I'll write later. Indian food on the outskirts of Park Slope, and staying up late talking with friends who live in Hell's Kitchen.

Sunday brought me to my set of tasks: yogurt, shoe store, brunch. Check, check, and frickin check: we hit the Lower East Side, Soho, Little Italy, and a few other slivers of neighbourhood that I certainly can't discern from each other. I bought a bag that looks a bit like it's made out of tanned human skin--it is not and it is vegan. We popped into a candy store (Economy Candy) that was filled with kids acting like some kind of kids in candy stores. We brunched in a precious place in Freeman's alley staffed entirely by fellows with moustaches and lithe girls with effortless ensembles (damn their lack of effort!). My friend Jen took a shine to the lipstick our server (server? waitress?) was wearing and asked after it. A quick boutique search and she'd become That Girl With The Red Lipstick On, very oo la lah. All this and a trip to Zabar's for bagels and a $20 tub of truffle stock, with which I'll make some knockout risotto later this week.
I feel a little stupid, a little imprudently smitten. There was just...something about being in a city laid out on a grid again, a city with a big ass subway system, a city! My lady's and my dissatisfaction with our geography grows, and the lure to leave is great. My employer has a large New York office; surely there is much work in immigration law for my partner. One thinks, why not? It is never too late, and one is obligated to search out happiness because life is short.

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Life is short and the bag I bought is made by a house of design. My bag has a name on it that is not the name of a friend, as was the case with my previous bag. I'm not sure how I feel about this. On the one hand, it is a really delicious bag. On the other, am I not a brand-name girl; I own almost nothing that is marked on its exterior by its maker. I'm afraid that someone will say to me "oh, is that the new 'name & name' bag?" and I'll have to say "Umn, yes."

It's really a soft, glossy bag. I femme out on bags and shoes. I've made my choice and I stick by it.