Week 21: Forecast Fiction, Opera, & BRUNCH.

As I’ve mentioned before, I’m constantly in shock in regards to how long it has been since I landed in NYC… the time is flying. In the off chance you have no idea what this blog is about… Here is my first entry in NYC.

10.9: The weather is becoming frequently bipolar. The changes are getting more drastic as summer welcomes fall; although somewhat reluctantly. I’ve learned to ignore the forecast, a fiction I choose to humor myself with in the mornings.

Don’t get me wrong, this fall weather is unbelievably refreshing. After living in a climate that consisted of varying degrees of hot (fucking kill me hot, everything sticks to me hot, two weeks of I can finally walk 10 feet without sweating warm, & an additional couple weeks of sweater weather) I have never loved walking around outside as much as I do now. Fall is my new favorite time of the year; although I could do with a nice consistency every now and then.

My knee hurts. I feel like an old woman. Hopefully several sauna sessions will do the trick.

After enjoying an insanely calming sauna sesh at the gym tonight I decided to forgo my stoop and take a stroll around my hood. While drooling over people’s incredibly beautiful brownstone homes my ears hooked onto a trio of gentlemen playing something similar to one of Django Reinhardt’s tunes. An upright base, a guitar, and a mandolin. A trio of harmonizing voices over 70. The sheer gold curtain managed to shield from view just a small portion of the gold wall-papered living area tastefully adorned in vintage framed maps. The giant bay window was left open, it was only right that I stood under to soak in the joy streaming from within. It wasn’t awkward at all.

This week’s lineup:

*Put up my ‘headboard’. It’s cricked… just like me. After making the 3rd whole in the wall I decided to just let it be. I’m not perfect, neither is my headboard.

*Enjoyed a night out at a real speakeasy from the 1920’s (The Backroom) in the Lower East Side.

speak easy1 speakeasy2 speakeasy3


You had to walk through this underground tunnel to get to the speakeasy. The band played swing tunes and I’m fairly certain the folks getting down had a few swing dancing lessons in their day. The interior was really beautiful [gorgeous wood molding, giant chandeliers, & gold wall paper] and I drank my sour whiskey from a giant tea cup.

* Enjoyed a day off  on Tuesday by cooking Brunch for Tina [notice that Brunch is spelt with a capital B] & a night at the Opera with the Roomies.



Cucumber, grilled corn, browned onions and garlic, scallions all mixed into a fresh Haas avocado. You don’t even know. (if you’re going to try this, don’t forget chili peppers and a pinch of dried mustard)

I made some crispy (toasted on the stove) corn quesadillas with spicy red lentils & cheese inside to go with the guac. 

tuesday brunch

Sea salt & white truffle olive oil soaked edamame. 


Shakespeares Sonnets. Not exactly the Opera I was expecting (there was no actual ‘opera’ vocals), but amazing visual and conceptual design (the lighting alone makes me want to see this again). 




I wore makeup for the first time since freshmen year in college. I felt like an alien form of myself. 

10.11: It’s Saturday. It is also the first day since moving here that I honestly feel cold. I wore my floor length wool coat to Brunch today. I wore this coat one time in Orlando and felt ridiculous. Today, I just felt cold.

Home Updates:DSC_5562 DSC_5560 DSC_5553

It’s Saturday night. I have a headache from the unlimited mimosas at Brunch so I decided to stay home… write a few things down and catch up on my Pushkin biography. As much as I enjoy going out with friends and living out my 20s in style, I gotta say… I really dislike going out on the weekends. Counter intuitive? Nope. I really enjoy socializing and soaking up a great conversation with a stiff drink (or two) in hand, but going to just about any bar in Manhattan or otherwise on a Saturday night you’re almost guaranteed complete lack of space and conversation. I have no desire to shout at someone trying to understand if they just said ‘I love this place’ or ‘I hate butterflies’ … what do these have in common? I wouldn’t be able to hear either. Will I ever go out on a Saturday? Yes. Will I continue to complain about the noise? Yes.

Note: Going out for live music is all too different, the need for conversation is replaced with groovy tune enjoyment.

10.11: Today was a perfect Sunday. New Zealand cuisine for Brunch (and an unfinished game of chess) with Miss Chelsea & Casey, followed by a brief tour of the Brooklyn Flea down the street, classical piano at Wash sq., a delicious mango lassi and a trip to East Village Cheese (it was everything I hoped for and more) with a new friend triggering my forgotten love of historic art heists & forgeries. Happy Sunday.

brunch chess cheese

I’ve been thinking about my dreams. I’ve had many dreams and ideals that I thought I wanted for my adult self throughout my life; many of which I threw away (for good and bad reasons). One of my earliest dreams (aside from being a ballerina) was to become a writer. I remember writing a story about Mr. & Mrs. Pencil who got robbed of their eraser hats (I was in 3rd grade; ok?). I was a tiny Regina, but I still remember feeling so proud when I got to read my story in front of the class. I immediately fell in love with stringing words together. Riding in a car one day shortly after and having someone ask me what I wanted to do ‘be’ when I grew up (something grown-ups ask WAY too much of). I was excited to tell the person that I wanted to be a writer and immediately crushed when they bluntly informed me that ‘writing’ is not a practical occupation. I honestly remember my heart breaking. I was wondering the other day… what if I didn’t throw out the idea of becoming a writer when I was a kid? What if I held on to it and practiced while growing up? My writing is nothing short of poor grammar, cheesy cliches, and incorrectly used vocabulary (some of which, I’m fairly certain are made up words). I’ve had several other ‘dreams’ and passions along the way, most of which I let run their course. Some of which I’m still progressing. Writing, however, never stood a chance. It’s never too late to practice.

If only I knew then that practical occupations are just as much fiction as today’s weather channel’s forecast.


I feel so lucky.

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