I didn’t expect to love New York.

I thought it would be like a bigger, dirtier, shittier Chicago. I expected to hate it. But it’s not and I don’t: I fucking love it here. (Manhattan, at least.) If I didn’t have a husband, a mortgage, and two dogs, I’d move here next month. For real. Debbie even said she could get me a job.

It’s muggy as fuck, though. I don’t really like muggy. But I love this city.

Please. Is there anything more utterly fucking cliched than loving New York?

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Today we lazed around until past one in the afternoon, then took a cab and went out for lunch at some adequate but mediocre Mexican restaurant. (“There is no good Mexican food in New York,” Steven explained. “You eat Italian here, but the Mexican food just doesn’t work.”) We went to Service Station, where Aimee got her hair colored and cut – it looks fabulous – by the most adorable blond gay boy I’ve ever seen. (He verged on too perfect to be human, really.) While she was doing that, Steven took me a few blocks to a nice little bar and we had a couple of cocktails and talked about boys for a couple hours.

When Aimee’s hair was done, we met up with Greg at a nearby deli – he’d come in on the subway from the Newark airport – and we all went to Patti’s place on Central Park West. (Yes, I rehearsed at Patti Smythe & John McEnroe’s house, er, apartment. Consider that my name-dropping for the day.) The whole acapella group was there, and some of the sections of the songs were muddy as hell… but some of them really popped and sounded tight. It will be interesting to hear how this recording turns out.

After rehearsal, Aimee, Steven, Greg, Barbara and I went out for Indian food and had a lovely meal with great conversation.

Barbara, Greg, and Steven

At one point during the meal, I was looking out the window and made eye contact with a guy dressed up like Captain Cooke (or Captain Morgan, who knows) and he came to the door of the restaurant and kind of waved at our table. He then hung out outside the restaurant for awhile with two chicks dressed in fishnet stockings, but they’d all disappeared by the time we left.

We then picked Greg’s luggage up from Patti’s building and went down into the subway. (Fuck but it’s hot down there.) Since we had awhile to wait for the train, we found a little niche mosiaced with an underwater ocean theme and rehearsed some more; it was much, much tighter with fewer people. The accoustic was nice down there. When there weren’t any trains going by, that is.

Barbara, Ronnie, and Steven

Now we’re back at Steven and JoLynn’s, and have been singing and talking and drinking beers on the balcony. Since Greg’s here, I might end up sleeping with Steven and giving Greg the futon, since Aimee’s already sleeping in the kitchen on all the extra blankets. It’s pretty full in this tiny little apartment, but fun, and our host and hostess are amazingly gracious.

I’m having so much fun I can barely stand myself.

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Misty called me today. When I saw her number on my cell, I figured my dog was dead or missing or something, but when I listened to the message she was just calling to say that they’re in love with Shiva and that he’s doing great and they’re letting him sleep in the damn bed with them.

Well, she also mentioned that he’d moped the first 24 hours, but apparently he’s now forgotten about me and is worming his way into their hearts rapidly.

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I just fixed the comments function here on the blog, so you can tell me how much you love me again. Sorry about that.

I’m pretty certain that I’ve lost the entire rest of my web site. I think all I’ve got now is this here blog, and that I’ll be starting from scratch with Rants and the gallery and the home page. Ugh.

Lesson in non-attachment, I guess.
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