david schrott is everywhere

she and i visit the 212, $85 breakfasts, i’m a sam-girl & an ode to steichen

Posted in daily life, NYC by thebreakfastdictator on 07/31/2011

We planned on going to NYC well over a month ago. In some ways, it feels like forever ago and in others like five seconds ago. We were texting a few days before our first “date” and I’d told her that I’d never had a really good NYC experience. She rattled off a few things that she loved about the city and I simply said “show me”. She said okay and we planned on a July 30 day trip. Later that night, I told Ian and he told me that planning something that far away with a girl I didn’t really know was a bad idea. Somehow, I knew he was wrong.

Earlier that morning, she and I talked about taking the Bolt or the Megabus to the big city. I found $7 tickets on the Megabus : departure time 2.30am / arrival time 4.30am. We said “Let’s do it!”. In retrospect, that was a ludicrous idea and we both were so glad we didn’t follow through with that initial idea.

She’d heard of a place. A breakfast place called Norma’s. Reservations were key and she sent me the link. Later, during a night of delirious dancing, she remarked that she wanted to go dancing in New York. I love dancing with her and saying “no” wasn’t even an option in my mind. This turned our day trip into an over-night trip. The details of where we’d stay weren’t even considered. We wanted to dance and dance we would.

The Yassos picked us up around 10.30 and we headed north — to Brewerytown. Freeman was throwing a dance party and as mentioned before, we simply don’t say no to dancing. Not now. Not ever. The energy felt a little low and the Yassos were dialoguing rather than dancing so we decided to skip out early to our default dance zone — the 700 Club. We love that place.

Love.

We’re dropped at 2nd & Fairmount and she realizes she forgot her ID. The bouncer won’t let us in and we hop a cab back to the G-Ho. As with every other recent weekend, sleep will be on short order.

We wake and who-knows-what-time, head to 30th Street, coffee-up and find the bus stop. Two breezy hours and one new talkative Jewish friend later, we land in the heart of mid-town. We find coffee and a storage space for our bags — which was oh-so-typical-New-York. On the second floor of an obscure 36th street building was a room. A tiny room. In it was a friendly young woman who was slightly scatter-brained and who took and stored our bag for the day. Cost: $6. This was, perhaps, some of the wisest six dollars I’ve ever spent.

Breakfast was out of this world. I was speechless most of our time there. We finished up and realized we weren’t far from Central Park. We made our way over there and found some grass + shade. We read John chapter five and talked for a long long time. And it was good. So good. Our talks give me so many insights into her. It shows me a little more of who she is and how I can learn to love her. I love giving myself to her — whether it’s cleaning up a wine glass she’s broken, carrying her bags for her or any other little gesture that shows her just how much she means to me.

Sam & I were freshman at Drexel to-gether. We were mostly acquaintances during college and then a few months ago we caught up and have been trying to do so ever since. I telephoned him the day before we left and made loose plans to get to-gether Saturday night.

He met us in front of our (remarkable) hostel on 17th. We headed to the Flatiron so I could snap a quick photo of it and then ended up at a bar (Mumbles) on the corner of the block our hostel was on. Times with Sam are marathons. Drinks are ordered in over-abundance and conversation slips from serious to hysterical in seconds. I think we sat down around 7.30 and didn’t leave til Meg had five glasses of wine and well after midnight.

Patricia recommended Pyramid for a night of 80s dancing. Conveniently, it was only a 15 minute walk from the hostel. We walked in and that song that I don’t know that they always play on This American Life was playing. The floor was a little sparse, but just before one a.m. is early in the two-one-two. We survived until just after two and our over-extended bodies simply wouldn’t go anymore. She asked me if I wanted to go and I told her I’d do whatever she wanted; sleep, more than anything, was what she desired.

We arrived at the hostel just before three and crashed in seconds. The sun would come soon and every sweet second of sleep would need to be savored.

The Bolt arrives at 9.45.

Coffee-up.