The above paragraph is entirely false. At this point I will explain my absence by distracting you with a story about stomach issues in the fine borough of New York City, Brooklyn.
The Beastie Boys once said,
and I often ask my friends who live there if they find this to be true. Trying to remember their answer now and coming up with nothing leaves me to believe they probably ignore me when I say it. Meanwhile, I did find it to be true this weekend. The details follow below;
After the Met, we took the subway, which seemed particularly smelly and awful that night, to the east village where we put our name in to eat at Momofuku, a trendy restaurant my other half had been raving about. There was an hour and twenty minute wait before we could sit. This was no problem, as I wanted my stomach to settle anyway. To kill our time we went into a nice looking Japanese restaurant where we ordered a pre-dinner of sushi and maki. Oh, and saki and beer. This was when I began to notice the amazing belt I had tied on was really tight on my stomach. I loosened it slightly after finishing my beer and felt immediate relief. How silly am I, trying to be trendy and hurting my stomach in the process. Ridiculous.
Following pre-dinner, we went on to the main course at Momofuku, which was amazing, and if you have not been, you should go soon. We ate pork dumplings, which may have been the greasiest thing I have ever put in my mouth and a pork raman noodle bowl. Oh, and more beer. At this point I had loosened my belt entirely and it no longer looked fashionable, but more like a limp hula-hoop. But, my stomach still hurt a bit. We had plans to go meet my friend from high school for a drink after dinner. My stomach shouted "no!", but the noise was drowned out by Manhattan's mumbles of car horns and shouting, so we went.
Since I was going to see someone new I made sure my hula-hoop transformed back into a belt by tightening it despite discomfort. I even drank a beer. It was great to see my friend, but at this point I was dreaming of sleep in Brooklyn. Two subways and some walking later, we made it home to the safe haven, where the streets murmurs were just slightly softer. As I took off my scarf/belt/hair-hat ribbon/blindfold I felt complete bliss, utter happiness, sheer release and the faint sounds of the Beastie Boys playing in the background.
Meanwhile, I am back home, safe and sound in Connecticut where there are less amazing food options and torture chambers (tight clothing). The bars close by 2AM, late night diners are few and far between and I find this all very comforting.
Even after all of my stomach troubles, I still love New York City with all my heart-but, my new line is officially,
"No sleep 'til CT".