Sunday Brunch and Beyond

Yesterday, I was the proud attendee of a small brunch party. By small, I mean there were three of us in attendance. We trudged from the upper ends of the East and West to convene at Sushi Samba 7 in the West Village. The usually hopping joint was quiet--due to the mass snowfall--we secured a table with ease. Tommy, Erre, and I feasted on pika pika cocktails (sparkling sake with guava juice) and six entrees over two courses. I adore multiple courses. There's an elegance and production to it, which delights me--drama queen that I am.

After this mature meal, we had a snowball fight. Whence the boys proceeded to gang up against the wee girl that is me--pelting my diminutive stature with direct hits to the hooded head. BOO! I triumphed with a game of bag tag--where I managed to unwittingly hit Erre in the left nut with an "iceberg" (realizing my deficiency in packing the balls tight enough, I took to picking up preformed, deformed blocks of icy snow). I also hit Tommy in the rib--but that was completely intentional, inflamed as I was by his inherent competitive need to beat on the runt of the lot--ME.

Erre left us to visit a friend at NYU. Tommy and I ambled toward Union Square. Along the way, we witnessed the most prolific operator of crutches. This teeny Asian girl lithely manuevered ice patches, slushy corners, and mounds of snow as she deftly crutched her way from block to block. Whilst Tommy looked on incredulously I proceeded to applaud her bravado. Having once been on crutches myself in the wintery months of 2001, I recognized that this was NO small feat. I had V to drag my carcass from class to class and save my hide on many a trip down Gilman Hall steps at JHU.

Tommy even stopped to push a taxi which was helplessly burning rubber on a snow dune at E. 11th St. There was a gentleman with mismatched plastic bags firmly tied around his boots furiously shouting directions to the FOBBY driver as a bespectacled bystander pushed the cab's rear. Tommy joined in and was soon joined by a man bold enough to skip the jacket on a blustery day. Finally, a Volvo came by and gently nudged the cab over the hump proving a mighty obstacle. The front bumper kissing the cab's ass and pushing it ecstactically forward. New Yorkers are NICE! The orignal pushing passerby stopped aiding the cab to pull out his digital camera and snap a live one. "A fellow blogger!" I thought to myself and smiled.

At Union Square, Tommy left me to Rosie to whose chagrin Forever 21 was closed. We marched backwards to satisfy my hankerin' for bubble tea. Following that pit stop I squired her to Urban Outfitters where she managed to buy 6 shirts for $58 and I made off with $21 plaid, wool gaucho pants which I'm sporting at the office today. How glad am I that I have these pants! They saved me from the inevitable sidewalk slush that accumulates after a foot of snow starts to melt. I really need some GOLOSHES! ugh. I say that everytime it rains or snows, but do nothing about it.