Namaste blog tribe
I’m never going to make the mistake of mentioning my partner too much, besides in the inky books I’ve been filling with love poetry.
Some things are secret. Plus considering how I lost siblings over the last time I mentioned anyone I was involved with, I am not saying a word.
That aside, my shift from Hell’s Kitchen to the Upper Whack Side was nearly seamless. Apparently the walls in a brownstone aren’t quite to the same caliber as the luxury high-rises of my midtown past. Put shortly, playing Black Sabbath at 7am on a Sunday does not make friends in residences like this.
I’ve been fishing through poetry books and thinking about stories. Last night I put on bright purple MAC lipstick with six inch heels and went to an awards night at Cipriani on Wall Street.
The endless winter has broken all sorts of freezingness records, even though it’s technically spring. Today it was mild in the park and I walked past a patch of daffodils. My apartment is actually full of fresh spring flowers, along with Vivaldi, organic produce and a closet stuffed fat with new cotton dresses for spinning around town.
New York City. I love her so.