IHateBoston

The Foie Gras Was the Best Part

2005-08-03T09:06:00.000-07:00

Last night my boss took me to dinner at Aquavit. We had the prix fixe for $75 per person: salmon plate and foie gras plate to start, venison and duck for the second course, and three desserts because I told the server it was Hector's birthday. Hee hee! After dinner, I got a ride home on Hector's motorcycle. My mother put the fear of God in me where motorcyles are concerned, and I'd never been on one until a few months ago. I suppose I never should have tried it, because I love it, especially if I've had half a bottle of wine and don't feel nervous.

And My Feet Hurt, Too

2005-07-29T12:56:00.000-07:00

I work as a hostess, a job I often really love, although it's giving me knee problems (too much standing around in high heels). I'm on my fifth double in a row today. For anyone who hasn't worked in a restaurant, "doubles" are back-to-back shifts, which in my case means 10 a.m. to 12 p.m. I'm fairly sure New York state law mandates occasional breaks in cases like this, but we don't get them. On the plus side, we do get to sneak booze and food.

Fakedy-Fake

2005-07-27T11:32:00.000-07:00

Would you like to see a panoramic photo of the restaurant where I work? It totally misrepresents the scale and feel of the restaurant.

Rudy Sighting

2005-07-26T10:22:00.000-07:00

While in the Hamptons this weekend, waiting outside a grocery store in a Lexus SUV, I saw Rudy Giuliani. He looked extremely old. His hair was light gray, and he seemed to have a little difficulty walking. It made me sad.

Hamptons Extravaganza

2005-07-25T11:13:00.000-07:00

I went to the Hamptons this weekend. It was my first-ever trip. I think I would have hated it as a snot-nosed liberal tyke of 18--too many blondes tooling around in Mercedes convertibles and Hummers--but since losing my rich boyfriend and Battery Park apartment, I have a lot of respect for money. So the girls in $100 bejewled flip-flops and the guys messing around with their boats didn't bother me a jot. Also, the architecture reminds me of Cape Cod, Eden of my youth.

I was staying at the five-bedroom house of my friend Jackie, whose father is an important oncologist. His second wife is thirty-four, pregnant, and slightly whiney. During the days, we went to the beach with stacks of shitty magazines (How can people read Cosmo? It's just so boring.) and then ate cotton candy ice cream. My boyfriend had stolen my debit card, so I had no cash, and Jackie had to pay for everything. It was embarrassing.

Dead Man

2005-07-19T09:46:00.000-07:00

Last night my boyfriend picked me up from the subway (walking alone late in night is a little dicey in my hood). As we came up to 106th and Third, we saw a bunch of cop cars, lights flashing, and people standing in the middle of the street. Memo told me not to look, but I had to. There was a man in the intersection with a bloodstain over his heart. From the way he was lying, and from the unhurried way the cops were moving around, it was obvious that he was dead. I went home and read Dorothy L. Sayers.

Strangers with Axes

2005-07-19T09:37:00.000-07:00

This week, I posted an apartment ad on Craigslist. I need to get rid of my place by September 1. It shouldn't be a difficult task, judging by the cartloads of email that are pouring into my gmail account.

My boyfriend won't be home tonight, which means I'll have to show total strangers around my apartment by myself. There are supposed to be rollicking thunderstorms, as well: the perfect setup for an ax murder!

Lucy Latin Kitchen

2005-07-14T10:22:00.000-07:00

I was an editor at an educational publishing company for a while; after a mini-breakdown, I ran away to Mexico for a few months, came back, and got a job at a restaurant.

This morning the pastry chef fried up sausage, cheese, onions, avocado, and plantains and gave them to me in a big silver mixing bowl. I like working here so much, I hardly mind the total lack of health insurance.

Despite the muggings, I happen to like New York.

2005-07-13T09:36:00.000-07:00

At the moment, I'm living in a one-bedroom apartment in Spanish Harlem. It's a nice place: hardwood floors, lots of light, a big kitchen. The neighborhood is a little iffy. Nothing bad has ever happened to me, but my boyfriend, who is Mexican, was mugged at knifepoint by six black guys a few months ago. It happened a block away from our house at 7 p.m., and although the streets were filled with people, no one helped him.

I think part of the problem is that he doesn't look stereotypically Mexican, so non-Latinos mistake him for a rich white kid. Mexicans know he looks like most chilangos.

"Hate" is pitching it a bit strong.

2005-07-12T15:42:00.000-07:00

OK, I don't really *hate* Boston. I was born there, for one thing, and I'm a big Sox fan, for another. I'm a certified Masshole; I grew up in Arlington and Acton. But after high school, I moved to Manhattan. I've hardly set foot off the island since hauling my Woody Allen VHS tapes here in 1997.

I'm moving back to Beantown in September to start a fiction program at BU, and I'm fucking terrified. This blog will chronicle my efforts to bear up.