Tonight’s my building party. Never got the invite, but Gus a doorman personally invited me for his penne ala vodka which sounds great. Yesterday Bonnie and I took a walk in Brooklyn. We forgot that the Promenade in the Heights is about a five minute walk back and forth!
Look at her pictures. My camera batteries froze of course–but there was an incredible cloud formation where the East River meets The Hudson meets, almost, the ocean.
Walked to DUMBO and back. DUMBO stands for Down Under the Manhattan Bridge. Don’t really know what the O stands for but it would look dumb as DUMB. Ha ha. I had begun coughing as soon as I left my apartment and really never stopped.
Of course I woke up with a real cold; and have zilch desire to eat or to talk to anybody. Also I think it’s rude to be in public with a cold if you don’t have to be out.
Friday I called Lucia and asked her if she was going to Rafe’s party:
” I’m not in the holiday spirit.”
“Poop. ” Long silence “me neither, so are you going to go?.”
“Is this the point where I’m supposed to talk you into going?”
“Really? Usually you want me to.”
“No I really don’t want to go.”
As I wasn’t in the mood, I didn’t go either. Frankly I have known most of the stylists for ever, and except for Angie and Rafe they’re not on my list of my hundred fave people. They’re catty and bitchy and live up to every cliche about Madison Avenue hair stylists. If I want to be catty and bitchy I can talk to myself. Next time I have one of those conversations I will record it so that I could write all the nuances etc.
However Rafe’s probably having a New Years Eve party, for his family and personal friends, in the salon. Everything in the center is portable, and the space can be emptied for a party. I’m looking forward to that one. The salon’s two blocks from my old apartment on 63rd Street.
Sometimes I really love being there; I lived there twice as long as I have lived anywhere else; In a very real sense the East 60’s is my home town, as I lived there during action packed years where I did more than sit around and look for excuses to get out of parties. That’s not truly true. I like parties but I’m so into writing right now that the personal prep for parties seems more like work than like fun.
When I was young, I would spend hours putting on, taking off, and putting on make-up. Usually I would go for the natural but glowing look. Sometimes, I would rim my eyes with noticeable liner, and colored eye shadows, rather than neutral. It would make me look harder and older, especially with my shade of the month red hair, but I would want to.
Always put a line from a white eye pencil on my nose and tip of my cheekbones, to further define them. Putting on make-up was often the highlight of my evening especially when I was going out on a date with somebody I didn’t like much.
Used to go to Rafe’s condo on the marina in New Rochelle every year for New Years. They’re lavish, dressed to the gills affairs with a never ending full bar and much food.
Rafe’s wife is from Russia, and her relatives are some of the funniest people I have ever met. Her sister’s ex-boyfriend, who we all miss though she doesn’t, would start conga lines and make us all act silly. Being silly is what I do best but sometimes I must be persuaded. Other times…