Well, tho I tried not to, I did it again. In the eight years I have lived north of the Mason-Dixon line, I have fallen due to snow in no less than seven. Somehow, despite a ton of snow last year I managed to stay upright. And, with only one major snowfall this year, I thought I would foil it again. But, sadly, no.

I left work about five minutes early yesterday, rushing to meet Patrick at The Chocolate Room before it got too busy to get a table. I circumvented the really deep puddle on the corner and gingerly stepped across the street. I hustled down one set of stairs and was in the middle of the second set when my still-slippery shoes got the better of me and down I went.

Yes, that's right, I fell down the stairs in the subway. And not just any subway station, but Times Square, the busiest station in the network. Sounds of alarm were heard around me as I tumbled in slow motion. In all, I only went down about 4 or 5 steps before I stopped myself (I would like to note also that a kind-hearted fellow New Yorker was standing just in front of where I stopped with her hands out to catch me.)

Before you get alarmed (Mom) I am fine. I have a bruise on my hand but that's it. But what you (Mom) and Kerry will hopefully understand, being equally graceful as I am, is the sheer embarrassment as well as the appreciation of the drama that I couldn't fall when no one was looking, or in less crowded Brooklyn. I had to make a grand entrance to the number 2 train at Times Square.

Thank you. No applause is necessary. |

As promised, we got a blizzard last night and today. All the snow we should have gotten spred out this winter came at once. Truthfully, I have seen this much snow come down in Cleveland. Several times. But - the winds (which is what makes it a blizzard as opposed to a winter storm) have caused some dramatic drifting, so - I took some pictures on our outing to get breakfast this morning.


View up 11th St from my bedroom window (it's in focus - just the whiteout making it look fuzzy).


From the living room window, a guy shoveling in front of Russo's in whiteout so bad it looks like a picture of the Loch Ness monster.


What we saw at our door when we got downstairs to go to breakfast. Luckily I still have my garden spade so I could clear it.


Looking down 8th Ave outside Two Little Red Hens bakery, where hot cider and a fresh cinnamon roll made a perfect snowday breakfast.


Patrick in the snow on 12th St.


Me in the same place.


The cars on 12th were really drifted over. If you think this one's bad...


...umm... I think there's a car under there.


And wow, if you think our door was bad, I'm glad I don't live in a basement apartment. |

On Patrick's one day off this week, we decided to forego laundry and take an excursion to Queens, the most ethnically diverse county in the world. We traveled on the 7 train, also known as the 'international express'. An hour and a half train ride each way to get to a location less than ten miles away, but, hey, that's life in New York.

First stop was almost all the way out (the train goes as far as Flushing) at Corona Plaza. Via googling, Patrick had found out there is a sizeable Mexican population. We were looking for a market he'd read about, but in its place we found a local lunch place, sort of what I consider the Mexican equivalent of a diner (tortas, tacos, quesadillas, very low key family atmosphere). Thank goodness for nice New Yorkers, like the guy who took pity on Patrick and my lack of knowledge of Spanish (he's going to take lessons, but currently we both have kind of Sesame Street vocabulary) and informed us that the woman behind the counter was asking if he wanted his Torta al Bisteck for here or to go. I'll have to let him review the meal, but the homemade tortillas I was watching them make looked awesome.

After that, we wondered around the neighborhood looking for something for me to eat (the place we visited sadly did not have my favorite mushroom tacos) and looking for our long sought after prepared masa (makes tamales more moist). I ended up getting a really yummy coconut roll at a bakery we smelled before we saw it. We didn't find the masa, but we did pick up some strange herbal tea (Flor de Jamaica), some beans that looked like giant, purple lima beans, and this:


It's a molcajete, a lava rock mortar and pestle used to make salsa. And I love the traditional piggy face paint job.

We closed out Corona with Patrick getting some awesome tamales from a woman selling them on the street by the train station. This time the minimal Spanish worked better and he successfully ordered a Salsa Roja tamale and a Mole tamale.

After that it was off to Jackson Heights, where there is not only a Hispanic population but also lots of people from India and South Asia, which meant I could finally get a good vegetarian lunch.

We walked down Roosevelt Ave to Broadway, where we hung a right and were in curry house heaven. After perusing the buffets in the window, I settled on Taj Indian (apparently they have another location on Bleeker). It was awesome. Fresh naan delivered to the table. Amazing pakoras, chana dal, saag with veg, alu gobi. All delicious.

Patrick was full, so he saved what was remaining of his appetite for some sweets from the shop down the street. We shared two delicious pieces of milk fudge (I honestly don't know the names of Indian confections, but they're all very sweet, delicately spicy, and delicious).

We finished our Queens adventure with a stop in Patel Brothers. Imagine your local supermarket, but instead of standard American fare it is an enourmous Indian grocer. So many prepared foods, tons of spices, produce we'd never heard of (jackfruit, a small, oblong variety of coconut, some little green, cyllindrical spiky green vegetable), and a million types of flours specific to Indian breads. We picked up some paratha, cardamom seeds, and some insence apparently indended to be burned "while worshipping God".

Full and sleepy, we wandered off to the F train for our long ride home.

Bonus photo - Mom wanted to see my hair color/cut. A little distorted by the flash, but here you go:
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My lovely coworkers at [old job] took me out for drinks in honor of my lasst day Friday night. It was a bit of a drunken blast with many rounds. Or - those who know me will understand when I say that I had 5+ drinks.

Usually it's one really girly $10 martini style drink and that's it for me. But this time, at the urging of everyone I would like to announce that one month shy of my 29th birthday I have now done my first tequila shot. After greatly expressing my fear that it would come back up as soon as it was down, my (now former) manager decided to get us all a round of Patron instead of Quervo or its equivalent. It actually didn't taste much like anything between the salt and the lime.

It was a really fun night, and I have to say there's something really fun about stumbling out onto a Manhattan street with a bunch of your friends. Everyone I worked with there are the first friends I've really made in this city, and I really hope I can manage to keep in touch with them. |