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2001-06-09 - 6:55 p.m. Today was a strange mix of events, and it’s only 6PM. I went to Eli’s Vinegar Factory this morning to get some good fresh fruit and veggies and some other things for my houseguest this week. It’s a fru-fru-shi-shi grocery store. I was in the fruit section, where they’re selling Lychees – someone told me what the name of this strange fruit was, after I explained that I had it in Costa Rica. A “real” upper east side woman was shopping as well, and asked the fruit guy what it was…he tried to explain it in his somewhat broken English (he wasn’t too bad at the language, but trying to explain what a lychee is to someone—and not in your first language). So I interjected my thoughts on the fruit. She didn’t buy any. I guess I shouldn’t be a lychee fruit saleswoman. I then hopped in a cab to go to the 125th street station to hop a train to Rye where my cousin-in-law was having a baby shower. I live very close to Spanish Harlem, and the train station is basically IN Spanish Harlem. Tomorrow is the Puerto Rican day parade. So EVERYONE you could imagine was out on the street with the PR flag, and all kinds of ways of adorning themselves with the flag and the red-white-blue combo. The excitement in the air was amazing. However, it was stupid of me to try and take a cab there since ALL the streets were closed to various street fairs—I eventually got out and walked a few blocks. Now imagine a tall white girl in “before labor day” white pants, carrying a baby shower gift, walking through this whole thing. It was funny. Last year a bunch of girls got attacked after the parade by some drunken fools, and got no help from the NYPD. This year you couldn’t spit without hitting a couple cops. They were everywhere. People seemed happy though, not noticing this obvious NYPD infiltration. I actually feel bad for those people downtown—all the cops are here, criminals should have a field day south of 42nd. So, I got to the station—it’s such a great station. I waited outside while watching the mayhem from above it all. My mom and I went to the baby shower – being held at my aunt’s house. The woman/mother of honor is my cousin Greg’s wife, Joann. She’s awesome. He’s the closest in age to me—four years older. And he’s having a baby. I inherited his baby blanket when I was born, and he used to yell at me to give it back. He’s as close as I get to a big brother. And he’s having a baby. The party was a mix of her friends and some of my family. I love that family—five kids, all of whom I could call my immediate family. The other women that were there – here friends from work or school were pretty nice. They were teasing Joann as she opened her gifts and ooh’d and aah’d. “Hey Jo, wasn’t it just yesterday that we were getting drunk at McSorley’s?” This party was a strange look into the future for me—with Aly and Devin sitting on the side laughing as I unwrap bottle and nipple cleaning brushes (there is such a thing—I think it’d actually be a hit at one of those S&M clubs downtown) or a breast pump. Who knows. There was a woman there with a little 7 month old girl. SO cute. Upon entering, I immediately asked my aunt who’s baby it was. Turns out the baby is the daughter of Mike Cochran—a boy I hooked up with RIGHT in front of my cousins at Greg and Joann’s wedding (Greg and Mike grew up together). Mike was one of those boys that every girl swooned over in highschool, and fooling around with him was like a mini-conquest on my part. And here in front of me was his wife (who I think he was going out with when we hooked up) and his baby girl. TOO weird. My aunt whispered, “don’t worry—I won’t say anything”. Funny funny. Greg and Joann’s wedding was the first wedding where I was over 21 and felt okay about getting shitfaced in front of my family. We were driving from the reception to the after party. Mike gave me a ride while my cousins followed us in a rented convertible. At a light, Mike leaned over and kissed me. My oldest cousin jumped out of the car, ran to the window, and started wiping the invisible “steam” from the window. I don’t think they’ll ever let me live that one down. I hopped a train back so I could make it home in time for Doug to arrive (I’m waiting for him now). Got off at 125th, thinking about the day’s events. I think I’m a suburban housewife trapped in the body of a 26 year old on days like today. But I was shocked back into my reality when I looked at the train coming in on the opposite side of the platform. It was coming from Poughkeepsie – you can tell by the shape of the cars. They’re more square, and each one is named. I don’t know why that is, it’s actually kind of odd. Just the Hudson line gets names. As I walked past the train to the stairway, one train in particular passed me by… “Matthew Vassar” was its name. It was the first time I’d ever seen that particular train. It felt like a little sign, reminding me why I don’t want to be a suburban mom. Thank you MV. From scenic Rye to the 6 train. The subway home was PACKED full of Puerto Ricans…so much red white and blue. One baby carriage came on, with a newborn inside the flag-adorned buggy. Such a sweet little baby. It was a nice scene, until his/her mother, standing next to it, put a pack of Newport Lights INSIDE the carriage under the blanket. That was just sick. So I had a great day. I’m about to start making dinner, and hanging out with a really good friend. This is gonna be a great week.
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