so, i had a birthday. i turned 30. i'm all kinds of whatever about it. in fact, i've been telling people i'm 30 for months now thinking that saying 29 seems a wee bit clingy to my 20's, which i'm certainly not! me and 20 of my nearest and dearest all took a train out to tarrytown (a train i almost missed because the subways were so completely fucked) and were all treated like royalty at blue hill at stone barns. a private lobby overlooking the gardens where they brought us bellinis and whatever other drinks we wanted and then all these yummy passed canapes. sesame seed crusted baby zucchini, tomato burgers, tomato foam things on tart shells that sound crazy but were INSANELY GOOD, and high class tater tots with pickle slices, polenta tarts, a few more tomato things ('tis the season). we sat down to a gorgeous tomato salad with ricotta and peaches. moved onto pork something (this is where the afternoon starts to get hazy because i'm drinking too much). david gave a lovely speech about how delightful i am. i cried (again, probably, with the alcohol). i gave a rambling speech about being so lucky and grateful for such awesome people in my life. and also that i was thankful for pork. dessert was some gorgeous cake with berries. we moved to the bar and drank some more. blaise maybe stole a tomato off a table. and an egg, which was presented to me as a present, which i presently dropped on the train platform. (grrr, alcohol.) oh, and then, THEN we thought it was a great idea to go to the frying pan and drink a lot of beer.
i know my friends had a good time because one spent all night throwing up, another forgot she'd had sex with her boyfriend that night (she apologized about passing out before sex and he was all, "what do you mean? we had sex" HA).
saturday was the jazz age lawn party at governors island. bill cunningham took a bunch of photos of us but i'd DIE, just absolutely be DEAD if any of them ran in the nytimes. we are here
taking a candid shot!
i wrote something
for esquire. seriously, try that bloody mary. it's off the hook.
colin has a work weekend in san diego that i was going to hitch a ride on and the new yorker festival is the same weekend! the agony! sit and listen to lectures by fascinating people that i'm obsessed with or just drink and be stupid in the sun on someone else's expense account? god, that doesn't sound the way i'd wanted it to. i think anyone who reads this knows how obsessed i am with the new yorker and the festival, even if it doesn't sound particularly fun. at any rate, i'm torn. truly, honestly, torn.
and i'm maybe going to try being a sales girl for my friend who just started a new company. being a sales girl means getting an ipad and i kind of love it. i hate that i love it because i may not do sales forever and then i'm going to have to give it up, which means i'll have to buy my own if i want to read the times and vanity fair on a full screen from bed in the morning. LIFE IS SO HARD.