Thank you all for the birthday wishes on Friday! It kicked the weekend off nicely, though the festivities truly started on Thursday night when Jamal treated me to dinner at Parc (and yes, there were macarons). I specifically requested IHOP for breakfast on Friday morning, because what other work day can you gorge yourself on berries & cream Belgian waffles at 9am and then go home and give in to the food coma? Why, your birthday of course!
I was off in honor of the occasion (god bless ye, flex hours!) and had a lovely lunch with my mom that afternoon. My office holiday party was that night (god bless ye, open bar!), and then of course there followed the requisite after-party where my friend Aisling bought me a delicious (and strong!) martini that tasted like Haiwaiian Punch (we were at a dive bar, and when she brought the drink over to me she said, “I asked the bartender for St. Germain, they said no. I asked for salted caramel vodka, they said no. I asked for birthday cake vodka, they said no. So here you go!” love you, Aisling!) and where Audrey roused basically half of our office to sing “Happy Birthday” to me (love you, Audrey!). Saturday morning I had brunch with my brother, sister-in-law, and nieces, the youngest of whom, when I thanked them for coming to celebrate with me, said, “Well we didn’t have anything else going on today.” Ha! I know I complained about feeling old, but seriously, when did they get so grown up?
So long story short, I was sufficiently spoiled rotten. 27 is off to a fantastic start: I ate literally half a cake this weekend, binge watched the entire season of “Orange is the New Black,” and managed to write a thousand words of my novel. Also: sweatpants. Necessary. Did I mention I slam-nom’ed half a cake?
I also had way too much fun going through all my bookmarks this weekend. After this Paris apartment popped back up on my radar, I was curious to see what other goodies I’d saved. Behold: the East Village apartment of designer John Derian. The huge space dates back to the 1850s, and in his quest to update the apartment’s habitability, Derian has dedicated himself to maintaining as much of the original character as possible. My kind of renovation.
Admittedly, I’d need to get in there with a big tub of Clorox wipes and an industrial vacuum cleaner before I would feel comfortable sleeping there (asthma), but Derian feels differently: “I wish I had spray dust or spray dirt in a can. I don’t want to lose the look of the place — I want that patina.” To each their own.