Coffee Problem Solved, Then Unsolved

Sonofabitch!

I'll just get right to it: I finally bought myself a coffee maker, only to open the box and find the carafe was cracked! Can you see it up there? It kind of looks like a silver, upward-pointing arrow-- as if to say, "Up yours, Kilgariff!"
But I use it anyway. I use it knowing full well I could be drinking tiny shards of glass every morning; knowing that one day the whole thing could shatter in my hand. I use it in defiance of all that is safe and sane. And you know what? I kind of feel like a badass.
I heard a rumor I can order a replacement carafe on Amazon. I guess I'll do that after it falls apart and scalds my foot. Until then, I'll enjoy starting every morning with a jolt of caffeine spiked with danger.

I knew he was real!

I do my grocery shopping at a tiny little grocery store around the corner called the Amish Market. It's like a small, unhealthy Whole Foods. I still haven't figured out what's Amish about it. The employees seem to be locals, the products are predominantly European imports or just kinda expensive. No one is churning butter in the doorway or kneading bread in any kind of presentational way. But I like it anyway. I can forgive it for being a fraud because it carries bananas that were handpicked by a mythical beast. Somehow, the Yeti giving me the thumbs up really does something for me. It's like, he believes in me as much as I believe in him.

Blueblood central!

We did our first field shoot yesterday, which started out in front of the Met. (tropolitan Museum of Art) This is an apartment building across the street. I enjoy the color and the insanely gaudy statues out front. Page said this area is the most expensive real estate in the city, which makes sense. Of course you have to pay top dollar to have a front door that embarrassing. The entrance to my building in Hell's Kitchen is similar looking, except instead of statues, we have a live homeless lady who loiters there from time to time.

If I just find a dozen more,  I'll be able to put together my coffee table book, Men in Horrible Pants.

This is the sidewalk in front of the Met, which was awash with tourists and foreigners and of course, men in red pants. I just don't see the attraction. Does he think they look summer-y? Or is he a rodeo clown on vacation? Maybe he's afraid of getting lost. Or he thinks if he looks like he's already been stabbed in the legs, no one will mug him. Doesn't matter. I'm going to stop questioning my good fortune and enjoy the bounty.

Awww, the plague!

So, I have a mouse. I saw him run across the kitchen floor the first night I was here, but I didn't want to say anything because I know people get upset. I understand why you may think it's gross, but I like it. And that's hard for me to say publicly. Remember when I told everyone in ballet carpool that I liked the smell of skunk? Cami Osborne almost fainted. Everyone else screamed "Ew!" all the way down Bodega. That was the day I learned the hard lesson of not wearing my smelling heart on my sleeve.
But mice don't bother me. At first, I thought it was a huge cockroach and I almost lost my mind, but then I realized that cockroaches don't have ears that big and I was SO relieved. Someone told me if you have mice, you won't have cockroaches, so I'm all for him sharing my home. Sure, I've done a lot of abnormal surface wiping in the kitchen, but otherwise, that tradeoff works for me.
I'm gonna go see if he wants Chinese for dinner.