New York Shitty Slide Show Du Jour: East Village Selections

As today’s decidedly NON-Brooklyn content indicates, yours truly knocked around the East Village yesterday.  I was experiencing the worst kind of wanderlust imaginable and finally succumbed. I’m glad I did: I had a very enjoyable afternoon. The Mister (who met me later) had a good time as well. Given that yesterday was his “special day” this is a good thing— because the other 364 belong to me. Highlights from our sojourn in the bog city included— but are not limited to:

1. An interrogation from a very cute— if intense— 5-6 year old girl about my wardrobe. After asking exactly how I get my top on and off (and I answered as best I could without exposing myself) she directed her attention (and hands) to my Hello Kitty necklace and purse. Thanks to these items I passed— albeit by a hair— muster.
2. Having a man (upon seeing me taking pictures on the Bowery) inform me that Drew Barrymore lived in the building across the street. He seemed to be puzzled by the fact I didn’t care. I thanked him nonetheless for this (hither to be useful) piece of information.
3. The Mister stumbling upon a gaggle of 20-somethings poring over a map at Astor Place and deciding that if they kept walking east they would find Bedford Avenue and North 3rd Street. While not entirely correct, their assessment is not entirely wrong either. I’m guessing this is the reason the Mister decided not to intervene. As I write this post I wonder if they found their destination. I imagine if they managed to reach the outer limits of Alphabet City they had a rather provocative evening— and the kind genuine New York City experiences they don’t cover in the guidebooks.
4. And of course, there is the above item which I found on the East 10 Street wailing wall. Naturally it reminds me of a story. Here it goes. A collage buddy of mine, we’ll call her D, had the rather unfortunate habit of dating some of the most useless specimens of manhood to be had. This was especially true of a guy we’ll call “Fuckhead”. Why the moniker, you ask? Very simple: he was a hockey fan and had the annoying habit of wearing a hockey puck shaped piece of head gear when enjoying the sport. This apparel was emblazoned with the word “Puckhead”. I and a few other folks who were not too fond of this gent simply changed a letter and this became our moniker for him. ANYHOO, “Fuckhead” also liked basketball— and did not like to do housework. So you can imagine how D felt when she came home from a hard day at work to discover Fuckhead (who, it should be added, only worked part time) sitting on his tuckus watching the game— and that the garbage had not been taken out. She had assigned him this one very simple task before she left for work. It should also be noted that D was also experiencing her period. You, dear readers, will quickly learn why this somewhat sordid piece of information is salient to my tale— so humor me.In any case, she was not the least bit happy and told him so. In return Fuckhead continued watching the game. After quickly deducing that employing words and reason were not working she went to Plan B: she reached into her underwear, grabbed her used sanitary napkin and affixed it to the monitor of the television set. This got Fuckhead’s undivided attention, but he did not feel compelled to remove it. He continued to “watch” the game— and she continued to fume. As I understand it, this used feminine hygiene product remained on the television set for several hours. D eventually removed it. I cannot recall who ended up taking out the trash. But that’s not really important— and I digress.

Without further ado here are highlights from my six hour trek around the East Village and beyond. Enjoy!

This slide show can be seen in larger format by clicking here.

Miss Heather