I really like dumplings. A few months back, my roommate and his brother (who are known for their fierce and provocative displays of PDFA (Public Displays Of Facebook Affection)) engaged in an impassioned wall convo about a few hyped up dumpling spots in Flushing, Queens. The exchange implied that they were gonna trek out to Flushing sometime soon, so I hopped on the pork & chive train (the metaphorical 7 train) without hesitation.
A few likes and IRL exchanges later, we had tentative plans to head to Flushing one weekend. This was around March or April, so the timing was perfect. Now that the weather was getting warmer, we were gonna be able to actually do things. We were gonna be able to spend an afternoon in Flushing, and look back on it fondly for years to come. We decided that our memories would focus primairly on the soup dumplings, and that we’d conveniently forget that we’d probably be spending most of the time unable to find a bathroom.
My roommate is moving out in two weeks. The cable is under his name, so next Monday he and I are gonna head up to the offices of Time Warner Cable and transfer the account name. I’m looking forward to the quality time, and I’m sure they’ll have a bathroom.
Last summer, one of my close college friends had this idea for the four of us college buddies to take a trip up to Boston for an extended weekend.
We talked about the excursion in considerable detail, as we decided this was the perfect “first year out of college” getaway — we’d drive up with my parents’ car, stay at his parents’ place, and have enough money leftover to do something minorly cool. We’d probably take a picture at Faneuil Hall, given that this is something you do when you take a weekend trip up to Boston with your college bros.
A few Friday’s ago, I walked about 60 blocks uptown to my college friends’ new apartment. They live right above a pretty nice-looking steakhouse, with tables outside that look hilariously out of place when juxtaposed with the nearby curbside garbage.
In that sneaky 2014 way, I whipped out my phone and took a picture of the steakhouse.
Around the same time as the Facebook dumplings parade, my girlfriend and I made tentative plans to take the Staten Island Ferry over to Staten Island. Neither of us have ever been on the ferry, and we were both craving the experience of eating some real-deal no-lie Staten Island pizza. Excitedly, we decided that we were gonna take this trip on one of the first nice Saturdays of the spring.
Last Sunday morning, I woke up pretty early. I hadn’t been on a run in awhile, so I decided that maybe I should go for a run. But instead of running, I decided to walk from my apartment to the southernmost tip of Manhattan.
I walked the considerable distance all the way downtown, and didn’t stop until I reached the Staten Island Ferry.
One weekday in February, a good friend texted me to tell me he was gonna be spending the coming weekend in New York City. Since both of us are realists (and since his primary obligation was a summer program reunion) we acknowledged that there was a 50/50 chance that we were actually gonna see each other.
Predictably, we didn’t end up seeing each other. Though neither of us were too bothered by this, especially because I assured him I was going to come down to DC some time during the spring.
I never made it to DC, and my friend has since moved to San Jose. Though we did have a spirited G-chat conversation yesterday.
Last month, my brother moved in with his girlfriend. Because the only way couples can have fun is to engage in a series of show-offy activities that determines who is in fact the better couple, I suggested to my brother’s girlfriend that they should have my girlfriend and I over for dinner.
I’m very excited for this dinner.