I got my new "New Yorker" magazine today. That means that I get to go to a little restaurant/bar/diner/food place tonight, order dinner and a glass of wine, and read it while I enjoy delicious food cooked by someone else. That is KEY. Food must be prepared by someone other than me. I must confess I miss my life in Mexico sometimes. I was lucky then. Actually, "spoiled" would be a better term. Let’s just say that I did not have to move one finger to do anything but studying and working. I didn’t even learn how to do laundry until I moved to NJ, to my in-laws’ house (my mother-in-law was certainly surprised that a Mexican girl didn’t know how to do laundry, and no, I am not going to go through that story right now). I was very lucky indeed, and I am not bragging. It's not like I did not have a care in the world, so no judgments here. I did in fact thank my grandmother (while she was alive) for making sure that everything was done for me, and I told her that I am and will always be infinitely grateful for her taking care of me so well.
Anyway, back to the food cooked by someone else. I was thinking on going to this cheese place by my apartment, but I went there last week and this very loud and obnoxious group was distracting me from my reading, so I asked the waiter to pack my stuff to go and ate it at home, while in bed, without regard to any possible drippings getting on my sheets.
So, I am on a mission. There is this little French bistro that looks inviting, so I might stop there this time. Of course in NYC there are so many places that it could be a very easy task. Let's see where the night takes me.
In other issues, I wonder why relationships are so hard. Any type. I don't know if I really am a social retard (like James says), but at times it really takes a big effort to keep things going. Right now I am so confused about men in general and how to interact with them that I am just going to stop thinking about it. And that’s it. “Just keep swimming”.