Weekend Planner

I am a planner.  It's just my nature.  When I'm friends with people who don't like to plan, and something comes up in conversation like, "Hey!  Maybe we should grab dinner on Friday!" I can be counted on to have five options researched and two tentative reservations made because (1) I know they won't and (2) I fear uncertainty.  This may be geeky and even a bit loserish (if you don't understand the nuance between those, I can't help you.  I just know it when I see it.), but it's who I am. 

 

New York is therefore proving to be a bit of a challenge.  New York has the finest restaurants in the country (sheer quantity, anyhow), and yet you make your reservations the day of or day before.  I'm not saying I can get you into Per Se tonight, but the natural inclination of people not looking to spend $300/person on an entree seems to be to make all plans the day of.  People call me at 7pm on Saturday night to see what I'm up to.  It's a very strange adjustment for me.  This weekend it worked beautifully. 

 

Friday night:

Dinner with Amy at a ridiculously affordable charming and tiny French bistro in the East Village called 26 seats.  Reservation made for prime time at a well reviewed too small restaurant day of at about 7pm.

 

Drinks out with b-school friends in the East Village, where I parade around Amy to prove that I have non-Wharton friends.  With the exception of Glotz's too-brief visit in the winter, none of my school friends had met any of my other friends.  I began to fear that they suspected that when I wasn't with them, I sat home in my apartment counting the 'e's in the New York Times editorial section while peeing into jars.

 

Saturday: 

Brunch with Suds in the Village.  We decide to go to a movie.  We wander to the one movie theater I know in my neighborhood, and the Devil Wears Prada starts in five minutes . Perfection.

 

Movie (which is lovely) ends, I put Suds in a cab, and my friend Clay calls to say (1) he's in the city (2) he's four blocks from me (3) would I like to sit in the sun and have a margarita or three?  We catch up on two months of gossip.

 

As we are saying our goodbyes for now and debating meeting up later, I get a text message from Suds insisting I come to a fabulous restaurant for dinner.  Who am I to say no?

 

Delicious dinner.

 

We attempt to meet up with friends barhopping, are dissuaded by a line, have a beer at a dive bar, call it a night.

 

On my walk home, I get invited to yet another bar.  I've had enough, but appreciate that my string of uninterrupted social opportunities continues well into the evening.

 

Sunday I ran errands, went to the Guggenheim (for free!) and then did dinner and playtime in Brooklyn.

 

Not a bad weekend for one where I had next to nothing planned as of Friday morning.