Finding my way in the city and in some cooking

I was on my way to meet a wonderful, humorous, lovely friend of a wonderful, humorous, lovely friend back in Cincinnati. I intended to leave work in SoHo and take the C up to W 4th and V up to 23rd in midtown Manhattan. If only intentions could support my sense of direction.

Instead I went down into the subway station I have passed several times, not even looking up to see if it was going Uptown or Downtown. I had my directions tucked in my tiny purse in such a way so that I could glance at them without looking like I was the new kid. So clever.

So clever that I ended up in Brooklyn. Shocked (and mad at myself for not noticing that I took the wrong train just by the condition of trains in BK as compared to Manhattan) I got off at the very next stop all flustered and anxious. Oddly enough, a family of tourists asked me if the platform we were standing on would provide them with a train back into Manhattan. Of course it would, I said! Well, I should have followed them because I got on the WRONG DAMN TRAIN--AGAIN.

And so...I found myself further in Brooklyn all dressed up from work and feeling like an ass.

Finally, I made my way back up into Manhattan and to midtown. I ran once I got off the subway because I felt so very bad for making my new friend wait. (And by the new friend I mean we had never met, but because we had a mutual friend, she agreed to go on this friendship blind date. Bless her heart!)

Along with the rest of the female and gay community, we watched Julie & Julia. Front and center. Perfect seats. I won't mention the fact that I dropped my peanut M&Ms halfway through the movie, that Michelle stepped on a lady's bag of popcorn when she snuck out to pee or that we were the only two people in the theater laughing over Julia's idiosyncrasies. Actually, I am mentioning it because all those things made it a better friendship date for me!

Afterwards, I took the PATH home, which I have done many times now. Lo and behold, I got on the wrong PATH train and found myself closer to Newark than Hoboken. G.D.! I tried not get anxious and tense up my shoulders (too late) and I got home just fine.

Now, in the comfort of my quiet apartment with my unneccesarily large kitchen I looked around to see what I could make. Afterall, you can't watch two hours of french cooking without getting a hankering yourself. And what did I come up with? Rice. Rice in a box.

So that's what I'm having. Rice that I simmered myself and wine that only called for a quick uncorking. No Julia Child culinary skills here, but after three wrong trains and a long week, it's my very best culinary foot foward.