You are what you eat.

Last summer at Central Park, I made friends with Travis. He had a football, and I wanted to play football. It was a seamless friendship. So since I've moved back to the city, pretty much every other weekend, we'll meet at the park and one of our overly outgoing of personalities will recruit two teamfuls of players. I'm usually the only chick so I plea to be taken easy on, but the second I start mouthing off about Tim Tebow, the mercy fades.

This weekend was football-less, however. Instead it was Nia-full. Nia is my college roommate (so if anything, she'd join in the Tebow rant), and she moved up to the city last Thursday. Her Gram lives in Brooklyn so she parked her belongings there, and then headed into Manhattan Friday evening for what would be one of my favorite weekends in a while.

We didn't actually make it out on Friday, just caught up and binge ate Mexican food around the corner from my apartment. Yes, we'll take a refill of chips. A second refill? Sure.

The next morning we were baja fresh and ready to hit the concrete. We headed down to Soho to tease our high taste and wound up on my new favorite street. I don’t know what it’s called, but every door opened to a different interior designer’s gallery. I dare say I’m so much more into interior design than fashion design these days. This may be the start of a horrible decorating habit.

We headed back uptown to meet a few friends for lunch. On the way, I stopped for a pair of sunglasses and a cell phone cover at one of those one-stop shop street vendors where you can get umbrellas, fedoras or iPod accessories (or weed). Ugh, I’m a week too late on the cell phone cover though. I totally shattered the glass on my brand new phone last Sunday in the middle of the night. I wish it were a good story, like the time I almost got eaten by monkeys in Thailand, but sadly it was a case of sleep walking/sleep checking my e-mail, then sleep knocking my phone off my night stand.

Anyways, so we went to lunch, and ordered Mexican, again.

Then it was time for Hard NYC, a music fest featuring MIA. Most of the folk there had probably stopped by that one-stop shop street vendor…but not for umbrellas… or fedoras… or iPod accessories… Not us though, we just kept up the Mexican weekend with some Jose Cuervo. Nia and I danced our hearts out, and Scott kinda just bopped right to left. That flower child part of me was definitely running wild, or maybe it was the Mexican child in me. Either way, it was a rockin’ change of scenery.

Sunday morning, we woke up and like every other Sunday, headed to brunch with the gang. Surprise, surprise when the breakfast burritos came out. The Frying Pan was next (that boat bar on the Hudson River). We sat on the top deck, and our entire conversation basically surrounded how each second we were dripping more and more of sweat. It was a unanimous decision to head back to my place for air-con, and then a unanimous decision to go to Caliente Cab for dinner (yup, Mex.) My downstairs neighbors joined us, and then introduced us to an awesome neighborhood dive bar for some ping pong and pistachios. I’ve never seen anyone 360 in skill as quick as Nia did on the ping pong table.

She became like this:

And that’s that. Nia’s first weekend in NYC.

In 11 minutes, it will have been exaclty a month since my last post.

So I have a cat (don’t tell my landlord) and his name, before we adopted it, was Spot. Now it’s Tiger, but my friends call him Scoop. And most times I call him…her. So a few minutes ago, I curled up next to my purple wall, on my ever so cement-like mattress, and began to write this:

“I’m locking myself in my room, and not coming out until this blog is posted upon.”

And then I heard crash, boom, bang.

Dang it, Scoop.

I somewhat understand his rampant freak outs. Heck, if I had so many identity changes and lived in a tiny New York apartment, I’d flip out too. Oh wait…

But really, sometimes I feel like we’re one in the same, Spot/Tiger/Scoop and I. I know I don’t get called eight names or the wrong gender, but I’ve totally led 3 different lives in the past year- sorority girl, traveling (wannabe) hippie, working woman.

I’m not about to break all my kitchen dishes over it though, so someone’s gotta teach this cat how to deal.

Anyways, now that the broken glass from my favorite dollar ninety-nine cup is cleaned up, I’ll get back to this here post.

Up until last week, my room was only 42% done. Now it’s at around 90%. The remaining 10% will most likely never get done. What’s to note here is the stimulus behind that 52% increase: My parents! They came up to visit this past weekend! Hallelujah and a half.

I talk to the folks too many times a day, and I share basically all my stories with them, so it was great to show them what on earth I am ever talking about. The first night I hosted my first “rooftop party.” My parents had a few ol friends come, and I had a few new friends come. I love, love, love these new friends so I was all too excited for them to meet the Tasmans.

Their conclusion: You look just like your father, but you ARE your mother.

Oy.

The next few days and nights, we did the usual touristy stuff-Central Park (and the zoo!), Broadway Show, the High Line, yadda yadda. And OF COURSE, I picked up a few new outfits along the way. I also had three regal sleepovers in their hotel, and managed to steal a year supply of shampoo, conditioner and body lotion from the maid’s cart.

It was the perfect “staycation”… though I shouldn’t have tempted my body with such a comfy bed. It’s pissed at me now as I’m back on the brick box.

Over a bagel and cream cheese before work on Tuesday, it was a tearful goodbye. Such a great weekend, with such a great mommy and daddy! I miss them tons already.

And I missed this blog. I’ve got way more, but working woman’s got work in the morn.