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Mz. Rosman If You’re Nasty

I came back from Thanksgiving in Massholia with a new fur hat and vintage coat, and have been called “ma’am” three million times in 24 hours. I’d be cross except dowager chic is my all-time favorite look and I always knew I’d be a tough old broad someday. So here I am. Armed for whatever messed-up mishegos is next for our beleaguered country, at the midpoint of my life if I’m lucky, and ma’am like a motherfucker.

Mikey and Paulie

November 20, 2016 in Age Matters, City Matters, Country Matters

This is Mike and Paul. I met them a decade ago, when Oslo, the first really great coffee shop in Williamsburg, opened down on Roebling Avenue. By 9 am that joint was jumping—still is, even with the many artisanal-almond-milk-interplanetary-bean-drips that have opened in the years since. But at 7 am, we were often the only ones hunkered down over our coffees. Paul drank a latte, Mike drank a regular brew with one of those sugary cakes masquerading as a muffin, and I drank an Americano. On the days I’d woken up enough to apply lipstick before leaving the house, the men made a big show of buying my drink for me. “I love a blonde with red lips,” Paul would say with his irresistible grin. I’d bat my lashes. Continue Reading →