There’s No Place Like…NYC

In case you didn’t read my first post, or you’ve forgotten, I’m happy to reiterate: I went to NYC.  Mmm hmmm. A mere week ago I was in Times Square.  I’m not anymore though.  I’m back home and say what you will: There is no place like home NYC.  Though I am happily entrenched in my life of slavery routine now, I can’t help but have the occasional yearning for the Big Apple.

Things I Miss About NYC:

• I didn’t hear these words once: “Whz ff ssppr?” (What’s for supper?)
• I starred in went to a comedy show.
• Kelly Ripa and I hung out walked by me. (see photo below)
• Beer with breakfast.  Don’t judge me.
• Going topless. Everyone does it there. Or was it just me? Can’t remember.
• Not having to clean my hotel room before I was allowed out.
• I didn’t hear these words once: “I ndadrve” (I need a drive).
• I got to say things like: I’ll have the basil linguini in a cream sauce with fresh Parmesan and a dash of cracked pepper, with a side of spinach salad drizzled in a warm poppyseed dressing and a glass of Pinot Grigio”
• Beer with lunch. Don’t judge me.
• Getting trapped inside Macy’s overnight. #highlight

See that arm waving the Canadian flag? That’s me shouting, “Hey, Kel! Let’s do lunch.” She didn’t answer. I had plans anyway..I was just testing her.

Have I mentioned I went to New York/The Big Apple/ The City That Doesn’t Sleep?  I’ll tell you more later.  Right now I have to clean this place and think about what I’m going to cook for supper. Tra la la! Routine is good and domesticity is rewarding right?? Answer me.

Paparazzi

Welcome to my very first blog post!!  You can read about me on the ‘ABOUT‘ page.

I’ll start by telling you about my recent trip to New York, after which you’ll probably think my life is one big glamourfest.  It is. 

Recently my husband bought me a one way ticket agreed it would be a good idea for me to go to NYC with friends (I go every 48 years.  Without fail). The two -week manic hormonal stretch leading up to the trip had nothing to do with his enthusiastic endorsement. I don’t know WHY he said, “Stay as long as you want, dear.” when he dropped me off at the airport with two extra suitcases.  He can be goofy, that one…

 Once in NYC, my friends and I were doing what all middle-aged women do on a weekend getaway to an exotic city: trashing our familes sightseeing. As I was soaking in the splendour, I suddenly felt unsafe.  Someone was lurking.  I turned around and came eye to eye with the reason I almost didn’t go to NY: the paparazzi. I knew I should have worn that damn wig but it was too late.  I took off running and thanks to my weekly Zumba class I was able to elude him for the first 29 seconds.  Note to self: Stilettos are wobbly for running.

I slowed slightly to throw up catch my breath, when I heard him shout, “Stop, bitch or I’ll cut you into a million #$%! pieces.”  Harsh language for a photographer I thought.  I leaned against a storefront and posed for the inevitable photo shoot. That’s when things got weird.  He pushed me to the ground and ripped my purse from my shoulder (looking for ID no doubt).  I assured him I was who he thought I was and that he didn’t need to rummage through my wallet, thank you very much.  He wasn’t in the mood to listen.  He took off with my purse, forgetting to take my picture!  #idiot.

A couple of stitches in my left knee and I was good to go. It shook me up pretty bad and for a minute or two I had to re-think my priorities.  Was it worth this?? Thankfully my besties reminded me of the big picture: One day I would most likely be on the cover of Obscure and Delusional PEOPLE magazine so what’s a torn kneecap?  #totallyworthit.

The weekend in NY? #totallyworthit

**This is a fictional account based on goings on inside my head, that I often can’t separate from reality.  Please don’t be uncomfortable next time you see me. I’m harmless.