Had to whisk off to NYC for a couple of days last week.  I don’t want to milk this too much, but I’m pretty blown away that I have the type of life where I WHISK OFF TO NYC for a couple of days. 

Here is an important thing to know – at the Pearson Starbucks they do not toast their bagels.  So they taste like gluey flavoured pieces of seed-infested dough.

BLURG.

Anyways.  I have acute paranoia about missing flights, so of course I left three hours before I had to take off.  This means that I spent about 2 hours and 45 minutes oscillating between sitting awkwardly pretending to have things to do on my phone at the gate, and wandering to the bathroom.  Hey – did you know that very few people update their Instagram feeds at 6:00 am on a Wednesday?  HA HA HA.  Now you know.

FYI if I have you on facebook I likely stalked the shit out of you that morning.  Don’t be weirded out if I bring up some obscure reference to a photo from party you attended in 2006 the next time we see each other.

The GOOD news about the wait is that I went into the duty free shop and bought some orangey-red lipstick and tried to wear it for my whole trip.  You know, “New York Natalie” styles.

So I was in NY for two days this time instead of one and I happened to have a whole FIVE HOURS at my disposal to go ape-shit in the city and do whatever I wanted all by myself.  It was luxurious.  However, with the scope of things to do in NY being what they are, I concluded that I had to be super anal in order to maximize the enjoyment of my five hours and planned out my route accordingly:

 

Note that the letters are going in the opposite direction of my route.  First, Madewell, of course.  I was obsessive about visiting there because all of my purchases up in the ‘shopping third-world’ of Canada were on-line.  The dress below was tried on for Tami:

NOTE THE ORANGEY-RED LIPSTICK.

Tami – it’s not as nice as I thought it would be… the fabric was like a cheap-ass burlap and the waist made me look like a pregnant Oompa-Loompa.  I wasn’t as blown away with Madewell as I thought I would be. 

Next stop – Levi’s Store.  Bought a pair of boyfriend jeans for $25.00 and a pair of high-waisted waxed black skinnies.

A-Balls had suggested Creatures of Comfort, so I moseyed on over there next.

Granted, everything was gor-ge-ous.  But it was also very very expensive.

Terrariums everywhere.

I had about $200.00 budgeted for shopping, and since the only thing at Creatures that cost less than $200.00 was like, a white undershirt, I didn’t buy anything.

The plan was to head on over to Freemans for a long, luxurious, three-course expensed dinner, but I found a little boutique on the way and bought this shirt:

I love it – all oversized with raw hems and stuff.  I’M SO EDGY. 

Note that two days later in Toronto I found the exact same shirt at a store literally half a mile from my house. 

Anyways, off to Freemans…  down the magical alleyway…  pass by the hipster barber shop where drop-dead gorgeous men cut the hair of other drop-dead gorgeous men…

Oh, hai fancy drink.

Some people hate eating dinner by themselves, but I LOVE IT.  I can order whatever I want and NO ONE CAN JUDGE ME.  Also, I get to people-watch and muse philosophical about why people are at the restaurant and what their lives are like.  Like these guys:

I assumed that they were there on a dinner break from a dress rehearsal of a stage production of Easy Rider.  Obviously.

Freemans was pretty awesome, although not really different from all restaurants in T.O. with the same “antlers on the wall” type vibe.  The bathroom had a gardening wall in it.

Oh, hai cheese plate.

What are those things in the little ramekin?  Why, zombie strawberries, of course.

Braaaains.

Seared Tuna Special with chickpeas and sauteed citrus.  Yes, it was delicious.

Since I get to expense my meals, and since I am a big fatty who enjoys eating food, I also got the Bananas Foster.  HAAAAAAAAAAA HA HA HA!

I had an early dinner because I am a crotchety old woman, which meant that stores were still open when I left Freemans.  I thought I would wobble over to Opening Ceremony to revel in clothing that was several strata above my price range.

I had about four drinks at dinner, which made me feel invincible as I poked through the racks. 

In my ‘mind’s eye’ I felt as if I was a high class and elegant connoisseur of designers, flipping though the racks with the skill of a fashion editor.

In ‘reality’ I probably looked like a skeezy drunk tripping over racks of expensive designer clothes and touching everything with my grubby hands.

On the way home I decided that a three course meal wasn’t enough to satiate my gorilla-man hunger, and I bought a red velvet cupcake or whatever they’re called.  It fell over in the bag and the icing got all smushed.

Then I decided to take a bath, as I often do when staying in a fancy hotel.

Although I’m sure you are imagining a very sultry and alluring spectacle in which I am in the bath, all bubbly and slick and what-not, in reality it was more like this:

Me eating a messy, melting, fatty-bo-batty cupcake and drinking a cheap-ass beer.

Tomorrow, read on as I get mistaken for a prostitute by an 85-year old man.  The fun never stops.