That's what she said.

Wow. Sorry it's been so long. A LOT has happened.

The past two weeks have been filled with celebrity sightings, embarrassment, red carpet parties, and a ton of caffeine.

I guess I should start with Avenue Q. It was fabulous. Puppets sexing each other up onstage.

Okay, maybe I'll back up. Let me set the scene. Savannah Duncan. Melted chocolate bar. My dirty mind. And Morgan Freeman. Intrigued?

Morgan Freeman is performing in a play on Broadway called "The Country Girl." It is located next to Avenue Q and both places share a back stage door where the actors go in. Coincidentally, this door is located where they make Avenue Q goers wait in line before going into the theatre. There stood Sav and I. A constant theme I have noticed with Savannah is that she sneaks chocolate into every theatre we venture into. Chocolate has never been a problem for me before, in fact, as a woman I lump it in with some of my favorite things. John Mayer, Rock n Roll, shoes, Jesus, Chocolate...

Anxious for the show, Savannah decided to pull out her chocolate bar and eat it while we were waiting in line. It had melted in her purse. Upon seeing this fact, Sav shouts, "It's not hard anymore!"

....really??

I couldn't help it.

"That's what she said!" I shout.

Now let's rewind.

As Savannah is unwrapping her chocolate a man is walking toward us, as she exclaims her displeasure with the state of her food, the man squeezes by me, saying, "Excuse me." I look up as I shout, "That's what she said." It's Morgan Freeman. I said, "That's what she said" to Morgan Freakin' Freeman. Being the regal and talented man he is, Mr. Freeman kept his composure and continued to his stage door.

Like saying 'sex' to my grandpa.
I was mortified. It was as if I spit on the "Shawshank Redemption" and told him "The Bucket List" was the worst thing I'd ever seen.


On a less embarrassing note, I finally got to attend a red carpet event that I wasn't covering for a media outlet. It was purely leisure. In honor of the upcoming All-Star Games, MLB.com hosted a red carpet party at Club '33 on Broadway. I went with my friend, Nora, and her sister, Bella.



We were up to our chins in professional baseball players. I'm not complaining. Alyssa Milano was there promoting her new clothing line, and Jeter was also. I danced with a Diamondback. Grey Goose sponsored an open bar and they had Wii's set up with baseball games around the club. And the best part...I got swag. Free stuff from Milano's line, Grey Goose and MLB.

The coolest part was when Wyclef, the reggae rapper was inches from me. I'm totally name-dropping and I'm not apologizing for it. He performed for the event, but we stood next to him on the red carpet. It was awesome.



I pitched an idea I had to some people at NBC and it went really well. I might be talking to some West Coast people about it soon.

Today was ridiculous. We went to Billboard, The New York Times, Elle Magazine, and the New York Stock Exchange.



The Times just celebrated their year anniversary in their new building. It was definitely a cool place. Apparently, they have a constant problem with people climbing up the outside walls; something like 3 people have scaled it in the past few months. They are constructing barriers to keep people back now.

They have an art exhibit in the lobby that consists of computer screens that randomly have sentences and pictures that flitter on and off of them. They have two walls lined with these little screens. The cool thing is that the words and pictures are actually snippets from the New York Times database. So pieces of stories are randomly streaming over the screens.




I think it has been a small goal of mine to be in the newsroom of the New York Times. Standing there, I think I got a contact high of sorts. Great journalism by association.

We ate lunch in the cafeteria there. It puts NBC's caf to shame. Best. Sushi. Ever.

Elle Magazine was another highlight. I saw Nina Garcia's former office! We were forbidden to ask any questions regarding her...joblessness.

Elle Mag is a pretty fabulous place, but not to look at. They have the most boring white walls that actually look pretty dingy. Their fashion closet is nothing like the one in "The Devil Wears Prada." It's just filled with racks and racks of clothing. We saw all the clothes Anne Hathaway will be trying on for her upcoming shoot. Nora and I decided they were about a size 3 (she's almost normal-sized!).



The view is fabulous. You could see the Statue of Liberty. Everyone who worked there looked amazingly put together. I felt frumpy.

I wasn't very excited about the New York Stock Exchange at first. It was hot outside. They made us wait forever. But we saw the Closing Bell and watched everyone scatter and it was totally worth it.



Things I learned this week:

-Yelling dirty jokes in public is never a good idea.
-Baseball players are amazingly good-looking in AND out of those baseball pants.
-You can scale The Times, and I might if it means I climb up to the Sushi Bar on the 14th floor.
-Nora Barak is quite possibly one of the coolest people ever.
-Swag rocks, as do red carpet events.
-I have to find a way to stay in this city longer.

Police arrested two kids yesterday, one was drinking battery acid, the other was eating fireworks. They charged one and let the other one off.

Lauren and I got trapped under a bridge in Central Park. This may or may not have been the bridge from "Home Alone 2." The moment we stepped into the park, it began to rain. We made it to the bridge and as the rain fell harder, more people showed up. However, the water started rising and I began to think this is how people on the Titanic felt.

I felt like a troll, camped out under a bridge. Getting pruny fingers. My clothing getting all damp.

We huddled together for 45 minutes until the foot of water began to recede. We met some Jews and British people. And there were some homeless guys, but they weren't very social. It was interesting. Everyone was getting really anxious and nervous, but those homeless guys were just riding it out. They were very patient and calm. I was freaking out because the water was going to ruin my purse.

Talbot's birthday was this week. We went out for dinner and drinks. I exploited her birthday to get shots for Channel One about drinking and alcohol. Mixing business with pleasure is never a good idea, especially when it involves booze.

Tonight we are having a rooftop party to watch the fireworks at Savannah's.

It's my half birthday. I feel like I should celebrate almost being another year older.

"Employee of the Month is a good example of how somebody can be both a winner and a loser at the same time." -Demetri Martin

"We have three scenes to film, big scenes. We have a song to write, so let's get cracking. Kelly, I want you to do makeup. Oscar, I would like you to do costume design, obviously. Phyllis, I would like you to look around town and see if we have any celebrities in our local area." -Michael Scott



I was trying to think of a way that didn’t make me sound like a snob and full of myself to tell ya’ll my good news, but then I said, “why not?” so I am going to brag to my heart’s content. This may be the only time in my life I get to say it...

I’m an executive producer.

Yes. That’s right. Found out today.

It has a nice ring to it. Tracy Barnes; Executive Producer, NBC Universal.

I need business cards. HaHa. Maybe one day.

I told my friend, Stephen, this was the best thing to happen to me since I got boobs. To which he replied, “Inappropriate.” I think that really means, “Congratulations.”

"Ideas are like beards, men do not have them until they grow up." -Voltaire

I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. I don’t even know if I want to grow up. Growing up implies you have learned from mistakes, taken chances and jumped off the deep end into a life of paying taxes.

I believe it was the great Bob Dylan who told me, "May you grow up to be righteous, may you grow up to be true. May you always know the truth and see the lights surrounding you. May you always be courageous, stand upright and be strong. May you stay forever young.”

I happen to like the small dependence upon my parents with which I still cling to. I like to think it makes them feel closer to me; that we still have that bond. Ha. I’m sure they are counting down the days until I graduate.

In many ways I don’t want this life of mediocre responsibility to end. I am in charge of my few bills, my dogs, my terribly paid jobs, my grades and myself. Come December I’ll need a 401K and a cheap place to live. Right now I fret about what I’m going to do on Saturday night. In a few months I have a feeling I’ll be going into work on weekends.

I see so many homeless people here, who have made a career of it. I wonder what their stories are, how they ended up this way. I wonder how many of them had a tragedy, or if it was just laziness. I wonder if they have a disability, or if their only friend is Bad Luck. And today, I wondered how many of them just couldn’t take the plunge into the Real World and somehow, through their avoidance of responsibility were thrust into the harshest world of all. This makes me positive about the fact that the Real World eventually finds everyone, whether they are prepared for it or not.

My summer class met for it’s mandatory weekly meeting yesterday. We went to the New York Public Library to listen to an author speak. She writes for the New York Times and has just published a book. As an aspiring writer, I was extremely excited to hear her.

She was young. Mid-twenties. Mousy. Wearing the author’s typical black drab. She wore round glasses in thin frames which she constantly took off and placed the ear piece of in her mouth, pensively, before quickly putting them on top of her head and then immediately, deciding she desperately needed them, would put them back on her face. This was an excruciating process that went on for an hour and a half.

I was let down for some reason to see the unoriginality of it all; the black, the glasses, the waif-like appearance. And then she spoke and I began to think I was heading into the wrong career.

Like the authors portrayed in movies, she was arrogant and had funny ways of pronouncing the strangest words; almost as if she did it on purpose. People in the audience would nod in agreement and chime in as she made what they believed were ‘smart’ comments on life and the world in general. I couldn’t stand it. She was everything I did not want to be in an author. She was everything I did not want to be in a speaker. I did not want to become her. She made me scared of the Real World.

Hopefully, our parents have deemed it a mission to brace us for the inevitableness of life; if only for the fact they will grow sick of us when we are thirty living in their basement, never venturing outside because the sunlight hurts our eyes. But, I like to think on top of that is my parents’ desire for me to do better; to make something of myself which they can brag about in line at Walmart to my retired sixth grade teacher, Mrs. Schwitzer. Yes, the one who always spoke with her eyes closed and wore tragic knitted sweaters with teddy bears and snowmen.

When I begin to think about my parents’ dreams for me, I immediately see them wanting me to have a job. A real job. Not the kind where I sit at home and write all day. I know they also picture a wedding. This is almost scarier than getting a real job where I don’t just sit at home and write all day.

Marriage.
Marry.
Wed.

I used to be that girl who talked to her girlfriends about her dress and what colors she wanted and how she was going to do her hair. Yes, I was that girl. Sometime around high school I came around. It’s not that I don’t want to get married. It’s not that I’m not a romantic. I think it’s just that I’m not as hopeful anymore. I think as our innocence goes, so does our endless amount of hope that everything will turn out alright and that your life will end like the fairytales your mother plopped in the VCR to distract you so she could have and hour and thirty minutes to herself.

I am a firm believer that Disney did distort and perhaps ruin my perception of men. They are not valiant, they are not rugged and handsome at all times and they are definitely not all good dressers and princes. I remember also being disappointed that carpets couldn’t fly me across town and that no one could really talk with animals. But that’s another blog post all together.

My good buddy (I use the term loosely, as we have yet to meet), author Sloane Crosley, makes a good point in her book, “I Was Told There’d be Cake.”

“I have never pictured my own wedding. I do want to get married. It’s a nice idea. Though I think husbands are like tattoos-you should wait until you come across something you want on your body for the rest of your life instead of just wandering into a tattoo parlor on some idle Sunday and saying, ‘I feel like I should have one of these suckers by now. I’ll take a thorny rose and a “MOM” anchor, please. No, not that one-the big one.’”

I have friends who have taken the plunge, and God bless them, they are the brave ones. I envy them. I gave all my love to Rocky and Rolley to have any left for a real man.




Loves of my life.

Like, Omigod, Omigod you guys!

Front row center.

Right up there.

That's where Savannah and I sat during Legally Blonde: The Musical.
It was awesome! Savannah and I, in true Elle Woods fashion, got dolled up in our pink dresses and looked fabulous. The songs and cast were great, I am so glad we were able to see the original cast before they left.

Sav and I also went and saw an improv comedy group at The Upright Citizen's Brigade Comedy Club. I don't know if you remember the Amy Poehler comedy of that same name on Comedy Central, but it was based off this club. It was a great show. The writers behind 30 Rock and The Office got together to perform.

Monday morning is tomorrow...definitely not ready for that one. We have our class, another thing I'm not looking forward to. Why is it the weekends go so fast and the weekdays go so slowly?

“I’m coming over, but it never was enough. I thought it through and my worst brings out the best in you. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” –TBS

Some things I miss about home:

• My dogs.
o Loves of my life. Everyone has a dog here, it seems. And small dogs, like Yorkies are just the right size for cardboard size apartments.
• Inexpensive food.
o It gets pretty rough on the wallet eating out here. Although, my roommate and my friend Steve and I found pizza by the slice for only $1 the other night! It was fabulous.
• Taco Bell.
o Yeah, I know. You people think I’m crazy. But, seriously, there is a TB on every corner in COMO and we take that for granted. There is like one TB here and there was an expose done on it because there were rodents dining…after hours, if you get my drift. Due to that little fact, I have yet to grab a burrito from there.
• Having all my shoes available.
o I kid you not, I brought a whole suitcase completely devoted to my shoes up to New York. However, it wasn’t enough. The process of determining which shoes to bring was difficult and I feel some valuable players were cut from the team. Sacrifices were made and now I must make do.
• My feet being clean.
o I swear my feet are always dirty here. Wearing flip flops is like inviting grim to gravitate to your lower limbs. It’s because most of the city has a fine layer of filth blanketing it; like a house that hasn’t been dusted in months (my crappy apartment).
• Not knowing what I was missing out on.
o Now that I’m in NYC, I know how great it is. All of a sudden, I find myself constantly thinking about how soon I’ll be leaving and how sad that makes me. I don’t want to go back to driving my gas guzzling SUV, or back to all the people who broke my heart or treated me poorly, or my crappy little apartment, or my last semester at Mizzou.


I feel like I came to New York as one of those girls trying to escape her baggage and those small town things that held her back. Now, I am scared to death of going back to that lifestyle. People don’t really know me here, and I don’t really know them. And for some reason, that is comforting.



Lauren and I make a cute couple.



Here is proof that Boyz II Men is still around. I actually saw them perform so it's legit.



The City view from Brooklyn.

"The worst part about getting bags under your eyes is finding shoes to match." -Adrienne Gusoff

Having lunch with Savannah today got me thinking...

I know. That's never good.

Why is it that shoes and men have such power over us? Is it the beauty of a pair of stilettos that make them must have? Likewise, can a beautiful man make us drool the same way we did for those red Marc Jacobs pumps we eyed in Greenwich Village? Like a gorgeous pair of shoes, gorgeous men often boost you self-esteem, making you feel all the more attractive. However, they often grow uncomfortable, troublesome and begin to wear on you before the day is done.

I find myself packing away my nice heels in my purse and walking to work in my comfy sandals that I have had forever. I only pull out those beautiful heels when it is necessary and as soon as work is over, I'm ready for my worn in flats. Are women that way with men as well?

Do we only wear our nice men out at certain times? Will we always go back to what we know and what is easy?

Sometimes I'm afraid to wear my designer shoes out in the city. It's dirty, and there is trash and mud everywhere. I don't want to expose them to the grit of the Big Apple. I don't want to see them scuffed. I think I am afraid to see the men in my life scuffed as well, as if some flaw will make them unwearable.

Recently, an old pair of shoes showed back up. A pair I was sure I had left in Missouri where they belonged. I had loved those shoes, worn them everyday. They fit perfectly. Other girls had envied me when I wore them in public. But one day I looked down and the shoes were all scuffed up and I was unable to ever wear them out in public again. Like a bad penny, I threw the shoes out only to have them walk back months later.

Over the time they had been gone, I began to forget how flawed they were. All I remembered were how great the shoes were when I first bought them. But once they showed back up, clicking their heels at my door, I remembered all the blisters they caused and the time they decided to venture out onto some other girls' foot. Damn shoes.

And that's when I realized nothing beats a pair of comfortable shoes. They may be sandals, or tennis shoes, or slippers. You probably put them on everyday and don't appreciate them. They don't scuff, they don't give you blisters, they just support you. And all a girl wants in the end is to be supported.

Relationships are often so hard to tame. A Prada dress has never broken my heart before. No emotional baggage, just big bags filled with Dior.

There are a few things in this world I know I will never be. Never. Without a shadow of a doubt.

1. I will never be a socks with sandals person.
2. I will never be a Hannah Montana fan.
3. I will never date a smoker.
4. I will never like the Yankees.

The last statement is the one we will focus on. Being in the crowded Big Apple, I am surrounded by people all the time. The subway is packed, the streets are packed, the restaurants are packed. And I'll be damned if I can't go five minutes without seeing someone with a Yankees hat on.

Maybe I'm bitter. I'm a Royals fan to the core. Die hard. New. Blue. Tradition. And you can bet I was at a sports bar rooting them on when they spanked the Yanks.

Yankees fans drive me nuts. It's like they are drunk all the time. I can't say I blame them. You'd have to get me on something to like the boys. But they are loud and boisterous, unrestrained, and downright bitchy. Of course, so are most New Yorkers.

It's not because they aren't good that I don't like them (hello, I'm a Royals fan after all), its their personality, it's the personalities of their fans. I don't want to be like that. So, don't worry Missouri, I will not fall in line and jump on the Jeter bandwagon.

One of the hardest things to get used to is the men in New York. They are disrespectful, hormonal, and very vocal about what they are thinking. They also have a bad habit of following you and that really creeps me out. Every time I go out there they are; shouting obscenities, telling me what they'd like to do to me, staring at me. And by no means am I trying to draw said attention. Just the other day, a guy in a pedophile white van slowed down alongside me as I walked and drove slowly along staring at me out his window until I reached the subway.

I thought someone was going to jump out and pull me in. I would have been on one of those milk cartons.





In spite of that, I think I could do this whole New York thing. I think New York suits me. Okay, it more than suits me, it fits me like a glove. Thank goodness Savannah feels the same way. With the exception of the occasional wrong subway car choice, we float perfectly about the city. Unlike COMO, there really isn't a shortage of things to do. But there is always a shortage on money. I wish I had enough to do all the things The City has to offer.

Legally Blonde: The Musical is set for Sunday. Shakespeare in the park should be coming up one day this week. I'll keep you posted. Every Monday night they show a different movie in the park and Sav and I have vowed to go whenever we can and picnic it up.

I thought I would miss Columbia more. I thought I would miss people more. But I seem to be doing alright. I just miss my dogs like crazy.

Sav and I went to Greenwich the other day. We went to the famous Magnolia Bakery from Sex and the City. The cupcakes were awesome! Greenwich is such a beautiful part of town. There are cozy bookshops, and parks where children laugh and expensive high end clothing stores like Marc Jacobs and Coach and Gucci, run by fashionable gay men. I wish I could afford to live there. Maybe after my second book makes it.

I don't do sadness, not even a little bit. Just don't need it in my life, don't want any part of it.

Lost.

No, not the hit television series on weekly. Lost, lost. The kind where you get that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach and everyone around you looks like they might be out to get you. That is where you would have found me yesterday. Somewhere between the Bronx Zoo and 30 Rockefeller, I was hopelessly lost.

Shooting for Channel One is awesome. Not only do I get to do real work, but I also get out of the office. So, I headed uptown; past Yankee Stadium, past 86th street.

As soon as the cab drove off, I knew I was in trouble. The Bronx is a far cry from Stuy Town or Rockefeller Plaza. Immediately I saw there were no cabs driving up and down the street. But I didn't worry too much and went ahead and got what I needed on camera. Everyone who saw me on the street would shout, "Are you with ABC?"

To me, this is quite demeaning. ABC? Gross.

When it came time to leave, all these white town cars pulled up and asked if I needed a ride. Makeshift Taxis, which I later learned were called "Gypsy Cabs," with cameras attached to their rearview mirror. None of them took credit cards, which is what I was given to help with transportation. None of them even really spoke English.

So, I was stranded and lost in the Bronx with thousands of dollars worth of equipment.

Somehow I ended up on the subway, dragging in a huge tripod and camera bag. People gave funny looks. I was on the subway for over an hour before I finally made it back.

Savannah got us tickets to the Musical Spring Awakening. Being my second musical ever, I only had Spamalot to compare it to. And let me tell you, this was no Spamalot.

Spring Awakening boast R rated themes and 8 Tony awards, including Best Musical.



If it could be considered racy, this musical had it. Nudity, suicide, abortion, sex, homosexuality, abuse…the list goes on.

However, there was something very remarkable about the production. I can see why it won so many awards. The acting was amazing and the songs were really good.

I was not too much of a Republican to enjoy it.

On the list for next week: Legally Blonde, The Musical.

Old people coming back into my life have caused me to reflect on the past. Ironically, I think a Spring Awakening song lyric can some it up better than I could say.

"They say you go blind and maybe it's true.
We've all got our junk and my junk is you."




New York Sky Line from the Brooklyn bridge.



Roomies..

Barry Manilow digs my street.

I live on Avenue C.
It is in a district called Stuyvesant Town; Stuy Town.

Apparently, Barry Manilow has also been in the area. Judging from his lyrics, I think he enjoyed it.

"Hey, Hey, Hey everybody now
Come go walkin' with me now
Walk up Avenue C now
Chicks all lookin' so pretty
they don't give me no pity
Avenue C is the grooviest in the city.

I never dug an avenue more enjoyable to me
C Avenue is groovy,
Yes it was groovy as it could be.
Walk with me down Avenue C
Man I really hope to say,
Come on baby, while we ramble.
Walk beside me while we ramble.
You dig it too I feel you do.
What a scenic hike.
It's a walk that you're bound to like
Y'got A on the one side
B on the other
C in the middle
Baby." -Barry Manilow

A couple of things strike me as odd when reading these lyrics. First, it is not a lovely walk. There is garbage piled on the street and it smells. And they say that it used to be worse. Where the heck was Manilow walking back then? The only thing he got right is that is is quite the 'scenic hike.' And by hike, I mean it is quite far from the subway and there are lots of odd people who like to chill out on the sidewalk.

Finally, I don't know if it is just my poor education or maybe Manilow is dyslexic, but I thought it went A, B, C. But, Manilow, in his infinite wisdom, corrects society by claiming 'A on the one side, and B on the other. C in the middle."

A, C, B?

Nice Manilow, very nice.




Sav and I out and about, eating Mexican.

'She looks like the real thing, she tastes like the real thing. My fake plastic love."-Radiohead

Canal Street.
If there is a Heaven on Earth, Canal Street might be it.

I came. I saw. I bought. Canal Street has been conquered.
I managed to walk away with two great (suspiciously great as a matter of fact) imitation Chanel and Dolce and Gabbana handbags...with matching wallets. They are fantastic. I am so proud of myself for my haggling.

It is actually a sensory overload. Located in Chinatown, as soon as you walk up those subway steps and onto the street people are pushing iPod minis, fake rolexes (a.k.a. a Folex), and shouting, "Chanel! Louis! Gucci! Prada! Tiffany Jewelry!" There are more shops crammed into the sidewalks than pimples scrunched on a junior high boy's face.

It caught my eye. Somewhere in between the third store and when I had to go back to the ATM, there it was. A Dolce and Gabbana knock off crafted at some magical knock off sweat shop. Hot pink with an animal print, it was my heart's desire. I could never afford the real one and here was an almost identical replica hanging in front of me. I got the matching wallet as well.

People look at you differently when you are walking with a designer bag, fake or not. I don't know if they are contemplating mugging you because you must have money, or if they genuinely see you as a league apart from the ordinary. I'd like to think (for the sake of my new purse) that it is the second. Mostly because when I walk around with it, I feel different.

My fake plastic love. My fake reason of importance. My fake purse which gives me fake confidence.

And I don't mind one bit.

Which makes me wonder what is wrong with me? As Jane Austen once wrote:

"Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us."

I think Fergie, in all her infinite wisdom (HA!), might have the answer.

"Love’s like a runway but which one do I love more
No emotional baggage, just replace it with Dior
Love’s like a runway, so what’s all the fussing for
Let’s stop chasing them boys and shop some more

I know I might come off as negative
I be looking for labels, I ain’t looking for love
Relationships are often so hard to tame
A Prada dress has never broken my heart before"
-"Labels or Love"

Is it that we redirect our feelings into a penchant for shopping? Purses will never tell us we look fat. Shoes will always be there for us. Designer sunglasses care about our well-being; that's why they have UV protection. Yes, I believe we are transplanting our feelings from men to Gucci handbags, from work to Dolce and Gabbana dresses, from homework to Pashmina scarves and from our parents' nagging to a bottle of CoCo Chanel.

Tomorrow is D-day. I start the 'ol 9-5. Wish me luck. Here's to hoping I don't get mugged.

I am not dead yet.

Angry French men are the worst.

Especially angry French usher men with power trips working on Broadway shows. My very first Broadway production was tainted by such a fiend.

Savannah and I saw Monty Python's acclaimed 'Spamlot' this evening. A production that won Best Musical in 2005. It was spectacular, more than I expected!



However, an angry French man almost ruined it for me.

Well, his mother was a hamster and his father smelt of elderberries.

Savannah and I were seated next to stack of programs and the usher was nowhere in sight. People kept bending over Savannah to reach them, so Sav just picked them up and handed them to people who wanted them.

After awhile, the AFM (angry French man) came back over and said, "Is handing out programs your job?" in his snobby French man tone. Sav told him, indeed it was not, for we were but simple lasses hoping to catch a show. Abruptly, AFM snatched the programs away and gave a snort.

Savannah and I were appalled, but soon got over our issue once we saw "The Slippers." Bunny shaped, they were everything we had ever wanted and more. They of course portrayed the 'monster' rabbit from both the film and play. The same bunny that might 'nibble your bum.' They were also ridiculously expensive.

Let down twice before the play even started, once by a man with a penchant for aggressive ushering and once by a pair of fuzzy slippers, we were beginning to doubt the show could be as good as we'd hoped. But it was much better.

Savannah and I also went to the Forbes Magazine Museum today. It showcased the history of Monopoly, with different Monopoly boards throughout the ages. There was also an entire room devoted to jewelry by famous designers. I was in heaven.



Savannah by an old Monopoly board.



Me by the many Monopolies of the World.



Rain makes for a dreary New York. The angry natives become even more disgruntled and the tourists seem to become even more disorientated and lost, causing them to stop suddenly in the middle of sidewalks, crosswalks and my way.

Maybe I could blame the rain for getting lost on the subway today. Savannah and I must have gotten cocky in our ability to maneuver around town. I was just getting comfortable with this whole public transportation thing when we managed to go too far, go back too far, get on the wrong connection, and finally stumble onto the wrong street. All within a matter of minutes.

We made it, eventually.

Good news, Mom! The Peeping Tom I believed we had living across the street turns out to be just a pipe someone has hanging out of their window, and not a telescope. It was dark out! Cut me some slack!



Possible telescope...

Law and Order gave me the wrong impression.

I am a diehard Law and Order viewer. Much to Justin's dismay, he often found Law and Order: SVU recording on his DVR. It was not my parents' constant nagging about the dangers lurking around every Avenue that really freaked me out, it was the episodes of SVU where a college girl was brutally attacked that made me cautious.

The subway was always the worst in the episodes. Filthy, with homeless beggars, overly crowded sub cars, and shifty-eyed men, the subway was infested with the worst of everything. So, when I first ventured down into the L-Train, I was uneasy. However, it isn't crowded. There are very few homeless people (save the nighttime when they want to get away from the elements), and there are always police on the platform.

About the only thing L&O had down was the rodent problem. And even that didn't become apparent until last night. We had just come from the premiere of SATC:TM (which was awesome, btw), and as we made our way back in our fabulous heels and dresses, I was just beginning to believe that there were no rats in the subway.

Ever since the first time I stepped onto the subway platform I had pictured myself falling into the tracks, unable to get back up. what would happen? I imagined myself in the movies, where they duck in between the two tracks and the subway goes right over top of them. However, I have begun to worry my butt is too big and would eventually be grazed by the bottom of the train. It didn't help that on the first trip down Savannah relayed a horror story about a man who fell down and was stuck down there so long, three subways came and went over top of him. It may be morbid, but now, as we walk through the streets of Manhattan, I often wonder if a crane will crush me, or if a crazy taxi driver will run me down like Frogger as I attempt to cross 34th and Broadway.

Death by taxi. Death by subway. I pondered newspaper headlines.

I know I am not the only one who ponders death by subway car, or worse. In her latest, Sloane Crosley writes, "As most New Yorkers have done, I have given serious and generous thought to the state of my apartment should I get killed during the day. Say someone pushes me onto the subway tracks. Or I get accidentally blown up. Or a woman with a headset and a baby carriage wheels over my big toe, backing me into some scaffolding, which shakes loose a lead pipe, which lands on my skull. What then?"

On this night, on the platform, my roommates and I waited for the L-Train that would take us to 1st Avenue. We saw a bunch of clothing laying in the tracks. Underwear, shoes, notebooks, t-shirts, all strewn about in dirty water. As I tried to get a good view of the litter, the underwear...moved.

I shrieked. Dancing underwear in itself is a sight. But watching a rat crawl out from under it is even more disturbing. The closer I looked, the more rats started appearing. Before my eyes, the subway was turned from a place I affectionately believed was portrayed inaccurately in Hollywood, to an ugly petting zoo.

Death by fear of rodents. Death by possessed underwear. Today's top story.


JUST A SMALL TOWN GIRL, LIVING IN A 'HOT MESS'

Walking around in New York can be intimidating. Everything is larger than life. Everything is expensive. Everyone looks expensive. I take that back. As Sav says, there are two types of people living in NYC. Those who can dress, and those who can't. And those who can't...really can't. However, those who can, often brush by you dressed in their BCBG dresses and Armani suits and make you feel insecure about your own clothing choice (Something that is very new to me...). Sex and the City last night brought out the best.

Strappy stilettos and Chanel earrings on the ladies, and Versace clothing adorning all the gay men waiting to comment on Carrie's wedding dress. And believe me, those gay men are vocal about criticizing fashion...and about the people who try and butt in line in front of them. I have never seen two gay men fight, but I came close last night! One of them affectionately coined our tightly packed line to the theatre as a 'hot mess.'

The 'hot mess' today turned out to be getting ourselves un-lost in Rockefeller Center. One of my roommates and I decided to look for the New York Public Library where Carrie chooses to have her wedding in The Movie, as well as see the Chrysler Building. It took much longer than anticipated since, as women, we have no natural sense of direction.

I also finally got to see where I would be working on Rockefeller Plaza and go into the NBC store. If Dwight Schrute had a kingdom, this would be it. Wall-to-wall Dwight bobbleheads wobbled gazes at me as I searched the store. I finally got my NBC Universal shirt as well as an "I <3 Jim" tee.

Pretty productive day.

Don't Get Carrie-d Away...

Well put me in a pair of Manolo Blahnik's and call me Carrie Bradshaw! I'm in New York City!

I am living every little girl's dream; being Carrie Bradshaw. I am a fabulous, underpaid, well-dressed journalist in The City. Tonight Sav and I are going to see Sex and The City: The Movie; which I will henceforth refer to as simply SATC:TM, because it will save my fingers from inevitable carpal tunnel.

Sav started her job today, so I am forced to brave The City alone. I need groceries. Even now, my stomach is growling. I also need a coffee. The 4:00 am wakeup yesterday to catch my plane really grounded me, if you know what I mean.

The apartment sitch is nice. More spacious than I had anticipated. Cleaner too. We had a mishap with my keys, however. My front door key is a stubborn son-of-a-gun. After much hard labor, Sav and I decided to make friends with my neighbors, to see if anyone of them would be able.

We met Mike, an NYU student. Very friendly. After much hard labor, he was finally able to get the door open. We graciously thanked him and began to walk inside. However, poor Mike, startled at the possibility of helping two attractive out-of-towners, had locked himself out of his apartment.

Sav, always ready to lend a hand to a city boy, quickly lended him her cellphone. Afterwards, we walked inside. I'm not sure if he ever made it back in...haha.

The real adventure, however, started once we got inside...
I have two other roommates, but there are only two bedrooms. Since I was the last to arrive, I sort of got the last pick of everything. Which is fine, I would have done the same to the poor girl who came in after me if I were first. Instead of sharing a room with one of the girls, we decided if we moved my bed to the living room we would all have our own rooms. We would just partition my "room" off with a curtain. Sounded good to me. On the off chance the girl I shared a bedroom with snored, I wouldn't have gotten a wink (many of you know about my weird mouth noise phobia).

So Sav and I set off to move the bed from the second bedroom, down the hall, and into the living room/Tracy's bedroom. Thank goodness it came apart. We were able to pull one of the end rails off and drag it out. But the top rail and the actual bed part wouldn't come apart. Savannah even resorted to banging her shoe like a hammer. Nothing was working. Finally, we jimmied the thing apart by using leverage from our body weight and the bedroom doorframe (Thank you seventh grade applied science). It took us another 15 minutes to get the darn thing back together in the living room/Tracy's bedroom. I'm pretty sure Savannah will have this story up as well, maybe with a picture. Be sure and check out her blog as well!

I slept very well, despite being in a new place. I was exhausted. I froze however. New York is not as warm as I had previously thought and that blanket my parents sent has yet to arrive...

Flyin' first class up in the sky, livin' the life in the fast lane and I won't change, by the glamorous, ooh, the flossy, flossy!

The tickets are purchased, the bags...well, they aren't even close to being packed...

But I'm ready!

I can't wait to be in The Big Apple. Savannah already has plans for us, and she has promised to be tour guide when I arrive. Be sure to keep up with Sav and me. This may prove to be a very eventful summer.

I leave May 28, 2008.

Good bye, Columbia. Goodbye, old life.