A Spider, The Big Apple, and a Blister

New York City.

I went there. Last week.

And I'm finally ready to tell you about it.

It all started with my dreadful drive to the airport. On Monday, August 17th. Dreadful because of my dislike for traveling by plane, skin chips, sweat, and delays. Actually, sweat can be good if you are working out, hanging out in a sauna, or trying to gross out the person sitting next to you so they will move away and leave you in peace. But in airports.... not so much.

So, not only was I dreading the usual issues... but I added two more. I was taking everything with me on the plane. Which meant a large tote bag ( called: my purse) and a duffle bag. AND I WAS WEARING HEELS. ( that is actually three things.... but I gave up caring about math the minute I realized my Dad was a math whiz and I could call him any time that I needed to) ( And that realization came the minute I popped out of the womb ) ( I hate the word womb. I hate the saying "popped out of ". They are both gross and unnecessary... but so is this blog)

I was wearing heels because according to the behavioral rules I was to follow... heels were required in order to be allowed to enter New York City. They supposedly also make me look taller? thinner? and have better posture?

All the things that I try so hard NOT to be/have during my every day existence.

It is an art form to look how I look.... and I work hard at it.

Anyway, I arrive. I park. I walk in the airport. I get my ticket. I'm told that the flight is on time. I walk to the security check.

WAIT! The flight is on time!!?? This has never happened to me. I was prepared to entertain myself with juggling balls and rope. And I didn't have to. I got to get right on the plane.

So much for practicing my Girl Scout knot tying abilities.

When I am happy... I am less likely to notice dirt, close quarters, and sweat. I was given a seat by myself (the flight attendant MUST read this blog) and a diet coke. And I almost wept out of happiness. I say "almost" because if I really had it would have been super embarrassing to my company and my trendy attire and my neighborhood.

Broads in my neighborhood don't cry unless they are kicked by the goat they are milking. We are tough chicks out here.

I was so happy that I didn't even mind the tiny spider that lowered itself down from my hair-do the second we were actually lifting off the ground.

I'm not sure if the spider was already on the plane or if it had been living in my hair. But I shook it's hand, named it "chuck" and swatted it out of my face. With a loving hand, of course.

My layover was in Washington D.C. And as much as I don't care for politicians, debates, war, broken promises and being lied to... it is truly a beautiful city to fly in to. I could see just about every monument/building that is important or at least ones that I've been told are important. Some are important for scandalous reasons it seems... but still important.

Apparently I love the word "important".

Have I mentioned that my sister, Holly, and brother - in - law, Kris, will be moving there in October? Well, they will. And I WILL be visiting. And will NOT be getting my belly button pierced this time. Because honestly, I don't know where my belly button is right now.

Anyhoo... the airport was great. The people were friendly. And my flight was once again ON TIME!!!

And the best part is that I was on a regular sized plane. And there were only 15 of us. ON A REGULAR SIZED 300 PERSON PLANE. Because that is how they do it in D.C. They have a "shuttle" to and from New York every hour and a half. And they don't care how many people are on it. Because they are cool. And awesome. And love making my travels enjoyable.

And they actually had that on a sign inside the plane. It said " We are determined to make Kim Snyder's travel enjoyable"

So, I had a row to myself. I was able to do high kicks, lunges, marching, and the hokey pokey. I was able to stretch my legs out, conduct puppet shows, cartwheels, and take off all my clothes. You know... just to air them out and keep them from getting wrinkled.

It was blissful. And naked.

And then I arrived at the airport. Still in heels with two bags in tow. And was greeted by my own personal driver who was holding a sign that said "SNYDER". Which just happens to be my last name. In case you didn't know.

I giggled with delight when he put me in a town car and started driving me in to town. It sure beats being put in the back of a pick up truck because Kev thinks I'm too dirty to ride inside. Or being forced to "hang on tight" to the ladder that was so strangely placed on the back of my parent's van. The van that was complete with suede curtains, carpet, and a fold out couch.

( Ewww. That vans sounds super creepy when actually described out loud. Or in print. Depending on whether you are reading this quietly to yourself or out loud in to a microphone.)

And then we were there. At my hotel. Which was in the middle of Times Square. And I felt like a movie star. With a smashed dead spider on my shoulder.

I was on the thirtieth floor. Unfortunately my parents were NOT there this time to greet me. Because they were researching gorillas in the Congo or riding in a hot air balloon over Paris, or climbing Mt. Fuji or whatever adventure they were involved in at the time.

But here was my view......
If you look really closely you can see the tiny yellow cabs driving by. And possibly the Naked Cowboy. Who just happens to be an icon. An elusive one that I cannot ever seem to meet. I LOVE cowboys. I LOVE naked cowboys that sing in Times Square. I HATE male strippers. They make me gag. To the max. So, please don't confuse my love for a naked singer with a stripper. IT. IS. NOT. THE. SAME.

I threw my bags down and headed out in to the streets. This was my only chance to enjoy the city on my own before the meetings started. And Kev - the most amazing husband ever - had given me an envelope of cash to "have a good time with" while in New York. He is incredibly thoughtful. And sweet. And his sparkly eyes remind me of juicy grapes. And I'm so thankful to have him. And his envelope of money.

So, I hit the streets to shop.

This was right outside of my hotel....

They have made some of the Times Square streets more people friendly. You could just sit there and people watch for hours and hours.

But I didn't have time for that. I had money to spend and about two hours to do it in. So, off I went....

I find it hilarious that I still have trouble with the differences between Hwy 378 and Hwy 1 but you give me five minutes in The City.... And I totally know where I am, where I am going, and how to get back. I'm made for this place. Except for the extreme heat. I am not made for that. You think that it is incredibly hot and muggy in SC... but there is absolutely NO breeze in NYC. NO BREEZE. And fashion dictates that your clothing be layered. You can imagine how extremely sweaty I was at this point. Not to mention that I am still wearing heels. And lipstick. For goodness sake.

But I marched on. The LOFT was the first place I came to. I just took pictures though... and didn't go in. I knew we would be spending a lot of time there over the next couple of days. And I also did not want them to see my pit stains. Or mascara running down my face.

After a couple of hours of walking around, shopping, and experiencing the city... I headed back to the hotel to meet up with every one else for dinner.

I would have given anything for a spray of Febreze at this point. And was very thankful that I was not in a "How fresh and clean do you smell?" contest. Believe me when I say that I have competed in one before. And I would NOT have won.

Actually, I didn't win when I competed. But that is a story for another time.

I made it back to the cool refreshing air conditioning. And then began to sort through my loot aka incredible jewelry that I had just purchased. That is when I realized that I had acquired a souvenir for FREE. Actually a couple of them.

BLISTERS.

I felt the strange need to take a pic of one of them to prove to you I was not exaggerating or telling stories.... as I usually tend to do. And please disregard the fact that my toes resemble sausages. Wrinkled, pudgy, sausages. I am part German.... you know.

I still have the scars on my feet from my experience of walking around in heels. But it was worth it.

Up Next.... Day Two. Where are the chicken wings and french fries?