The City That Never Sleeps

So this was yesterday:
The only thing that stands between me and a fun filled weekend in NYC is the TSA. Just the thought of those scoundrels making me walk awkwardly on the balls of my bare feet and placing my precious belongings in their dirty totes gives me anxiety. You want to know what I think? I think the terrorists crashed planes into the towers on 9/11 not only to leave their mark on that day, but they did it because they knew how it would affect traveling for Americans every day after. It’s the terrorist gift that keeps on giving. I feel terrorized every single time I come to the airport, and it’s only getting worse. If Osama Bin Saddam Hussein isn’t behind the TSA, well then I don’t know who is. Maybe that Gaddafi guy I keep hearing about. There’s just something sinister about those people who sit behind the safety of their airport security rope dressed in their navy vests looking at the private contents of what’s in our bags. Who are they to decide what’s considered 3 ounces of liquid and what’s not? All I’m saying is that I won’t be one bit surprised if the next terrorist attack is composed of a large bomb made entirely of hair spray, cologne, perfume, lotion, ext. The more expensive the better. But I’ve already said too much, I know better than to talk about such things while sitting in an airport. I could be hauled off to prison just for saying the “T” word within a ten mile radius of an airport. I can’t help it though, the TSA just grinds my gears. I’d like to go to their place of transportation (the bus stop I can only assume) and demand they take off their shoes before getting on board, or remove their fitted blazer jackets which technically should not be consider a jacket but more of an ensemble. How come I never see a TSA employee in line at an airport when they’re just starting a shift? I’ll tell you why. It’s because they live here. I’ve already mentioned this once before, but how many people have you ever met that work at an airport? Zero. Just seems kinda fishy don’t you think?

And now this is today.
You want to know what time I finally landed in New York last night? Ten freaken thirty. Yeah, 10:30 p.m.. I was supposed to land by 8:30. Oh boy, was I fuming. I absolutely can’t stand how unpredictable flying is. When it comes to land time I think they should just cut the shit and list a window of time rather than an actual time, "Departure: 5:25-8:30, arrival: it's a real crapshoot, possibly 8:30-11:00 p.m." To make matters worse, I had a fifty year old Asian man beside me whom I can only assume had never flown before because as we taxied in the air for a good thirty minutes he spent the entire time leaning over me like a five year old trying to look out the window. Since I was indeed the one with the window seat, doesn’t that entitle me to the window rights? That’s how I’ve always known airplane law. Window seater is the one who holds the rights whether or not to open or close the window and should never feel pressured to sit awkwardly arched back in their seat so curious Asian man can perch over and look at what only appears to be thousands of flash lights below given it’s completely dark outside. #iborderlinehaveaheartattacheverytimeifly.

Luckily, by the time we got to “our place” our wonderful littles hostesses were waiting with full champagne flutes and a nice little meat and cheese tray to greet us. I’ve never been so happy to see alcohol, and Tyeler and Beth, of course. We are staying at Tye’s uncle’s apartment in Soho. No biggy. It’s just your standard perfectly decorated, incredibly large apartment you’d expect to be staying at if you are filming a movie with Judd Law and Rose Byrne with a cameo appearance by a Trollson twin. I usually reference Katherine Heigl, but this apartment is too cool for her stupid rom-coms. She wouldn’t even be invited to a party here. This place has tall ceilings, exposed brick everywhere, ginormous windows that look like they belong in a penthouse hotel suite somewhere I’ve never had the luxury of staying in before, and a variety of eclectic light fixtures through out. Like I said, no biggy.

So anyway, after we chit chatted here for a bit (drank a bottle of champagne) Beth, Tye, my mom, Jade and I headed out on the town around midnight. Going out super late is tres New York. Us gals were ready to hit the hot spots. We were dazzling in our high heels and sparkly tops... But after walking a block or two and not seeing an abundance of people out and about we couldn’t help but feel like the over dressed mom/daughter group who escaped Texas for a big weekend in the city. We might as well have been wearing home printed t-shirts that read “We also do hair bigger in Texas- Mom/Daughter Trip 2011.” Whatever. We were still gonna have fun.

We decided on the Soho Grand a few blocks away for drinks and apps. We drank expensive martinis, ate teeny tiny crab cakes that should have probably been called crab hershey kisses, and literally shut the place down. We didn’t leave until almost every last person was out around 2:45ish. And that last person happened to be a very drunk, very chic looking girl who stumbled all the way down the stairs babbling things like, “my dad owns this shit. He owns your life.” I told Tye to be quiet, but she was pretty insistent. Not a bad start to the weekend. And now, well I'm waiting for the lazy asses to wake up so we can start our day already. I'm ready for these streets to make me feel brand new, for the lights that inspire you. So much for the city that never sleeps, it's nearly 10:30! I want brunch, damn it. TGIF peeps, TGIF.