How 'bout that ride in....?

Guess that's why they call it Sin City.. *nervous chuckle*

OK, so I didn't go to Vegas, I went to NYC and I have to say... it was quite the experience. I've been putting off writing because I have to find an elegant and entertaining way to relay my adventures in New York. I wouldn't want to disappoint my adoring fans. Surprisingly, I think this is going to be the hardest post to write. So with some nudging from a friend, *ahem* AJ, and without further adieu, I give you... A Southerner's Tail: Dylan Goes North. (Gahd, the atrocious things I reference. And if you don't get that reference, you should go back to kindergarten. P.S. Tail is, indeed, spelled correctly.)

1300 hours: Step off the plane in Newark, New Jersey. Temperature: 27 degrees (WTF, Blogspot? Can't make a degree symbol?) Intercepted by AJ at Terminal A. Destination: White Castle. Yes, I took a trip up north... to visit White Castle. Judge me if you will but, it was worth every dollar I paid for plane tickets. After four sliders and a chocolate shake, I boarded the plane and headed home. The End.

Calm down... just kidding.

Next morning we took off into the city early. Taking the train and subway into Newark and NYC. If you like Chinese food and hate spending a lot of money, a.k.a. most Americans, do yourself a favor and go to Chinatown. For less than $20, you can feed a small militia. No joke, a posse of Stormtroopers were actually at the table beside us. After buying some counterfeit goods and hearing "tank 'oo come again" (too racist?) more times than I could count, we toured Madam Tussuad's wax museum. Some figures were really good. Some were... frighteningly bad. Apparently Harrison Ford is 24, red-headed, and judging from his small stature, hardly capable of cracking a whip or making the Kessel Run in 12 parsecs. Best part of the museum? Watching a small Asian girl pose with Brad and Angelina. How many kids is that now.... 9?

Walking through the New York streets, I actually heard people yelling from their cars at other drivers. Flying profanities. "Fuck you, you fucking fuck!" "Move you're ass you fucking piece of shit." It was very colorful. And it made my day. I seriously thought they only did that in movies. It even made me wanna adopt a New York accent because, I don't think cussing is as frowned upon if you sound like you're from Brooklyn. So I decided to try it out.

*Walking 7th Ave, bumping shoulders with a New Yorker*

Me: " 'eyy watch where yous goin' you fuck! Wassamaddawitchu?!"

New Yorker: "You're not from around here, are you"

Me: *sigh-- looks at ground* "... no."

We killed time until we saw a play at 8. Unfortunately, during the killing time period, I got distracted by all the bright lights, and wandered away. Lost in New York, I did the only thing I knew to do. I rented a room at the Plaza Hotel, played inside Duncan's Toy Chest.. er, FAO Schwarz, and made friends with the pigeon lady in Central Park. Uhm, excuse me a moment. *murmurs* Wait, what's that? Wrong movie? Oh.. Home Alone 2? Right. Sorry. They won't press charges? Good. So my producers tell me I didn't get lost. That was just the dream I had while I savored the most heavenly piece of cheesecake I've ever tasted, courtesy of Junior's in Times Square. You know what... forget Chinatown. Just have the cheesecake. And save room for dessert.

All of New Years Eve was spent standing in Times Square. Literally. Standing. For 12 hours. I think I'd have cracked if it weren't for Gameboys, bagel sandwiches, the couple from Wisconsin, and the beautiful Aspenites - Amanda, Andrea and Connie (shameless name dropping). And here I thought the French were assholes... huh. Throughout the 12 hours, I finished a whole song of 99 Bottles of Beer -- scratch that off my bucket list -- heard "Empire State of Mind" more times than I ever wanted to, and realized I apparently need to learn the lyrics to Rent's "Seasons of Love" because every person in New York knew the words but me. I managed to just blurt out LOVE! at all the right moments. Then... it was time. 1 minute. 30 seconds. 15. Countdown from 10 as the ball drops anddd.... it's over. The End. For real this time. Let's go home. 12 hours for a ten second ball drop. And you know what?

It was worth every second of it.

Happy New Year

P.S. Blogspot doesn't know how to format spaces between paragraphs.

P.S.S. I'm too lazy to figure out how to fix it.