SJG Hearts NYC, Part I

   Home!  Home from a long week in NYC.  Home to find the home in one piece, after we boldly left the youngest to fend for himself.  No signs of "Risky Business"-type activities.  No cracks in the giant crystal globe on the mantel.  Nothing overtly suspicious, but I'm so jet-lagged, I'm not sure I'd notice.  This morning I made coffee without the most important ingredient:  the coffee.  Appearing on the Broadway stage really knocked the @#$% outta me.

           On stage with Connie Ray, after seeing her in "Next Fall"

                

   A few highlights: On Sunday night, the driver picks us up at JFK, and tells us that someone jumped off the roof of the hotel where we're staying, two weeks ago.  He describes the bloody scene at length.  I may be a news junky, but even for me, this is too much information.  Whenever I leave the hotel, I look up just in case.  On Monday, I wander up and down 5th avenue.  Every time I enter a fancy store, I pretend like I'm actually planning to buy something.  Belts are $500.  Handbags, $4,000. It's nice to be faux-wealthy.  Before going in Bendel's, I remember last year's incident, when a man at the makeup counter took umbrage with my eyes.  This time, I move swiftly, I don't make eye contact, I don't get insulted.  I pass by a store called Build A Bear, and decide not to build a bear, and wonder why others need to.  Now I'm in Central Park, listening to dueling musicians.

   I sit by the pond and eavesdrop on five women who are debating whether a round white object is a swan or a buoy.  "It's a swan taking a nap."  "It's not a swan, it's a buoy."  "Throw a rock at it, see if it moves." That seems harsh.  I go into an art gallery and act like I'm going to buy a sculpture for $15,000.  "I'll be back later with my husband."  So far, I've nearly bought a conceptual art piece full of boxing gloves, a naked lady sculpture, an Andy Warhol, two Chagalls, a Beirn bag, a diamond-sapphire bracelet at Tiffany's and a Cartier watch.  Shopping is fun.  Later I meet Connie for coffee.  She tells me, "Head east on 57th and I'll meet you half way."  I act like I know my way around NYC.  I exit the hotel and start walking, confidently, like I own this town.  I take big strides, push old ladies aside.  I've gone one block and it hits me:  Am I going East or West?  I have no freakin' clue.  I turn around and go back to the hotel and ask.  I was heading East. I should trust my instincts more.
   In the evening, we meet our dear friends at an Italian restaurant on the Upper Westside. They order grown up drinks with vodka and scotch.  I play along and order a cocktail.  The room starts to spin.  Next thing I know, we're at a swanky party in the Meat Packing District, crawling with celebs.  I know their faces but not their names.  Kiki and I spend the evening getting excited and pointing.  "Oh my God,there's the guy from that show!"  "There's the guy from 'Heroes.'  I loved him on 'Felicity.'"  "There's the guy with the Mohawk on 'Glee'!"  Kiki says, "Puck!"  We decide to "bump" into him, but lose our nerve.  "Kiki!  Look! There's the girl who played the bitch on 'Ugly Betty.'" "There's one the guys from 'The Office'."  Kiki informs me, "He's a douchebag."  "How do you know that?"  "I just do."  I believe her.  Kiki just knows things.  Now we see an actress who's appeared on many shows and in movies.  "She's a big girl," Kiki says.  "She's solid," hubby adds.  "She was in that movie where she was a dancer," Kiki says.  I beg to differ.  "No, she wasn't." "Yes, she was," Kiki says. I shake my head. "She never played a dancer."  We go four rounds and give up when we hear a rumor that a super hot actor is in the building.  "We must find him," I tell Kiki.  She agrees.
   The room is so jammed with people we don't know where to look.  We strategize, we crane our necks, we don't see him.  We are very sad, if not distraught, and soothe our souls with handfuls of pink, purple and blue m&m's.  We leave, feeling sorry for our feet and sorry for the super hot actor, who didn't get to meet us.