Scarlott Letters

Just some stuff I find funny…


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I’m Joining the Rockettes

What is better than walking the streets of New York for another day? Walking it in the rain. We’ve actually had wonderful weather this week and the rain only lasted a little past noon, so I can’t complain. We slept with the window open and the rain was romantic to wake up to. Unfortunately our men aren’t here. Linda didn’t act weird around me today so I must have behaved myself.

Sleeping with the window open might not have been our best course of action since there appeared to be a party/fight/make-out session (not necessarily in that order) out on the sidewalk. Things didn’t quiet down until well after 2:00am, finally breaking up because of the rain. I kept expecting to see someone at the window with a gun, then I remembered that you can’t have a gun in NYC. I’m certain they were all law-abiding citizens…

We didn’t get shot in our sleep and made it safely  to the subway, where we were treated to some great live music. Julia busted a move which probably accounted for the looks we were getting from the locals. A tour of Radio City Music Hall was first on our agenda. Julia once again picked the perfect activity. The tour was wonderful! There is not a bad seat in the house, literally.  We even had a question and answer session with a real live Rockette and she was lucky enough to have her picture made with us. We found out that the youngest you can be is 18, but there is no upper limit on age because you must try out every year. They wanted me, they really did, but I am 5″ under the minimum height requirement, plus my high kick is approximately 12″ off the ground. Damn the bad luck. I think I might also have heard a comment, something about falling ad breaking a hip, but I couldn’t be sure.

Lunch was at the Rockefeller Plaza Cafe where we had rinkside seats and most excellent Pumpkin Spiced Punch. We split up after lunch with Julia, Kay and Carla going back down to the 9/11 Museum. Meanwhile, the rest of us briefly hit some shopping, St. Patrick’s Cathedral, the New York City Library,  the Empire State Building and drinks on 5th Avenue.  

We finished the evening with a fine meal in authentic New York style at a quaint, but elegant, small neighborhood place and another equally quaint dessert bar. No burgers tonight. 

Our limo will be here to pick us up at 6:00am and I’m tired, so I’m keeping this short. Thanks to Julia for once again planning a stellar girl trip. She hit all the right notes with this one. I’ll leave you with the quote of the day, and maybe the entire trip, which I overheard at Rockefeller Center where a mother was attempting to document her two daughters in front of the ice skating rink. One was grinning ear to ear and the other was  tears-running-down-her-face sobbing. Trying to capture a happy moment, the mother said to the sobbing girl, “Quit your crying and just look normal!” That’s a life lesson right there, courtesy of the streets of New York. See you back in Texas!

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Cannolis and Cankles and Sea Slugs, Oh My!

I. Cannot. Walk. I have broken the first rule of (urban) jungle combat and didn’t take care of my feet. A three hour walking tour of lower Manhattan should have been a piece of cake after yesterday, and honestly I will do just fine as long as I don’t flex my foot.

Justin, the nephew of a friend from Wichita Falls just happened to be in the city visiting this week so he joined us on our three hour walking tour of lower Manhattan. Let me just say Julia knocked it out of the park with this one. Our tour guide was excellent, funny and unfazed by our inappropriate behavior. We started in the lower east side, wound our way past Katz’s Deli, through Soho, the Cast Iron district, Little Italy, complete with cannolis from Ferrara’s Bakery, and Chinatown, where we barely resisted the urge to buy a “Handbag, Gucci, Prada”. From there we went to Five Points, through the Civic District, where we photo bombed some stranger’s wedding pictures, and ended at Ground Zero and the 9/11 

Memorial. The Memorial is stunningly beautiful and moving. You cannot see it with dry eyes. Just like the event, I can’t imagine I will ever forget it. 

Justin lived in the city for a while so he suggested we hop the subway over to Chelsea Market for lunch, which was outstanding. Afterwards we walked the Highline which is a very cool park built on an old elevated railway. 

By the time we got home we had walked 18,420 steps or 7.44 miles, climbed 16 flights of stairs and burned 1680 calories, which means we were slackers today. I don’t feel like a slacker because my feet Hurt, with a capital H.  Labor and childbirth were a walk in the park compared to walking the last few blocks from the subway stop home. My feet and ankles are so swollen, my bell bottoms have turned into leggings.

Looks like about 8″ to me.

During our tour of Chinatown we kept seeing this odd, ugly, expensive dried stuff that no one could identify. If you have a dirty mind, which I do, it looks rather pornographic. Turns out it was dried sea cucumber and costs $80 per pound. We decided to do a little research on the elusive sea cucumber, aka the sea slug, and came across the following article that is literally the funniest thing you could read in a roomful of seven women who have had a few drinks: Sea Cucumber Factoids. Seriously, you need to read this.

Even though my feet hurt like the 7th level of Dante’s Hell, it was a wonderful day to be in New York City. We are having so much fun! It’s been a long time since I’ve laughed so hard I had tears running down my face. If I return home permanently hobbled it will have been worth it.


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The Cutest Shoes I’ll Never Wear

We started the morning 10 minutes behind schedule, which was early for us. Our helicopter tour took off at 9:00 and it was fabulous. We were blessed with a clear blue sky. The Statue of Liberty, Governor’s Island, Ellis Island and views of the city could not have been better. Afterwards, we found the nearest Starbucks, then it was Battery Park, shoe shopping, lunch in the financial district, followed by more shoe shopping through Soho and all the way back to the East Village. Suffice it to say that there was no shoe left untried. I even ended up with the cutest pair of sandals ever, but they have two straps that buckle around each ankle and being the lazy slug that I am, I will probably never wear them. I had good intentions of returning to Texas without new shoes of any kind, but these girls are the worst influence.

Tonight we went to the Broadway show Kinky Boots. Michael and Bruce met us there. It was a great show and couldn’t have been more appropriate for a group of women all sitting there in new kinky boots. The show was followed by dinner at a nearby Thai restaurant, where they have never met a hot pepper they didn’t like. I won’t say the food was an inferno, but Bruce had tears in his eyes and I don’t think it was because we were saying goodbye.

I discovered that going to a Broadway show gives you delusions of grandeur. Thinking we could sing, we broke into the theme song from Gilligan’s Island, telling Bruce about about tomorrow’s three hour walking tour. That would have been enough for most mere mortals, but in Times Square watching some unfortunate soul get loaded into an ambulance, we sang Another One Bites Dust. We are fun, not compassionate. 

Speaking of ambulances, we were either nearly run over by a cab, or were in a cab that was doing the running over, several times during the course of the day. I decided to do a little research. In 2013, there were 16,059 pedestrians hit by cars in New York City and of those 178 died. Those are staggering statistics. We probably should have considered running shoes instead of boots today.

I have bloody stumps where my toes once were. By the time we got back to the apartment, according to Linda’s FitBit app, we had walked 20,289 steps or 8.2 miles, taken 26 sets of stairs and burned 2106 calories and that was just looking for a bathroom. Damn! I should have gotten dessert.


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New York City? New York City!

New York, five days, seven women, three bedrooms and two bathrooms. What could possibly go wrong?  The flight out of Wichita Falls began boarding at 5:30a.m. Let me just say, TSA has left no cluster unfucked when it comes to small town airport security. I will probably be strip searched forevermore for that statement, so I’ve got that going for me. I usually don’t curse this early in my blog but I was driven to it by incompetence and slow people who have obviously never traveled before. On the bright side, I don’t have to warn you about my language, because you already know. Julia, Kay, Carla and I, are meeting Cathy and Linda in Dallas for the flight to LaGuardia. Sue is flying in from Michigan.

Julia, once again, has done ALL of our pre-trip planning. If you don’t have a friend like her, get one immediately. For Julia’s friends, travel is a breeze. We just have to know when to show up at the airport. That’s it. It’s like traveling first class for the cost of lunch. She works way too cheap. She says it’s because she loves us, which must be true because it’s a lot of work and undying gratitude doesn’t pay the bills. To illustrate, a stretch limo, driven by a guy named Vulcan or Kevlar or some-such, picked us up at LaGuardia, which would have been great even without the chilled champagne Julia pulled from her suitcase. Who carries chilled champagne from Texas to New York? Only the most awesome people.

We’ve got a great three bedroom apartment on the lower East side, near Soho, with hardwood floors, granite countertops, two bathrooms and most importantly a coffeemaker. We’re two short blocks from a great market and the subway. It really couldn’t be any better.

Julia’s bother-in-law, Michael, and his partner Bruce, hosted a rooftop cocktail/dinner party for us at their apartment in Harlem. They even had a fire pit and wood burning fire on the roof. Apparently, it is perfectly acceptable to burn teak patio chairs if you run out of firewood. The subway rides there and back made me appreciate my car and the wide open roads of Texas. We tried to blend in but I’m pretty sure our accents and the way we almost fell every time the train threw us backwards gave our tourist status away. What we lost in stealth, we made up for in sheer numbers, but next time we’re wearing our intimidating “Don’t Mess with Texas” tee shirts.