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.