Our road trip to New York has started.

We hit the road with bells on. Whatever that means.

If it means that we crossed the Canadian border into the United States and no alarm bells went off at security…well then… we hit the road with bells on.

Already, things are different about this road trip.

I didn’t get hauled into the customs office and strip searched.  {{ Drats }}

 

 

Our flight from Toronto to NYC is  a hop skip and a jump.  The hardest part is keeping a straight face with airport security when they ask their stupid-butt questions.  Stupid is as stupid does.  Whoever made the rules for airport security, surely couldn’t punch their way out of a paper bag.

Airport personnel :  Did you pack your own suitcase ?

Me :  Wtf?!   I WISH someone packed my suitcase. Then they could have sat on it with all their might to jam it shut zip it.  Then, they could have jumped up and down on it with a vengeance to practice what baggage handling will do to it.

What does airport personnel do when someone says YES to that question?

Me :  Yeah. That’s right. I somehow bribed a complete stranger to pack my suitcase.  I had them do my laundry too.  And wash my windows.  It was great. I learned how to fold my underwear in new ways that I didn’t even dream possible.  Very impressive.  My life will never be the same.

 

 

 

Airport Personnel : Did anyone ask you to carry anything for them in your luggage?

Me :  YES, a  total stranger asked me to carry some cocaine across the border. You don’t mind do you?  They seemed very nice.  Is that a problem?  Oh, and by the way…I took a hit of acid with my Grandma before she dropped me off.

Who the heck ever answers YES to those questions?  Only people who were dropped on their head as a baby.

Dear airport security : Everyone has figured out that they shouldn’t stash a knife in a shoe.  Or spike their water with explosives.

Airport security have something in their mouth.  BULLSHIT.

It is wrong when an old lady catches hell for carrying her knitting needles.  What is she going to do? Knit her way off the plane?  If she could actually hurt someone with those knitting needles, well they deserved it.  They just got beat up by an 80 year old.  Hello.

It is times like THAT, when I want to teleport myself to a luxury hotel.

Like the Greenwich Hotel in TriBeCa, NY.

I luvvvsss me some GREENWICH.  I luvvvvsss me some New York.  DELISH.

I especially love the shit that New Yorkers say :

 

 

My dirty little secret : I’m having a love affair.

With New York. And The Greenwich Hotel .

Last year, my gal pal Norma from My Beautiful Paris somehow bribed me into a trip to NYC for her 40th birthday paaaarty.   She twisted my rubber arm.  Where did she drag my butt to? The GREENWICH HOTEL.  I should have full frontal smooched her for that one.

My mind would be writing a cheque for a kiss that my lips weren’t cashing.

 

 

 

 

It is all Norma’s fault.  I now want to bite the New York city apple EVERY YEAR.  It has become my bad habit.  Well at least my banker thinks so.  I might need to take out a second mortgage to pay for it.  {{ If it weren’t for my panty drawer stash. }}

Shhhhh.

This hotel is worth raiding the panty drawer stash of cash.  I promise.  If you don’t have a stash..get working on it.  Every woman should have a stash.  For rainy days.  And splurges.

 

I dig deep into my panty drawer stash of cash.  I clear out all the coin jars.  I raid all my coat pockets.  I sell our kittens.  I sell our first born child.  JOKES.  About the kittens.

Shut the front door.  This hotel is worth it.  Every last coin jar penny…worth it.

 

P. S. whoooop whooooop

This is not your average hotel.  Robert De Niro owns this hotel. How’s that for a slice of awesome?  Oh my Gawd. Oh my. Oh my. Oh my.  I saw him a few times when we stayed at the Greenwich last December. THREE times to be exactamundo …. I had to pretend that I was NORMAL three freaking times!   The inside of my body was doing the body slam freak out-boogie woogie dance of stupidity.  Thank goodness only I could see the dance inside of me.

The Greenwich is an interior designers dream.  It has 88 rooms and all of them are furnished differently.  How’s that for thinking outside the box?  Amazeballs. Awesome.

What can you find there? (aside from the star studded guests). NOTE:  There is so much fame walking around this hotel it is like a star-gasm.  Every where you look.  A star.  An A-lister. A whatever-lister.  They are there and it is super relaxed and so beyond words of epic-ness ~ I am speechless. Uhm, and doing an internal boogie woogie.

 

NEW YORK + Greenwich Hotel =

H.E.A.V.E.N on earth

 

 

 

What’s there?

• Moroccan tile
• English leather settees
• Tibetan silk rugs
• Swedish beds
• AND sheets that feel DIVINE
• A free mini bar of bliss
• A free candy stash that would blow the mind of any respecting adult with a 12 year old inner child.

 

Just so we are all on the up and up about the Greenwich  ~  you should know that they fill a basket FULL of old fashioned candy. Every~single~day.

 

 

 

 

Even if you stuff the entire bowl of candy contents in your purse for your afternoon city stroll.  I would never do that.  I totally did that.  They fill that puppy back up to the brim.  I thought I was going to lose my mind with candy euphoria.

I stayed in the hotel room for hours smoking my popeye cigarettes and making sour faces with sour peaches.

 

The sugar high was de bomb dot com.

 

Don’t give a crap about candy?  It won’t matter.  Once you walk in the doors of this hotel, you will NEVER want to leave. It feels like HOME SWEET star-gasm HOME.

 

You can be gobsmacked and starry eyed for days looking at big names and stars.

It didn’t end there.  For 2 days…stardom floated in and out of those doors like fairy dust on a 12 year old brain.  It was definitely a star-gasm.

Robert De Niro, Harvey Keitel, Mary Kate Olson ( I think…I can never tell those two sista’s apart) AND Robert Downey Jr…. Be still, my beating heart.

My heart doesn’t just beat it pops up and down like a mouth full of exploding pop rocks.

OK, the truth is…I was actually popping.  The pop rocks that I had stashed in my purse were popping like fireworks in my mouth.

 

 

My NEW YORK CITY  *make my heart skip a beat* GOAL for this week :

Meet Robert De Niro.

My fear :

I will poop my pants.

I would need to do a calm down technique before I would even think about uttering a single word to Robert De Niro.

 

One Mississippi.  Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi.

BREATHE.

 

One Mississippi.  Two mississippi.  Three Mississippi.

SPEAK.

 

 

Dear Robert,

These flowers are for you.  Teehee

 

 

 

 

 

 

In NEW YORK….

Where dreams are made of.

There’s nothing you can’t do.

The streets will make you feel brand new.

The lights will inspire you.