So, where was I?

The first day/night dayish in NYC set a perfect tone for the remainder of the trip. That first bit was all Wednesday, from 4:58 am until 1:00 am on Thursday (according to the taxi receipt). Having left San Diego on the redeye Tuesday night, a mere 72 hours after 60 whole minutes had been viciously stolen from me during the night by Daylight Savings Time, I was in a bit of a state on Thursday morning. I woke to find enthusiastic emails from my family, anxious to hear how my trip was going. In response to Ellie's adorable: "This is such an exciting day!" I replied: "I might puke."

I found salvation in a strategic strike through Duane Reed. I bought: pop chips, carmex, a 16 oz coke, peppermint altoids, and a bottle of tums. I was saved! There was no room for error, people. It was Hedwig day!

The conference was great, I had a delicious nap, went to Brooklyn for a little while, then hot stepped it uptown to meet my gorgeous sisters in Times Square. It was time.

You know how sometimes you build something up so much in your mind that it can't possibly live up to the unrealistic nature of your expectations?

Me either.

There's a fine line between fangirl and stalker. Let's just say that I danced upon that line. Not pictured, autographed cast page. I have pride. (no I don't).

Ah, Hedwig.

The next morning, I had a break in the conference proceedings AND I had a super hot chick in my hotel room, so we took it upon ourselves to walk to Chinatown. Having endured more than several missteps in my navigation skillz thus far, I sat back (while walking?) and let Ellie lead the parade.

First we made our way down the block to visit the site of the World Trade Center.

It's beautiful and awful and heavy. I think it is exactly as it should be and exactly how it never should have been. 

We spent some time there, and then we moved on. That's what we do, right? Right. We walk to Chinatown. 

Where happiness can be found in the form of a soup dumpling

Some might say we were bursting with love and joy. Deluxe. 

Many, many hours later, after my afternoon conference and a hilariously dysfunctional night with Kelly on the upper west side, Ellie and I found ourselves walking back to the hotel, back past ground zero.

The scorched metal, bent in impossible angles. Impossible. Art from the ashes.

Oh God, and then it was morning again. And it was raining. I had to pack up my rolly bag and go out in the rain. The horror! The injustice! Ellie was lying there in the lovely bed acting like it wasn't pure bliss. Har-fucking-umph, man. I trudged through the downpour with my stupid broken rolly bag and not-umbrella, and charged into the conference room resigned to soldier through. I noted the good smell of coffee in the room and looked to the refreshment table to see what was what. I saw orange juice, and thought that actually sounded pretty good. I parked my rolly, unbuttoned my wet coat, and headed over. 

Cue angel choir

I survived. 

And then, after swiping from all four corners of the box lunch set up, I headed up to Grand Central to be reunited with my peeps. 

This is a place I am always pleased to find myself. 

And here's where I will tell you, I was going to go ahead and finish up the East Coast leg of Jacquie's Excellent March Forth Adventure. But alas, I shall not. Because the Connecticut part was just too good, and there are too many truly awful photos of me and Mark Dowd to not dedicate an entire post to that last 24 hours. 

So, next stop:Connecticut!