New York can be pretty weird. A lot of people are kinda cool and hip and well dressed in a slick sort of way. The others are just weird. Case in point, the fellow in the above picture selling typewritten stories hammered out on tiny paper on an actual typewriter.
Someone at Blogher told me that they thought I was a New Yorker. First I thought it was my skill at hailing a cab. Then, I figured it was my impeccable style. But, after a while I realized that it was because I’m inundated with crazy. Kookoo like cocoa puffs, loony toons in my life.
For example, I was standing at the Eden Fantasy’s booth at Blogher12. Since I’m naive, I wasn’t really sure what Eden Fantasy is (that’s the story and I’ll stick to it.) I saw that they had a jug of what looked like purple silicone earrings. I thought they looked nice, so I waited my turn to speak to the rep. My friend Randi whispered,
Those are vibrating cock rings. You want one?
Sure. Why not. It’s free.
Then, the woman next to me asked,
Excuse me. Do those come in extra large?
She looked at me and shrugged her shoulders.
Sorry. She said with a wink.
What are you sorry for? How do you know I don’t need extra extra large cock rings? Multiple ones.
The Eden Fantasy woman picked one up and pulled on it.
No, they are one size. But, see? They stretch really big. But, congratulations.
And she winked.
AWKWARD. And, haven’t they heard? It’s not the size that matters, it’s….
I asked for extra-small. Because I don’t like big earrings.
Also spotted as crazy in New York City (or maybe as normal. I don’t get out much)
A very old, very skinny bald man on a bicycle wearing an apple green string bikini. (dang I wish I snapped that)
Four guys dressed like Julius Caesar standing in the middle of Times Square smoking.
A huge crowd of people (like thousands), including barricades and New York’s finest, waiting for Ricky Martin to exit the Disney Store across from The Lion King. (You don’t really need a picture of Ricky Martin do you? I tried, but a) I’m too short and b) his pants were too shiny for my flash).
My camera, which accidentally took this picture when I was at a party
And this one when I was just.. ummm.. holding it.
And then there was the near miss at customs. I’ve travelled a few times in my life, and so I should know how to fill out a Canada Customs form. I did some shopping on the Lower East Side and Soho (remind me to tell you about the two people who styled me by just looking), plus I had all the Blogher swag. I claimed ‘everything’ on my card (that I ‘had’ receipts for).
I came up to my turn at Customs and the nice man says,
You forgot to fill in your address.
He handed me and pen and I filled in the missing information.
Then, he asked me what I bought and I told him and he said OK and wrote on my card. When I handed it in at the exit, the woman pointed in the wrong direction and said,
Go to Line #1.
I mentally screeched!
Shit. I don’t want to get searched. I didn’t even lie (ish), and I don’t feel like emptying out my bags all over their search table.
Translate: I didn’t want them to pull out the three Trojan Vibrators, the dolphin and the cock ring that were in my suitcase.
I stood in line with my husband for way too many squirmy minutes. The Customs searcher asked me what I was doing in New York. I said I was at a blogging conference, and as usual, he was fascinated (what is the allure with blogging? It’s not like being an Olympic swimmer . Look at my blogger butt to confirm.)
Then, he asked,
You just went for the day?
Ah, no. I was gone all week. It says right there.
And I pointed to my card where I had written down August 7, 2012. That day. Not the day that I had left, which was August 1.
Well, that’s why you’re here.
And he started laughing at me and waved at us to go.
I yelled over my shoulder,
Don’t you want to inspect my cock ring? (Well, no I didn’t, but wouldn’t that have been funny?)
It was my husband’s fault.
And he called back,
Isn’t it always?
Don’t you love dodging a bullet? Also, that was a mean way for the first customs guy to teach me a lesson.
What’s the funniest thing that happened to you on a vacation?