As I was walking past the courthouse after work yesterday, the big pink hippo party truck outside caught my attention. I noticed the red lights and letters across the front and tried to figure out what kind of event was going on, but I just couldn’t comprehend what was being spelled out.
Eventually, I realized it was supposed to say Vanity Fair, but um, it doesn’t. Hmm?
Guess who isn’t filling out the census. Everyone in my neighborhood!
And Colbert did a segment about it:
Isn’t irony adorable?
NYC winters are so depressing, as I may have melodramatically mentioned before, that I think you can physically feel the weight lifting when it gets above 50 degrees. To celebrate being able to wear hoodies instead of parkas, I’ve been taking off down unfamiliar streets after work every day and walking until I miss my TV too much and have to hop on the subway to get home as fast as possible.
It’s so nice to see places I wouldn’t otherwise have reason to and to not care how slow the tourists in front of me are walking when I get up to City Hall or Chinatown. And when I stopped to take this photo, a man in a suit coming out of one of the judicial buildings passed by and said, “Isn’t that magnificent?! I took a picture of it just yesterday.” BFFs!
The only problem is that I keep seeing all of these happy couples out walking through the parks and holding hands, and I have to remind myself that Kamran will be graduating from law school in a year and will be so powerful and important that he’ll be able to leave work every day at 3 p.m. to come pick me up for all of the wandering and Staten Island Ferry rides I can handle.
Of course, they don’t know this, so I have to take out my cellphone and say things like “no, I love you more” to the nonexistent person on the other end to prove my happiness.
If I could sum New York City up in one photo, this would be it:
It’s the most nondescript café: “a scoop of cottage cheese” on the menu, a few food inspection violations every year, a single review on urbanspoon.com. And yet, you’ll notice that their sign says:
I’ll bet.
Dear makers of Booty Pop padded underwear,
I feel that I would be remiss in my duties to my loyal readers if I didn’t try your product and post a detailed review here. You know what it was that won me over? The fact that your sizes are listed as Extra Sweet, Sweet, Sweeter, Sweetest, and Super-Sweet.
My boyfriend and I are concerned, based on the commercial, that Booty Pop will make my already-perfect assets look unnatural, but I’m willing to give them a try. You know, in the name of science.
Booty-lovingly yours,
Katie
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