GR -> DTW -> DCA -> LGA

It really didn’t sink in until I was flying in from DC to LaGuardia. The second I saw the New York skyline, which snaked for miles and miles along the waterfront, I smiled for the first time in what seemed like forever. I don’t think I’ve been this happy since I had flown to Rome two years prior. Everyone else on the plane seemed to have no reaction at all. I assumed everyone had been to New York before. I didn’t mind being the obvious first timer tourist. In fact, I basked in it. I wanted someone to see how happy I was. This was big time for me – in just a few days I would be at New York Fashion Week a few feet from the runway. I wanted to scream it out loud.

Be humble, I remember thinking.

I had to keep reminding myself in my $45 Lyft that I was here for work (mostly). I had the first day and the last two days as my pleasure days — the tourist days. My boss wouldn’t be there until the second day and I had a hotel room all to myself three blocks away from Times Square. How much was it, you ask? 49 freaking dollars. How did I get it? My employee discount from working at Marriott, which unfortunately I will no longer have since I quit just a few days prior to writing this post.

I just realized that I’m halfway through the 500 word count limit. I just added PT. 1 to the title. Will I continue this thrilling saga? Only time (and grades) will tell.

I decided to keep it easy on my first day. I checked into my $49 hotel room and I was shocked to discover that my room featured a stove top, dish washer, plates, cutlery, and a microwave. It was a mini studio apartment basically! I immediately fell into a daydream about living here for the rest of my 20s. The roof even had a patio with a grill – granted I’ve never grilled a thing in my life, but this trip definitely had me curious to buy a steak and try grilling it for the hell of it. Spoiler alert: that didn’t happen. Instead, I lounged in my room and headed straight to the gay bars.

It was a Tuesday so the bars weren’t crazy busy. I went to a bar called Boxers, which was a gay sports bar. I walked in expecting to see a bunch of muscle jocks and b-ball bears but it was a mixed crowd for the most part. The US Open was playing on all the big screens and the gays were, understandably, crazy for Serena. I turned to the guy sitting next to me at the bar and asked him if he always carried lotion to the bar with him, as it was sitting next to his vodka cranberry. We carried on a conversation, he gave me tips as to where I should go next, and we went our separate ways. I never got his name.

The next bar I went to was called Gym Bar, which was equally as much of a sports bar but had a bigger crowd. By this time I was already over the bar scene – I’m not a night owl and I don’t like going out by myself. Long story short, I drank my Jack and diet and had a pleasant conversation with a guy who was totally my type. He wanted to continue the conversation at his place (“On a Tuesday night? Don’t you have work?” I slurred), but instead I gave him a G-rated goodbye hug and walked the mile back to my hotel.

Alright, this post is long enough. Maybe I’ll make a part II, perhaps not. I’ll let the fans decide.

-Matt