UPDATE: since being linked by Gawker, I seem to have been called out in the comments for saying the Inferno is the third part. I am well aware that it is actually the first part, but a comination of my poor writing skills with the fact that I had 4 glasses of wine when I wrote this, changes nothing at all. I am, and always will be, the dumbest person that ever lived. Anyways, please continue reading.
As much as I would like to make everyone as smart as my by turning this blog into a platform for all of my teachings, that is not my original intention of this post. No, my intention is to inform those of you who do not live in New York about our own little circles of hell...in no particular order.
- Times Square - ah, the land of sensible walking shoes and fanny packs. A place where you are not allowed to watch where you are going, but to stare aimlessly up at all the pretty lights while feasting on Bubba Gump Shrimp waiting for your 7pm show of Phantom of the Opera to Start. You gotta get your New York culture somewhere, right?
- The World Trade Center site - I understand the draw to this. Everyone has a morbid curiosity. It does not make you a bad person. People all over the world want to feel some kind of connection to that day. What does make you a bad person is when you stand in front of the huge gaping hole in the middle of the ground where 2000+ people died with your arm around your wife smiling like it's fucking Disneyland.
- Canal St - There comes a point when you're walking in New York, and the putrid smell in your nose goes from hot garbage to dirty pussy. You know you're getting close to Chinatown then which means you're getting close to Canal St. Ahhh, Canal St. Where you are bombarded with questions of "Louis? Louis? Coach? Prada?" Where else can you get a Superman belt buckle right above a Tiffany knockoff? The sheer number of people per square foot in this area is enough to make me break out in hives. Oh yeah, and if I'm carrying around a Louis Vuitton purse, it's going to be real. Nothing is worse than taking out your bag, carrying it around, and realizing it says 'LW' rather than 'LV'.
- 5th Avenue/W 57th - a virtual clusterfuck of tourist attractions. The ironic thing is most people couldn't afford any store on this strip with the exception of the Triple level Gap, and maybe a sterling silver Jap tag at Tiffany's. Oh, not to mention I've almost been run over 60.454234 times by those fucking horse and buggies. I mean really, get off your fat ass and walk around Central Park. This will avoid the problem of me running in HORSE SHIT.
- w 27th st/Meatpacking district - where the guidos go to mate. You may have heard about such 'trendy' clubs as Marquee, Bungalow 8, Stereo, the Gansevoort rooftop bar in US Weekly. Fuck all that shit. I am not going anywhere that requires me to show my tits to a bouncer with a rap who will most likely shove me in a suitcase then remove my uterus with a knife and place it over his dick and/or pay $400+ for a bottle of vodka I can get on my corner liquor store for $30 just so I can talk to a guy wearing a pink shirt buttoned only halfway to show off his glistening, newly waxed pecs.
- South St. Seaport - I'm not really sure why this is so crowded considering the stores here are the same ones that are virtually all over the country. It's like, "oh sweet! a J Crew! An Ann Taylor! Fucking SCORE!"
- Lincoln Tunnel - the means by which all the Jerseyites go home.
- Macy's - yeah, well, we all know why I may not like Macy's. BUT a combination of Madison Square Garden/Penn Station/Macy's all within one block of each other make that area about as attractive as getting fucked by a dick covered in razor blades. It's fucking Macy's people. They're EVERYWHERE. AND THE STORE SUCKS TOO.
The DSW in Union Square.
Of course like any lady I never feel like I have enough shoes. Why I felt the need to walk down to DSW on the first really warm day of the year this weekend is beyond me. I want everyone to imagine the most crowded store in their respective city/state and multiply it time 1 billion and you can almost grasp the number of people in this store. At one point, there was a fight between two women over a pair of zebra print flats in the sale section. I nearly had to tuck and roll to avoid being impaled by a pump. I really thought they were going to kill each other, and over a shoe no less. They had to bring in security to help decide who had claim over the shoe. Sure, people are killing each other all over the world, or even at our own universities, but that all comes second to that killer deal of a shoe that matches that new Coach bag you bought on Canal St. so you can go to dinner at the Hard Rock Cafe.