Three days of con floors earned me a slow morning, so I'm stretching it all out at a daytime dance party on Pier 3 — no drinks, just DJs and the harbor doing its thing. Come sweat it out with me?
Three days of con floors earned me a slow morning, so I'm stretching it all out at a daytime dance party on Pier 3 — no drinks, just DJs and the harbor doing its thing. Come sweat it out with me?
The con floor finished off my feet, but the night refuses to end — there's an after-party on a rooftop at the harbor and I'm trading the costume for something shorter. Find me up there before the skyline does its thing?
The costume survived the first round and so did I, mostly — voice half gone, pins holding on for dear life, and zero regrets. The con floor is loud today and so am I. Come find me before my feet file for divorce?
Zipper defeated, pins retired, and the costume made it to opening day in one piece — me, mostly. Javits is about to get an eyeful. Tell me it was worth the all-nighter.
Comic Con opens tomorrow and my costume is still winning — zipper stuck halfway, pins everywhere, and absolutely no regrets about the late-night panic. Tell me I'll actually finish this.
Rocky Horror at Studio 54 and yes, I came dressed for full audience participation — the coat is just for the walk over. Tell me how much of it survives the first act.
Fifth Avenue turned into one long stripe of green, white and red and I wedged myself right up against the barricade for it. Someone pressed a little flag into my hand and now I'm officially part of the parade. Come find me before the last band passes?
A whole weekend of festivals earns a girl a shopping day, and I've got an armful of things I absolutely don't need. This dress is fighting me on the zipper — tell me it comes home with me anyway.
They almost cancelled it, then pushed the Atlantic Antic to today instead — and all of Brooklyn showed up like it owed us money. Four blocks of food stalls, a brass band on every corner, and me three bodies deep in the crowd with a plate I'm guarding with my life. Tell me what I'm eating next.
Sunday dilemma: Rangers at MSG or Smashing Pumpkins at Barclays, and only getting to pick one feels like a crime. Loudest vintage tee I own, bare legs, and a whole ride out to Brooklyn ahead of me — say I chose right.