I ran as fast as I could to the 23rd C,E station off 8th Avenue and got there just in time to miss the train. I stood there looking at my watch leaning over the tracks to see if I could make out headlights approaching. Sound familiar? I was late. Like had been all week. I needed a break.

Exhale Spa was my destination. Exhale carries some of the best skin and facial products around. It’s set up like a small boutique, keeping Central Park South and Upper East Side women in shape. I, for one, took a core fusion class that gave me a new outlook on life. But today the business at hand was soothin’ not fusion.

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Since nothing turns me on more than men sticking leeches to their eyeballs and stapling their own butt cheeks together, I thought missing the Jackass Number 2 party would be pure blasphemy. Apparently not. What was tragic was dancing at Crobar amid a bunch of dolled up girls that looked more like clowns than porcelain figurines. Making matters worse, there was a plasma screen that had a doll engulfed in flames. Can you say “Creep me out” 10 times fast?

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I’ve found that my love for New York has quickly spread from Manhattan to Brooklyn. Yes, Brooklyn–that vacation over the bridge and across the river. Brooklyn Heights and DUMBO offer something that Manhattan cannot…space. As much as I love to eat directly next to tourists, pedestrians and dust-scattering cars, I find that my inspiration to be a better person is greater when I don’t have people constantly asking for money or telling others to f$&K off as I eat a $17 Cobb Salad.
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My hips didn’t lie at Quo. By that, I mean I had a great time. The bartenders are friendly the DJ’s wink at you regularly and the bathroom attendant is about the sweetest lady you’ll ever meet. She works on tips, of course, and will kindly ask for your birthday, tell you about your sign, your future, and hand you a paper towel as you head out the door to enjoy the old school music you used to love.

What am I looking for? Ahhh yes…my license, my cell phone and my head, for that matter. Getting to the airport two hours before hand just to dispose of my newly purchased lip gloss and board a plane was EXACTLY what I wanted to do at 5AM Monday morning (dripping in sarcasm). Yet, I board and kindly look around at my new friends I’ll be spending the next 5 hours with.

5 hours, 2 movies, and one life long story (compliments of the cute Filipino couple next to me) and we land in Sunny California. Over the loudspeaker I hear, “The weather is 77 degrees this bright and beautiful morning in LA. Welcome and enjoy your stay.” I think, “Thank you. I will,” and smile.

The Brazilian Girls showed up to play a private show for 474 people at the Canal Room on July 25 at 8PM. I worked the door for the first hour and witnessed human nature at it’s very finest and very worst. I was astonished at what people would actually say and do to get in. One woman complimented my shoes, told me her name and stepped back as I looked over the list. I politely told her that her name was nowhere to be found. She then proceeded to tell me that she owned half of Manhattan, including the club and sidewalk I had been stepping on with my new shoes. She started screaming at the bouncers, telling them she’d have their jobs if this wasn’t fixed immediately.