Apologies for the hibernation. It’s been way too long and to be completely frank, I can’t stand the thought that I haven’t written anything for a long period of time.

Things that need to be said in order to fill in the blanks that were the last three months? Summer ’09 in Vancity was unforgettable. Skinny dipping. Beaches. Heat wave. An epic 21st birthday. Late nights. Hammocks. Rooftops. Spoiled silly. Every time I think of it I feel like somebody is sacking the balls of my heart. (Yes, my heart has balls.)

Moving on.

the view from the 4th floor of my apt in Soho

I am currently writing to you from my adopted Soho apartment in New York City. The trip here was spontaneous and unexpected — the best way to describe the city itself. Simply two homegirls visiting from Vancity invited me to tag along literally two hours prior to our bus departing Toronto. I will never regret the rash decision to come here, despite the lack of funds to really support this trip. I’m trying to do as many free things as possible, ha. Times Sq, the double decker tours, Statue of Liberty — been there, done that. I detest looking like a tourist, regardless of truly being one. I would rather get lost in Manhattan than to bust out my subway map in the middle of the sidewalk. Tah.

Fire escapes, please lead me to a sexy shirtless neighbor.

Man, New Yorkers, you people are livin’ the dream. I walked around my neighborhood last night and every single block was alive. Day time cafe’s turned into eclectic bars by night — people of all shapes, colors, sizes and smells. And it ain’t bad lookin’ either! People are fresh to death here. My eyes are constantly averting from one person to the next, and the thing that gets me, is how confident people rock their shit here. It’s not about what they’re actually adorned in, it’s the aura they exude and the energy they emit that makes you look extra long and extra hard. It’s f*ckin’ hot.

Men here are so forward. I almost don’t know how to take it. It’s one thing to holler at a chick, but damn, the men of New York do it with such suave and taste that I am nearly falling for it — even if they’re significantly older or wearing the wrong shoes! This one man asked me to stop in the middle of Little Italy while he was seated with another couple enjoying dinner on a restaurant patio. He then gave me a rose and him and his friend asked me to join them for a beer or straight vodka. If he wasn’t like, oh you know, 38 years old, I might’ve said yes! I also enjoyed the other gentlemen who had called me “Miss” and instead of advancing towards me with cheesy hollerations, they decided to take interest in my giant camera bag and monopod. I KNEW T.I. and Sisqo (the names of my cameras) would get me mad game. Lol.

the video rental down the block that boasts a collection of every movie your heart desires

Surprisingly, New Yorkers, although residing in the country of America, making them Americans, are quite friendly and approachable. TV just makes them all look like they’re a bunch of money schemers or hard as f*ck. Quite possibly it could also be my Canadian kindness softening their hearts. Either way, I ain’t hatin.

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Avedon's exhibit at the ICP

I paid a visit to the International Centre of Photography in Midtown yesterday. The exhibit was on the legendary fashion photographer Richard Avedon — much of his work in Harper’s Bazaar and Vogue, using acclaimed super models such as Twiggy, Suzy Parker, Penelope Tree, Sunny Harnett, and my favorite, China Machado. He captured these beautiful women in garments and dresses by all the Greats — Chanel, Dior, Gaultier. Avedon’s work dates back 60 years, revolutionizing the face and content of fashion magazines. He raised eyebrows with his controversial photos — some quite provocative, some very political, and some, intelligibly never been done. I was enamored by every single photograph. Avedon said something that tickled me to the core: “Dress designers lent me textures, shapes, patterns that became the ally of my true work, which was always about women – what was going on beneath their clothes, beneath their hats. In their heads.” If you are in the area within the next month or two, I strongly suggest you pay your $12 dollars and prepare to get schooled. Beautifully.

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I was hanging out in Bryant Park earlier this afternoon and it was like my ears were bewitched by the Pied Piper. Except it wasn’t the Pied Piper, and I wasn’t a friggin squirrel, but it was KJ Denhert, a local urban folk and jazz artist. First of all, Bryant Park is ill. Open green behind the downtown library where mainly business folk, but all people in general, like to congregate, have a sandwich from be*wich’d, or

KJ's saxist Aaaron Heick, straight killin' it.

grab a brew from the outdoor bar. I noticed a large crowd seated by the water fountain, all being charmed by this woman and her extremely talented band. Her ending song which is her latest single was what got me right behind the trunk of CD’s throwin’ down my ugly ass american twenty for two of her albums.

“Choose Your Weapon”

Choose your weapon choose your weapon

Or war will choose a gun for everyone

Choose your weapon choose your weapon

Or war will choose a gun for your son.

Your weapon could be a microphone or the power of the pen

Your weapon could be the cheque that you write to the brotherhood of men

Your weapon could be your intellect use it.

I wasn't really reading it. Just posing for the camera. Nobody saw me "tourist-ing."

This song is unsearchable. If you want to hear it, I’ll invite you over for a listening party as long as you bring the wine. It will be on repeat all night long, I promise you that.

This post is long. Much like my hiatus. Hope it makes up for all your questioning and curious minds, eager to know about the life that I embellish to sound more interesting than it actually is. (I’m joking. My life is actually pretty friggin’ interesting.)

I’ve spoken my piece.

Peace. From NYC.