Day four. We slept in until lunch-ish. Darn that cold room and that warm bed. Or maybe it was the drainy-day before. Or the booze. Nonetheless, we set out for above 59th street, on the Upper East side, for Serendipity 3. I had no idea I’d already known about it – years prior I had watched Marc Summers describe their gold laced sundae, to which, when I pointed it out (was it really $7k? Or $1k?) A+ laughed, and said, “don’t order that”. (I am pretty sure I even accidently blogged about this, but it was their store in Las Vegas… and I was writing a letter to my prince charming overseas… Hmmm…)
We had worked out quite the appetite waiting for what felt like two hours. Afterwards we were escorted into a tightly-fitted little boutique completely run by (I’m pretty sure) were a completely (beautiful) staff of men (who must perform on Broadway and wait on the side to make ends meet). The front story on the menu tells it all, and it all makes so much sense. A handful of characters from around the country/world came together to form a union and business full of pizzazz, flash, old antiques with chiffon and possibly by Tiffany’s or Waterford… A very trendy place that apparently took the area by storm. It reminded me of my old relative’s home, Katherine, cutest and sweetest old lady you’d ever hope to meet; filled with teeny tiny treasures that may or may not include ladies gloves, cats, hats, and all things glam. Lady Gaga could roll around the shelf at this place and make a great outfit.
Everyone around us was clearly there for one thing. The desserts. Check out these ACTUAL SIZED DESSERTS.
I had a sandwich with turkey, apples, alfalfa, and baked bri. It was amazing. Then we split possibly the best pecan pie slice ever, topped with ice cream that was thicker and better than what I’m used to. It tasted great, but it broke my heart that something could possibly be better than Blue Bell. We watched some big guy put away most of this GIANT sundae, that was seriously the equivalent of three softballs. He and his pregnant wife both ordered giant sundaes, and I wondered if maybe they had some “You can’t drink beer until I give birth” agreement between them. Everyone in there who ordered a dessert took a picture of it. They must take baths in opulance, indulgence, and glamour every night (when they’re done with their Chorus Lines…)
It was decidedly so that we absolutely must trek over to Highline Park and walk off the pie. Somehow, in between there, we landed in a huge street sale. It was so fun, like the carnival tents without all the trashy, cheap jewelry. Hundreds of diverse humans, all walking around, all having fun. We totally stopped and laughed at some booth to the effect of “Super Sexy Oldies” which was some old Barry White-sh DJ/Singer and his “Make Love to Yo’ Woman” music. We walk through a couple of blocks of fabulous goods, endlesss lemonade stands, lots of flowy dresses, and very ambiguously, colorly, and fantastic gay older men. I open up my foursquare and laugh to myself that we’re in Chelsea. And that I’m here with an older, clean-shaven, unmarried guy – the perfect stereotype for a gay man? A+ makes a crack that this is a very rainbow-supportive area as we pass a strip club sporting a poster that just happens to look JUST LIKE HIS COWORKER. Dah, if I didn’t hate looking like such a tourist… We should have taken a picture.
Somehow we finally make it over to Highline Park. I was particularly interested in it, as I’d seen a documentary on it. Some do-gooder association in NYC took over this little gem in the Chelsea/Meat packing industry area, transforming old, abandoned railroad tracks, refurbishing it into a very long park that runs through several buildings.
The path itself is split up by several overview areas, boardwalk areas, and photography opps. Oh, this is when my favorite part of the day happened. I was at a park in NYC waiting for the line to the bathroom. Shocker! So after I’m done, I’m pulling up my lacey boy-bottoms and trying to wiggle in my jeans when I hear some dumb idiot say “Is there anyone in there?” as if the entire line had not watched me walk in this stall. I look up to see her push my door open (thanks a lot shoddy public bathroom lock) leaving me exposed with my full-bottomed panties up. Oh, I’m finally taking a stand here. I walk out, look her in the eye, and say “Wow didya think I was having FUN in there??” and walk out with my head held high. Mary 1, idiot woman 0.
We continue to walk through a building that looked like a blue cave. I start to read some signage about a community art project – turns out, this was a sort of belltower. On each minute of the hour, a bell sounded – a different bell from all around the city. Steven Vitiello’s ‘A Bell For Every Minute’ was realllly interesting for me… Here’s a 12 minute video over it, if you really want to know more 😉
It's a frozen hot chocolate. A-MAZE-ING! It's so yummy!