Good thing I got a raise so I can afford that $700 slice of pizza

Hup & I went to New York City this past weekend. Some people asked if we went to celebrate my new job, or to celebrate our anniversary (4 years this month!), but the real reason we went is because it was the first time I had two days off in a row in almost a year and I wanted to take advantage of it!

We stayed at an awesome little hotel right in Times Square, which was surprisingly nice for the price. Our hotel was right across the street from the Ambassador Theatre where we saw "Chicago". It was my 3rd time seeing that show on stage, plus I saw the movie twice. I might be nearing the overkill point, but it was still entertaining. We ate $20 sandwiches at the Stage Deli, rode a double decker tour bus around Manhattan, and visited Madame Tussaud's wax museum where I made a complete fool of myself. They had this haunted house type exhibit based on the movie "House of Wax" (starring the talentless Paris Hilton). I get really, REALLY scared at shit like this, but the tickets were so damn expensive that I wasn't going to skip it. So we're walking through, and people are jumping out of dark corners, or opening up hidden doors and reaching out pretending to grab you. I was walking right behind hup with my face buried in his back and both of my hands shielding the sides of my face so I wouldn't even see anything in my peripheral vision. Anytime I heard any movement, I screamed. My overdramatic display probably came across like I was mocking the exhibit, but I was really that scared. Then one guy, who I didn't see at all, but was obviously part of the experience came right up behind me and started going "sh! sh!" right in my ear. I was literally cringing and screaming and pushing hup to go forward and probably screaming something like, "Oh my god I'm going to die!" It was bad. To top it off, I was bawling crying too. Now picture this for a moment: I look like a total tourist, wearing my sneakers and my backpack and my purse slung diagonally across my body. AND I'm 28 years old, and look as dumpy as can be with my hair in a pony tail and my smudgy glasses streaked with tears. All of a sudden we emerged from the chamber of terror, and I'm still sobbing and trying to catch my breath, but now we're smack in the middle of the Paris Hilton room, complete with pre-teen girls taking their picture next to Paris and giggling with delight over how "fun" the House of Wax tour was. Not one of my proudest moments.

Other than the wax museum, we didn't see any real celebrities, or see any filming going on anywhere. But we DID have the best pizza ever, and isn't that the real reason people go to New York?