When KtP and I stormed New York, one of the first things we did was hunt down a Halal cart for a gyro meat and rice platter:
We went to Radio City Music Hall's dance studio and learned from these lovely Rockettes how they form their kickline. And we kicked it. Eye-high (yeah right.) Then they were kind enough to answer our questions. Did you know there's no age limit to being a Rockette?
The Harley-Davidson people made me put on these boots to get ready to ride. So comfy, I wanted to take them home.
In the Expo Hall, Logitech treated me to a manicure with a white nail that started to look like Wite-out to me as the weekend wore on:
That photo was taken at Sparklecorn, which looked like this. DJ Skribble spinning the old school jams:
Sex toys were being handed out like candy necklaces at this conference. Trojan romanced us, and then we went to the BanShe party. Not only did the Evil Slut Clique make the rounds with their magic BJ flavour packs, but I was given this gem, courtesy of this blogger:
I didn't take photos of President Obama's welcoming speech, or Martha Stewart's chat, or that kick-ass fashion show I mentioned, or the great session with these smart and sassy bloggers, or our new friend Tulaura from Brooklyn. And this year I did not get drunk.