New York Power Trip

Here I am, just in case you thought I fell off a cliff like some wicked witch in a Disney film, never to be heard from again. Actually, I j...


Here I am, just in case you thought I fell off a cliff like some wicked witch in a Disney film, never to be heard from again. Actually, I just moved into my first apartment and have been sitting on my hardwood floor, nervously munching on Kashi crackers and sucking on sugar-free Fudgesicles while waiting for the rest of my furniture...and my high speed Internet connection.

In the meantime, I've been scouring Manhattan for a part-time office job to help pay my $150 organic food bill, and not to mention, my rent. Two days ago, I headed to Midtown for (dun dun dun...) an interview.

After a five-minute interrogation by a security guard who practically made me late for my appointment, I ran to the elevator. In a fifteen second gasp from the first to the seventeenth floor, I tried to pull a Clark Kent, but my transformation to Supervamp didn't happen in a flash; I kicked off my running sneakers and socks, wiggled my icy feet into my black stilettos, slid into the corner and smacked the ground like Jill in that damn nursery rhyme. Of course, instead of tumbling down a hill onto some schmuck named Jack, I landed on my grungy, wet pair of Nike Shox. Even better.


Nobody saw my derriere hit the floor--except, probably, the somnolent watchmen, at that point wide awake and in stitches, watching me from fuzzy, black-and-white screens somewhere in that gargantuan Seventh Avenue building. In three seconds, I got up, dusted the street crumbs off my butt, re-applied my lip gloss and strutted to the office. I felt more powerful than ever (now if only I get that job...).

The empowered feeling fizzled when I got home and tripped--again--over the pair of red shoes I'd previously flung near my door.


Holly

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...BUT AT LEAST MY HAIR STILL LOOKS GREAT!
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