Me. Times Square. Love at first sight.

I did it.

I went to New York City and I looked like an idiot tourist who gawked at the big and the shiny and the people - oh, the people! - in their fancy clothes and their ugly clothes they think are fancy and their weird little dogs making weird little poops that are scooped up in bags as fancy as the designer doggy sweaters they're sporting.

Not that I paid much attention or anything.

It was a magical city and a magical trip. Every now and then I'd stop, look around The City That Never Sleeps, and remember that the reason I was there is all because I wrote a dirty blog post about bacon one day when I was bored.

A blog post.

About bacon.

You never know where life is going to lead you, folks. Now I'm published in an anthology that is sitting on my shelf (two copies, actually.) Because of bacon. Thank you, delicious pigs.

The fundraiser was fun, the company was great, our hosts were incredible, and my road trip buddy had the pleasure of doubling as my therapist while stuck in my car with me for 8 hours each way. That's what you get when you don't pay for gas, Robyn. Even if the driver insists on paying, everybody pays in the end.

But Robyn got me back in spades on the way home, because she insisted we go to a Cracker Barrel restaurant. She said, "Oh, you have to go Cracker Barrel, Maven. It's not America until you go to Cracker Barrel!" Which seemed odd to me, because I've been stateside a few times without visiting that particular chain and it was still considered an international trip. But I blindly followed her, because that's what friends do. We follow: off a bridge, into a crack house, into a Cracker Barrel.

I can't recall what tipped me off first that this was passive aggressive backlash for all the negative self-talk I had done in the car: The rows of rocking chairs lining the porch, or the six handicapped parking spaces in front, filled with Cadillacs and pickup trucks. By the time we entered the country store thingy that leads into the restaurant, I knew I had been duped.

But I was starving, and the food was delicious. I say that meaningfully, because having to listen to endless country songs about daddy cleaning his gun before his daughter's boyfriend comes calling would normally be nauseating enough to turn me off food completely.

And the guns on the wall? And the taxidermic hunting trophies? And the fact that we were at least three decades younger than any other diner there and everybody was staring at us like we were newborns? Robyn's self-satisfied smirk grew wider as my eyes darted around the room.

I made sure to talk about my inner child for a good hour after that. And play a lot of Ke$ha. And sing along. Loudly.

I feel like a grew as a person on that trip professionally, emotionally and calorically. I really enjoyed having some time to be The Maven and not The Mom. I needed the break so badly. I needed to realize - truly realize - that I'm a writer, and that it's okay to own that, love that, and take myself seriously.

And nothing says "serious" like reading pork smut in a SoHo gallery. Especially when I passionately yelled " FEED ME YOUR LONG, HARD STRIP!" to a room full of strangers.

You know, for my art.

Oh, and did I mention we had an offer on our house and the septic inspection was being done that same weekend?

It failed - miserably.

So while I was galavanting in the Big Apple, Geekster was home with four kids (ours plus a sleepover), negotiating with the prospective buyers, the agents, and hoping the sale didn't fall through completely. The man is a hero.

Good news: our house is officially sold! This is great, because apparently I've been so stressed out that I've ground the fillings right out of several of my teeth while sleeping. True story. The damage is so bad that the dental hygienist had to take new x-rays to reflect the "changes" in my mouth over the last couple of months. I can hardly eat anything - certainly nothing hot, cold or crunchy - and if I don't get these fixed soon I'm going to be more like my elderly Cracker Barrel companions than I'm comfortable with, what with the jar and the teeth and the Polident and shit.

But hey, if all goes well with financing and inspections this week, we'll have bought an adorable little house in Kanata! I'm trying not to clench my jaw in anticipation, and will update later. For now, here are some of the pictures I took in NYC with my newbie eyes and my camera bag and my ooh-shiny face.

SoHo cobblestones. I literally crouched down in the middle of the street to take this. I'm willing to die for my craft. I'm all National Geographic and shit.

The Freedom Tower. I admit to some tears when I saw it. Happy and sad ones.

Beautiful SoHo. We visited many galleries and bought nothing. Except cookies. I bought cookies.

Empire State of Mind.

You know those movies in NYC where steam is rising from the manholes? THAT. So awesome.

Tesla was a badass inventor. I love that he has his own corner. Also hoping he never had to stand on it to fund his experiments. Inventors need to get paid better. Just sayin'.