I threw the sheets in the laundry, while I packed this morning.
Robert arrived at about 9:30, and we made the bed with the nice clean sheets.
Steve arrived just after 10:15, and we left for the airport.
Checking in, getting through security, and our flight to Newark were all uneventful. There was no man sitting across from us wearing two wrist watches from whom we could ask, “Excuse us. Could you tell us the timeses?”
We took a cab into the city, during which we were subjected to a self-help recording. It was something to the effect, “You have the power to choose how you are going to react to something.” I decided to not choose “annoyed” as my reaction to this choice of entertainment for a $48 ride into the Big Apple.
We were deposited on the front stoop of: 
We were escorted to the “James Garner” room, in which a number of theatrical posters of James Garner movies of yesteryear were framed, and hanging on the walls. There was a James Garner “star” on the door, too.
Being the southerners, and somewhat full-figure girls that we are, we would have preferred the AC had been a little bit of a bigger unit, but at least we had one. And it ended up being fine after we’d cooled down, and perfectly adequate overnight.
After unpacking, we took a walk to look for a place to eat, and ended up at Benny’s Burritos.
Steve had a killer raspberry margarita that he loved — personally I don’t like raspberry or tequila, so the taste I had of it didn’t impress me. I had a Corona Light.
We both ordered a Crispy Chicken Wrap with Cajun Fries. I loved it. It was on the spicy side, but we had already prepared our palates for that with the free spicy salsa that came with the tortilla chips as an appetizer.
Back at the room, Steve showered, and we changed to go uptown to try and get discount tickets to The Producers.
I asked the guy at the front desk if we could take the blue line all the way up to Times Square. “Not the blue line,” he said, “the A train. Don’t ever use the color. Call it by the number or letter.”
At the subway station, which was about 100 feet from our place, we purchased a week-long pass for $24.00.
The Inn, here, had a discount program, in which you just brought a printout with you to the theater box offices for discounted seats. They’re a little more than what you can get at the TKTS booth in Times Square, but you don’t have to stand in any lines.
So instead of seeing the show for $100 or $50 from TKTS, we paid:
Steve had a little arrhythmia episode on the subway, while purchasing the tickets at the box office, and while standing in line at the St. James Theater. It subsided once we got inside the well-air conditioned theater.
While in line to get a soft drink before the show, Steve overhead the British woman in front of him ask, “Do you have something savory that isn’t chocolate?”
At one point we heard a lady in the row behind us trying to get back to her seat, “Excuse me. Excuse me,” she said as she crossed in front of people in her row. After she passed by, one of the rather full-figured ladies behind us said, “Ooooh. She was so thin I didn’t even feel her go by.”
Our seats were in the 11th row, which, if you know anything about the alphabet, and actually took the time to study our ticket, you would have already figured out. But who’s as interested in my life as I am?
We were very pleased with our “discounted” seats, and we both loved the show. There were two, relatively prominent, gay characters in the show and tons of “gay” references and “scenes.” It was a lot of fun.
After the show, we returned to the room where I dropped off my phone and Playbill, and then we headed back to the subway. We took the “L” train, which when I called it the “gray line,” the guy at the front desk said, “Not the gray line, the L train.” This distinction seemed very important to him.
We were looking for a place called “The Nowhere Bar,” which turned out to be “the nowhere-to-be-found bar.” In other words, we did not get to nowhere fast.
We’d been told it was on the corner of 14th and 3rd, but after traveling far enough down each of the four streets at that intersection, and not finding it, we decided to take our asses to a Somewhere Else Bar.
We took the gray line back to the blue line, and then transfered onto the red line to go to the Village. I felt so dirty thinking about all the colors in my head, when I know darn well I should have been thinking about numbers and letters. So sue me.
We stopped in the historical Stonewall Inn, but there were literally two people in the bar besides the bartenders.
We left there, and walked past a cabaret bar, but Steve said it was too crowded, and didn’t want to go in there.
We didn’t have any maps or publications with us, so instead of meandering around the Village looking for bars, we decided to call it a (first) night (in New York City).