Bird Sex: in reference to the single bump like mating strategies of birds; used to describe something very short or quick. Origin: Detroit Red Wings.

You’ve heard me bellyache over and over about the hardship of being a single, female, Canadian hockey fan trying to gain access to the land of twenty-four current NHL teams. Women are not real hockey fans, you see, so any hockey related excursions in the US are likely to be malicious drug runs. Thankfully, the US government wasn’t a thorn in my side on this trip to New York. In fact, the border guard I had was sharing stories about the families of NHL players that have passed by his booth, while I furiously tossed names at him trying to guess who they were. This time, however, I was lucky enough to find out what the Canadian government deems suspicious activity, as I was searched for the first time trying to reenter MY own country.

First of all, I knew how suspicious it would look flying to New York City for all of seven hours instead of spending the night. I just didn’t FEEL like spending the night. I’m going to be back there on the 26th anyway! Second of all, the Canadian side of the Queenstown-Lewiston Bridge had all of ONE guard on duty…and it was a chick. You know how I feel about female border guards especially ones with weight control issues and glasses. If you are so insecure about being taken seriously in life and in your job, then get another job/life. But, anyway, it wasn’t just me she was being a snarling, angry, virginal beast to; she was sending every car over for inspection. Everyone was a suspect and all of us were Canadian! Not sure why the Canadians always put the aggressive females on the night shift. Remember the, “WHY ARE YOUR EYES SO GLASSY!” chick last season when I was coming back from Boston? Actually, I do know why, no one else wants to work with them so they get the graveyard shift.

So, why did I opt to go to New York City for all of seven hours? The JetBlue $10 Birthday Sale, of course! On Monday, for one day only, JetBlue was selling select flights in and out of JFK for only $10!! If I was really crazy I would have flown into JFK for $10 then continued on to Florida for another $10, but I wasn’t in the mood for that surprisingly. The $10 flights were only good for travel on March 9th and 10th, so it was a spur of the moment decision. On the plane headed to JFK, the pilot got on the intercom and formerly congratulated everyone who was able to secure a seat at $10. You could tell, however, by the scattered uproar of cheers, that there were several who were not so lucky.

By the time I made it into Manhattan, I only had about an hour and a half to spend roaming around before my dinner reservations at Havana NY. I spent this time divided between the best cheesecake I’ve ever eaten from Magnolia Bakery, a quick jaunt through Central Park, and perusals of both the NHL and NBA stores. Bambi was the one who wanted to go into the NBA store. She had imagined that they would sell a “skanky jersey dress,” and she definitely wanted one of those. As it turns out, said dress only existed in the scandalous recesses of her mind. I actually think she might be switching sports on us. She’s developing an unhealthy preoccupation with Chris Bosh!

Dinner was great! Definitely the best Cuban food I’ve ever had; not like the “Americanized” crap they try to feed you at the all inclusive buffets at the resorts in Cuba! By the way, the last time I was in Cuba, Gretzky was staying at the resort next to mine, and was out playing road hockey from time to time. Anyway, I even had a passion fruit mojito. I’m not a big mojito fan usually, but Michelle insisted they had the best ones around. She was right! I should also say that I was honoured to have been the one to facilitate the meeting between Nick and Michelle for the first time – now my two NYC partners in crime have met at last. Oh, the trouble that will likely ensue!

During dinner, I was still “pouty” because I wanted to go to Warren 77 and the clock was ticking before I needed to get back on a plane! We decided to get the bill and cab it over to Sean Avery’s bar and squeeze in a drink before I needed to leave. We had more shit disturbing-esque reasons for going, but no drama found us there that night – SAD!

Warren 77 is…interesting. Physically it is probably the tiniest bar I have ever seen, and I’m not even sure what to make of the décor. Avery went for the vintage look, which can be cool, if you know how to do it right. I always marvel when I see people walking down the street in wacky thrift clothes that were put together so well that they successfully achieved the iconic look that is so hot right now. It’s hard to do; I definitely can’t pull it off. You can’t just throw a bunch of crap together and hope it works – there’s an art to it. Warren 77 looked kind of like a bunch of crap was dumped inside the place. At one point I wasn’t sure if this look was intended or if they just never bothered to renovate the place. Given how polished and extravagant Sean Avery’s off ice (physical) image is, I guess one wouldn’t expect to find this in his bar.

Warren 77, which I should note, has a very amusing name to me. I was disappointed to learn that Warren 77 is simply the address, as “warren” is the correct term to use when describing a cluster of bunnies (or their puck biting equivalent). Unfortunately, not even seventy-seven puck bunnies could fit down that hole, but that’s not to say that puck bunnies and jock sniffers alike do not flock to it. Warren 77 had the bitchiest wait staff on hand that night. Imagine the most aggressive puck bunny or angry hockey girlfriend you’ve ever seen and put her in a Sean Avery t-shirt. These girls didn’t care about anything other than touch flirting with any guy that walked in wearing a suit. Wonder if Sean hand selected these women himself. As for the patrons of the bar, you got the sense that there were a lot of the player wannabe types in there. These were guys that actually managed to look the part of a hockey player, and likely try to convince unsuspecting females of their hockey occupation while doing the Saturday night bar circuit. If you thought hockey players were bad, wait until you see the front office equivalent. From what I’ve seen, the guys that are generally attracted to a career in sports are the guys who couldn’t handle not making it to the pros or not being athletic, and want all the dirty perks that come with the territory of a career playing for the NHL. These are guys that try to have as many hoes in different area codes as the players do, then end up feeling insecure when the puck bunnies use them to get to the REAL players. Guys who end up single until they are forty, and then decide that they would be willing to settle down with a twenty-two year old simply because the hunt became too difficult. Trust me there is nothing worse than the hockey player wannabe, and that was the vibe I was getting from most of the guys there that night. No thanks.

Sadly, my night ended at Warren 77. I will have to give the place another go when I have more time. The food is apparently really good! Luckily, I had my boarding pass with me already because I had all of seven minutes to spare before getting on the plane. I love airports at night. No one is there to get in your way and make you want to crosscheck the Hell out of them. The plane was pretty empty too, but I was fortunate enough to have the obnoxious unpolished nineteen year old sitting across the aisle from me. How about not taking your shoes off after walking around in leather and no socks all day? I hope she gets a fungus.

On my way out the door that morning, I ransacked my bookshelf looking for something to read on the plane. I came across Bridget Jones’s Diary, a book I received for Christmas the same year the movie came out, and I never bothered to read. I figured it was a nice, light thing to read on a plane, plus, even I like the movie, and I am so anti chick flicks it’s not even funny. During my two fifty minute flights, I managed to plow through more than half of the book. The book reminded me of what I once held as my ideal life. Long before the Arizona Prophecy, and the discovery that my life would be empty without constant adventure, I, too, had that nice notion that being a business woman was the way to go.

Walking down the streets of Manhattan, I was startled by all the good looking young business types with their suits accentuating their “I go jogging before work” physiques. I wasn’t simply startled because there were so many good looking guys (though, living in dog park Toronto that was also a factor), I was startled because they were staring at me! I tried not to look like an idiot looking around to see if there was anyone else around me that they could have been looking at. Of course, then I remembered my last trip to New York for the Coyotes game, and how I was getting marriage proposals on every street corner. It makes me wonder.

Could more than one life path make someone truly happy? Will my adventures end up catching up to me, and causing my star to burn out faster than most? On a shallow and superficial level, it was not hard to picture myself with pretty much any one of those man-things giving me the eyes on 6th Avenue. Though, I should admit that the warm weather was likely a factor – I tend to think a lot more men are good looking in the springtime! Hmm, biology? Anyway, it was easy to see that more conventional life; the career at a successful ad agency, the wine fridge in the condo, and the mundane, “How was work?” dinner conversation. I used to see posters of cartoon yuppies in their black outfits, and sixties inspired hair, and I often wondered if that was what my life was supposed to be like.

As I was leaving my aunt’s house on Monday night, my five year old cousin said in an almost whining tone, “Mommy, Katrina always goes to so many places!” My aunt replied with, “Yes, she has a very fabulous life.” My life, fabulous? Who knew?

Roll the credits…

(Bet you thought I was going with Jay-Z’s Empire State of Mind! No, I think you’ve heard that song enough!)