New York ... errr... Philadelphia

I am an idiot... which usually goes without even saying. I am pretty sure it is common knowledge at this point.

But I recently solidified my spot in the Idiot Hall of Fame.

These two nutjobs are just crazy enough to be my friend. (And thankfully, after last week, they still are.)

We planned a Christmas getaway to Manhattan to check out the lights, catch a show and do some shopping.

Since I used to live in New York and would sometimes take the train into the city, I arrogantly said I would be the best person to organize our transportation.

The trip started out beautifully. We had fun on the train. Laughed, told stories, made fun of my new Barbie-colored hot pink lipstick.

At the end of the line, we got off to the train and were ready to catch a cab and rush over to Radio City Music Hall for our 11:00 show. But something didn't look right. At all.

I asked another lady getting off the train if this was a transfer point. We must have to change trains to get to Penn Station, because this most definitely was not Manhattan.

Nope. It was the ghetto of Philadelphia.

Philadelphia????  Great Andrea. You blew it. 

We just wasted an hour and a half on a train ride to friggin' Philly.

We had to take a city bus to a some corner, where we took a dirty cab to another train station, to catch a train back to the original station in New Jersey, where we eventually got on the right train for Manhattan. 

Worst yet, we missed our show. Which had 100% non-refundable or exchangeable tickets. And to make matters worse, my friend had bought the tickets to the show for us as a Christmas gift. I totally just wasted $200 of her money.

I am not an overly emotionally person but I was ready to break down and start crying. One of those really ugly cries where your whole face puffs up, your eyes turn all red and you can't hardly breathe.

But then we found an angel.

Who snuck us into another show later in the day. Watching the show from folding chairs in the back row of the balcony isn't exactly the floor level view we were hoping for. But at least we finally made it.

Once I quit repeating over and over "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I ruined the whole day," we were able to get on with things and we really enjoyed ourselves.

And then we did a little shopping -- street corner style. Which is the perfect place to go Christmas shopping for those sorta-insignificant types on your list. 

Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about.

You're no better than me, you've done the same thing.

But maybe just at Wal-Mart or the Dollar Tree instead of a New York City street corner. We all have those emergency stashes of cheap crap in the event of a forgotten birthday or when someone brings by a Christmas present and you say "oh wait, I've got your gift upstairs, I'll be right back." Uh-huh. That's code for "I'm going to go throw some cheap street corner crap in a bag and pass it off as a gift."

We finally made it to Rockefeller Plaza to check out the big tree.

And do a little photo shoot. The locals could spot us as obnoxious tourists from a mile away.

Then we capped off the day with a carriage ride through Central Park.

With Mr. Hottie Russian as our tour guide and driver.

Well, he was hot until he smiled. And until he admitted that he is 40-something and his wife is 20.