Ok so, I am here.

In New York City.

It’s super big and kinda smells like pee.

And meth.

I’m not gonna lie, I got into my hotel, took off my bra, and spent the next 30 minutes sitting in the bathtub begging my husband to come get me on the phone.  Like, fucking now, OMG, I watch Law & Order, and this shit never ends well.   People die.  And, they have to solve the crime by rifling through my underwear, and none of that shit is hot anymore.  It’s big.  And the elastic is all stringy.  And they smell like the pizza I ate earlier while sitting on the bed watching Cash Cab.

My legacy can’t be oily, gigantic underwear.

It’s being the world’s best competitive fruit roll up eater.

Because the Chinese can’t win at everything.

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