I'm Kiki. You can call him Paco.

This week started on Monday, as weeks tend to do. But it was a different type of Monday. It was an "I just spent a fabulous weekend in New York and now I'm totally refreshed and ready to take on the world" kind of Monday. Thanks to Luke. That was my surprise birthday getaway. New York City. And it was great.

We took the bus from Arlington on Friday morning and it was so easy. Poof! We were in New York, 10 blocks from the Times Square Hilton where we'd spend the next two nights. But I was ravenous and ate my weight in noodles and chicken and broccoli and mushrooms and shrimp and pork at the first Chinese buffet we happened upon. And then the subway - oh the New York subway. Hot, dirty, totally insane. But we emerged triumphant at 96th Street and wandered our way through Central Park, the Met, more of Central Park, and all the way back to our hotel on 42nd street. Where we collapsed into bed and passed out at 8:15 p.m. For a "nap." Some nap. I was physically unable to move for 12 hours. Not kidding. It was glorious.

Saturday we took a tour of a new Hilton property where they tried to convince us that we needed a vacation home. Ha! We need a HOME home first! But they gave us $125 for playing grown up and making a big decision that "No, I'm sorry. That's just not in our budget right now." And then the ticket booth in Times Square. Where we were ushered through a very quickly moving line. I got stage fright and blurted out the first Broadway show I could think of and just like that we had two tickets to see Chicago at 2:30 p.m. from the seventh row of the orchestra. And it rocked.

Dinner for two at a former speakeasy-turned-steakhouse where I had a steak that literally melted. It was amazing...and got even more amazing as I downed my half of a bottle of wine. But our waiter was, well, odd. Our waiter was, like all of the waiters at this particular establishment, an old man in a tuxedo. But he reminded me of a character in an Alfred Hitchcock horror film. Just eerie. But he got my order right and kept my glass full and we escaped with our heads, so I was quite pleased.

After dinner, we wandered around Midtown in search of the United Nations (found!) and got drunk in the process because every time I had the impulse to pee (often), I yanked Luke into first bar we came upon, used their facilities, and then we had one or four drinks. We found a really awesome hole in the wall that way. We proceeded to sit at the bar and drink $3 drafts for the next several hours. (I fear what I revealed to Luke during that series of conversations. But he keeps coming home to me, so I guess it wasn't that treachorous.)

Then we stumbled back to Times Square, sat on the street while an Asian "artist" sketched our caricatures, wandered away with the framed Latin cartoon version of ourselves, and Luke strolled up to a street vendor and stood in a smoky haze while waiting for the MOST un-gyro-est gyro I have ever witnessed to emerge from the embers of the street vendor's cart. Spicy and ridiculously charred meat on a pita. With no cucumber sauce. Disgusting. But he ate it. And I love him. And I'd return to New York City with him any time for a repeat weekend because it was phenomenal.

But NEXT time we're spending more time in Little Italy eating lasagna.