new york – GO HERE. DO THIS. EAT THAT.

If you live in Manhattan, you probably do not own a car. I actually have never owned a car in my entire life. I mean, yes, in high school my dad let me use his car to drive to school and to my awesome minimum wage job…at the mall…where I made, baked and sold Cinnabons. And yes, there is half a stick of butter in each one. And no, that doesn’t include the buttery sugar glaze that you pour on top of the right-out-of-the-oven Cinnabon.

Where was I? Right, right, I have never owned a car. However, I rent cars all the time. Last weekend I got suckered with this baby. Texas plates and all.

As a proud New Yorker, it hurts me to drive a red car with Texas plates, but as a typical New Yorker, I didn’t even notice the Texas plates until an hour before I had to return the car so I was completely unfazed by all the dubious looks and unwarranted honks I was getting from suspicious New Yorkers. (confession: the honks may have been warranted)

In honor of Sunday-Funday my friend and I took that little red car and went on a much needed mini-road trip to Greenport, NY in North Fork, Long Island. North Fork is known for it’s many many wineries, it’s farms, and it’s quaint beach towns.

What no one told us is that Greeport in winter was about as exciting as…well…as exciting as a beach town in winter.

Although on our walk through the eerily vacant town we did stumble on some glorious gifts and fabulous furnishings. And most unique gifts.

And this old school house…which was, of course, closed.

But this…this was the Piece de Resistance. Just hanging out. In a window display. For sale. If someone would have just opened up the shop this guy would have been mine.

Is this man a pirate? Is that a sawed off shotgun? Did they have sawed off shotguns in pirate times? I will never know because this store, like very other store, was CLOSED.

We decided to explore a bit more and stumbled on this antique carousel and there were actually, like, two people there! Two people and really really creepy horses who look to be in a lot of pain.

We attempted to walk around some more but Winter was being an absolute jerk. He’s like that last guest at the party that will just not leave. Go home, Winter, go home. It’s time.

We jumped back in our rented ride and headed toward home, but of course we had to stop at a few wineries along the way. We stumbled upon one that looked pretty nice so we pulled in expecting a quiet, sophisticated atmosphere.

Instead we found THE ENTIRE TOWN.

Maybe this is my kind of town? A winery as your church? I could totally get into that kind of worship.

We had to rip ourselves away and head home before dark because neither of us are particularly good drivers, and don’t even get me started on the whole night vision (or lack thereof) thing.

But then we saw a highway sign that said, “AMITTYVILLE”. And I’m not one to ignore signs. So we turned off toward Amittyville in search of “The Amittyville Horror House“.

My friend looked up the address and plugged it into her phone…but her phone kept deleting the address. Every. Single. Time! The iPhone did NOT want us to go to this house. The closer we got, the less cooperative her phone became. So I plugged it into my phone and my phone didn’t seem to have an issue with going to the house. Probably because my phone has seen way worse things. Poor phone.

We pulled into the neighborhood and we could not find the house because someone smartly removed the house number because jerks like us probably drive by all the time. Finally, we resorted to pulling up a photo of the house and there it was, right in front of us. On a surprisingly, and annoyingly, busy street. I mean, how can I stealthily take photos when so many cars keep driving by?!?

But here it was, the house where a 23-year-old Ronald Defeo, Jr. killed his entire family while they were sleeping in their beds. The house that spawned 11 movies! The house that looked completely and eerily…unremarkable.

My advice: save North Fork, Long Island for the summer…it’s probably a lot warmer then. And there are probably less ghosts. Probably.

Let’s go on a little adventure…in the country.

This is Cooperstown, NY. Gather your friends or your family and drive on over. Or down. Or up.

Rent a gorgeous house with an awesome name like The Treehouse.

Pull in the driveway and be all like whoa….

Circle around back and be like OH MY GAWD.

Then sit back, relax and enjoy the view and be all like, “alright alright alright”.

Slowly unravel your city-self shaking off the intensity and speed with which you are accustomed and take in the quiet. Think about you life and where you’re headed. Take a minute to reflect. Start to feel a little bit terrified of being alone with your thoughts…and the eery quiet. Are there wolves out there? Bears? Racoons?? Why are there no car alarms going off? How far is the closest hospital? How long would it take the police to get here? WHERE AM I? WHY DID I AGREE TO THIS? DO THEY EVEN DELIVER PIZZA OUT THIS FAR??

Shake all that off and think of…the creameries. Where there is country, there is a dairy farm, and where there is a dairy farm, there is a creamery. Go ahead…eat your feelings.

Because seriously. Creameries.

Wake up to a bright new day and go for a walk. And see this sign.

And ignore it.

Ignore this sign, too.

Realize you’ve stumbled upon every child-who-grew-up-in-the-80’s dream–AN ABANDONED HOUSE THAT HAS TO TOTALLY BE HAUNTED. Because, what’s creepier and more of a ghost magnet than an abandoned swing set?

Debate whether the house is safe enough to go into.

Lose one city-slicker who says, “I’m pretty sure spirits have been living in there for a while, and I don’t want to make their invisible acquaintance and then bring them with me wherever I go for the rest of my life. Also, that floor looks like it’s going to collapse.”

Indeed, it does.