The Crash of 2005

Since my friends have been taking time out of their very busy daily lives to read this dribble, and since some of them have taken to promoting the blog and the book by shouting "Dishalicious.blogspot.com" out of taxi windows and to random passersby on Little West 12th Street, outside PM and Pastis, I figured I should start posting again. Let's see—I am bored, bored, bored with life in general right now, though, as usual there is no shortage of drama swirling round me. This weekend involved a cavalcade of cops on the UES at 1 a.m. Friday night, one of whom made it his mission to ask J. out while on the job. Nice work, Rodriguez, I'm sure Briscoe would be proud. Last night took me from Shun Lee to Rosa Mexicano to GoGo, which resembled a high school reunion of the class of 1980, to Home, then PM and Level V. And can I just say that I am so over waiting in lines to get into these so-called hotspots that ultimately house people no more exciting than those in, say, a random Irish pub downtown.
In other news . . . my girlfriends and I have recently learned that all (every last one of them) of our exes have died tragically in a private jet crash over a landfill in New Jersey. Tres tragic. It's still a mystery how attorneys, doctors, traders, accountants and investment bankers all ended up on the same morbidly fated, chartered jet, but it is a significant loss to all of us nonetheless. The only things to survive the crash? Their Cartier, Rolex, Frank Mueller, Breitling, Patek Philippe and Breguet timepieces. We have, natch, dutifully saved the watches and are donating them to the brokenhearted Jewish girls fund. RIP boys.
And, oh yeah, it's now my civic pleasure to report to Centre Street tomorrow for jury selection. Woo-fucking-hoo. I plan on pulling the Larry David card—should it get to the questioning process I'll be acting like the most racist, elitist, homophobic, xenophobic woman in the entire city in hopes of being promptly dismissed.
I don't know what the waitperson taking this picture was on when he snapped it last night, but I'm kind of digging the blurriness . . .