It's official: I'm an insomniac again and I'm an auntie. No, catch your breath, not Michael. My BFF has spawned a son. I will post Silver-approved pics of me and the little booger later.

And in case you're wondering, which, obv. you are since you are all still reading my gibberish:

I'm finally running again, albeit slowly and carefully.
I have been discharged from physical therapy, which means I will now have to pay for massages by the masterful Mike.

And finally, I have a couple new, interesting, writerly projects in the works. So, Daryl, if you're reading, hop to it and get me that info. And if anyone has friends/contacts at The Miami Herald, send 'em my way. That paper is in desperate need of fresh voices.

I will be back in NYC Sept. 21-24th to do some liver and wardrobe damage and to see family and friends. And, miraculously, I have secured reservations at Babbo and Gramercy Tavern, neither of which, shockingly, I've ever been to. Girls, check your schedules and check in with me...

Oh, and in the dept. of the narcissicistic: It seems that those bitches over at Jossip Jossiped again just can't get enough of me. Though I don't understand the inchoherent ramblings of this post, I'm honored to be lumped in with Toby Young, whose memoir How to Lose Friends and Alienate People is freaking brilliant, and Jeff Bercovici, who is a sweetheart who penned the WWD Women's Wear Dailystories about me and now works at Radar Radar.