Stream of Spittle

Here's what I'm thinking at the moment, in no particular order of lucidity.
Flying with no liquids. God damned terrorists. Must get Purell cloths.

Shopping. Jewelry. Had a dream that the jeweler was closed for Rosh Hoshanna, quell nightmare. Haircut, finally, Oscar Blandi stylist making hotel call for mom and me. Sweet. Madison and Fifth. Bergdorf's, Bergdorf's, Bergdorf's.

Iran dude paying visit to the UN for my birthday. Our hotel, a few blocks from UN.

Must find Wally-friendly apartment or just smuggle him into my pad, to hell with the condo Nazis. Fuck 'em. Let them evict me and I'll invoke the "quiet enjoyment/hellacious-stiletto-wearing-at-all-hours-of-the-night neighbor."

What to pack for NYC--daytime clothes, evening clothes, jewelry, shoes, handbags and no liquids/makeup in the carry-on, therefore mucho grande cosmetic bags.

So many people to see, stores to frequent, so little time.

Fabulous restaurants, Babbo, Gramercy Tavern, Spice Market. Yum.

Cars. I. Hate. Driving. Driving and cars are to Miami what mice are to NYC for me; I hate them, am scared of them and they could very well force me out of this city.

Taxis, yay.

Semi-cool weather.

Friends and family. I'm scared that someone will have to drag me from NYC by my stilettos.

And on that note, I'm glad my credit limit is not high enough for a down payment on a condo, cause otherwise I would have someone swipe the platinum.

And to my NYC peeps--Helfman, I'm talking to you! esp;)--who I haven't made firm plans with yet, give me a buzz, I'll be there Thursday afternoon.