My screen name came up in real life a week or so ago and it was a frightening clash of worlds. Perhaps, I am the Matrix...

Out in the East Village, as is par for the course on a weekend night. Chatting with a delightful stable of engaging young men. All beautiful, therefore all Friends of Dorothy. Each person out witting the next, sipping cocktails and beers, when the gentlemen I was speaking with laughed and asked me if my roommate and I were Partygirls? After the the moment of shock caused by actually being called out on my trival (and occasionally vapid) lifestyle, there was nothing left to do but toss my head back and laugh in my best immitation of old Hollywood Glamour (while consciously trying not to burn my neighbor on the right with my cigarette - occupational hazard).

The rest of the night was a social disaster, I was in rare form. While partaking in late night at a friends apartment: I had a cigarette incident on his white couch...kicked over baking racks with one of my alternative dance moves...ergo, then crashing into a wall, falling to the floor...only to rise up to explain the disaster and fall through a wooden door I was leaning on (yes, splintering wood and all). It was at this time that I felt the need to rapidly exit, before the full extent of my damage was recognized.

On the ride home, I was able to lose my earring (bought that day,naturally) in the taxi. Stopped at the deli for an egg sammy - it was 6AM after all - and walk to my apartment, only to find the elevator broken. Figuring if I am going to accept the eight flight challenge, I may as well start nibbling on my egg sammy, I dropped it on the floor (around the landing of the 3rd Floor) before it even hit my lips. It was around this time that I thought, let's chalk this evening up to a disaster and just call it a night. Perhaps all will be forgotten in the morning...

But of course, it wasn't. The damage had been done.

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