A friend of mine is in Paris, galavanting about in false mustaches and bangs, buying African art at French auctions, and living her artistic life in ways I can only dream of amid my boxes and baby food grinding. She implored me to find "someone trustworthy" to watch my baby so we could spend some quality friend time together and we will when she returns. I love that although we are both parents, we are not mommy friends, that she wants to escort me to the Otto Dix show at the Neue Gallerie, and that she knows of my obsession with Weimar Germany. In her honor and to celebrate the forthcoming arrival of my editor letter and my upcoming May of Mayhem in which I hire a full-time babysitter and write 125 pages of my book: I bought a fitted black blazer. I am wearing the shit out of it because it is awesome. I took it to the tailor down the street ala What Not to Wear so they could hem the sleeves and move the button. When I dropped it off, it felt like I was leaving my puppy at the pound. Bon Voyage!
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