Splendid Is the Night

So I'm a New York girl in a New York world, and you can only imagine there will be occasional "Sex and the City" moments—a girl throws on her heels, lipstick in the purse—your ex will be there, so will his new wife, there will be the others you haven't seen for years and the unexpected pleasure of a new man you've never met before—and you swing your shiny hair and sexy ass right on into the bar with an "I don't give a shit" vibe, because, really, the night belongs to you.

And then you can imagine how uproariously funny all that sounds in my ringy-dingy head as I type it. I love being a New York girl, if only because the irony is never far from the tip of my you-can't-imagine-what-really-goes-on-in-anyone's-head head, or my please-make-it-interesting mind. [See below to pick apart my self-contradictions like layers of pretty mica.]

Now let's slip back into the underground lair where it's occasionally sparkly but mostly mottled, cause I know you like it there, too.