friday night is the new sunday night. so here I am.

what is it about a native New Yorker when they are stopped on the street for directions from poor, lost souls?? something about knowing the answer to the question gives us such glee. on the way home tonight I was asked TWICE for directions and I knew exactly where they were going. one man startled me Alex Trebek-style, and interjected, "WHAT STREET IS THIS?", (he could easily have said, "stick 'em up.."). without even looking up for a street sign, I spat out, "CORNELIA ST!". he scurried down the street like a late-night rat (not talking Leno, here...you're welcome Coco). a few moments later on Bleecker a woman asked where Grove St was. I haughtily asked her if she was looking for the Pink Teacup...it has, after all, been saved from termination. I told her it was about four blocks down on the right...

and don't you always want to stop and help a lost tourist when they mistakenly ask the wrong person who tells them the wrong directions? oh, I have.

so, my sister's architect...

I snuck uptown "to have coffee with my sister". when I entered the kitchen, the plumber was under the sink (sans crack), the architect, dressed in suit, tie and waxed Barbour jacket was standing next to the attractive, blue-eyed contractor. my thoughts on said architect? let's put it this way, if I was playing a game of Mystery Date (ok, credit colleague), I'd hope the door opened to the plumber. I am pathetic. a man with a career and job is all I need. money and power, really not a turn-on for me. not what my sister had in mind. within 20 minutes I was back at my glorious office in the sky. talk about speed dating...it's not over yet, we shall see.