NEW YORK (Central Park)--Okay, so one person's evening is your blogstress's morning. There was this party to recover from, the one at Tavern on the Green sponsored by the scary California delegation. (Think Orange County, not Hollywood.)
Your blogstress, having a background in journalism, certainly saw the food as the draw, and what a spread there was. No mere morsels here, but piles of jumbo shrimp, and pieces of lobster and a carving board and the most delectable smoked salmon your cybertrix has ever tasted. Your Webwench was so lost in the ecstacy of gluttony that she left her iBook in the coatcheck, and had to turn back once she reached Broadway to fetch it. (And that was after she had left her Washington Blade press credentials in the Ladies Room, for all those Orange County beauties to admire.)
The rightful owner of the pass that got your blogstress into this fête, a friend with such a rarified position that his identity must remain secret, got lost wandering a corridor while your cyberscribe was throwing her credentials around, and left a message on her cell phone: Help! I'm surrounded by righties!
In short, it was a long night that ended well into the morning, despite the live country music, a sound your cybertrix never imagined she'd hear at Tavern on the Green. As she left the place for good, a man was singing about wishin' he was fishin' with his dad.
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