advice from tiffany & co. -

(caption not required)

a sister from boston and a brother from l.a. meet in the big apple, once their home -

woke up to a sunny, spotty morning:

but gathered my wits and headed to the mercer kitchen.

why?

meeting a soul-mate:

my sister, lauren.

and, of course,

the champagne:

there's something comforting about the pale purple banquettes

and the light from above

that makes it a perfect place to launch the day.

and launch, and wander, we did:

up and down town,

the twosome roamed.

until they wandered down the little alley,

and found freeman's,

and a home:

perhaps it was the french 75's,

or the artichoke dip,

or the pork belly and cheese grits . . .

but we were

content.

content,

reinstated,

and as always,

modest!

by day three, cupcakes were in order . . .

i had figured out the art of mid-march new york

sales trip dressing:

and progressed to the fine art of

lunch dining:

where one can rely on conversation,

work histories unfolding,

and the duck and kale soup with acorn squash and cracklings:

but most of all,

the small unexpected

nyc surprises.

like stumbling into the new bakery,

sweet revenge:

and their

fresh raspberry studded red velvet cupcake

with cream cheese frosting:

luckily,

katy called darota ahead of time

to reserve a table at the palace

for tea-time:

oh yes,

gossip girl fans.

all in all,

the street seemed to sum up the days

best:

they came to get down, they came to get down, they came to get down, jump around -

day two,

katy on full steam ahead,

meetings and coffee shops

and sushi out with AnaLiza:

then walking back to hudson street

and a little hidden gem,

the sound lounge private thursday event:

check out the gams

as we waited to get buzzed in:

in the door,

up a few floors,

and we were mixing/mingling/and dancing:

the ntuh ntuh ntuh that kept us churning

was from the hands of one

ms. jenn johnson,

whom five minutes into speaking with,

was trying to convince me to move to nyc to be bffs:

not a bad offer.

last week, was new york. was katy. was soho house. was crazy . . .

my first sales trip.

flying to a city,

meeting your new rep on the east coast,

and pressing:

just chilly enough to throw on:

in order to meet katy dickson

(the lovely, the witty, the texan)

on the roof of the soho house,

by the pool:

i decided to kick back.  it was sixty,

the drinks were flowing,

and the people were arriving:

there was no time to :

people from saatchi, people from weiden, people from music houses,

people from l'oreal, people just standing around:

believe it or not,

this is how we meet/greet/and generate new projects.

i know.

i suck.

i win.

Destiny is usually just around the corner.

But what destiny does not do is home visits.  

You have to go for it.

-more wisdom from evelyn lee.  and precisely what i am doing this week,

in another city, far from home.

an old ukranian folk story. with charlie chaplin. and some mongolians.

so,

if you were to ask me to explain the picture above,

i would have to tell you that old ukranian folk story.

the one that begins with vitalina, you adored seamstress,

inviting you and your . . . comrades . . . to her favorite ukranian restaurant for traditional food.

in encino.

that's right.  the fabled land of encino.

so, we showed up, and wandered around a bit looking for the restaurant.

it was down a little alley.

there were men in black leather bombers smoking and drinking outside.

no one spoke english.

thank GOD vita showed up.

inside?

laser light show.

live music.

(the highlight was the two men belting out "take my breath away".  in ukranian.)

but wait.

it gets more surreal:

yes.

that IS a charlie chaplin impersonator.

going chair to chair.

giving massages while you ate.

charlie chaplin.  ukranian food.  massage.

i have no idea.

neither did anyone else.  kira's face says it all:

although, he was GOOD.

betania went twice.

as the evening progressed,

the kiev came out.  with shoestring potatoes.  traditional.

oh, did i mention there was vodka?

the moral of our tale?

i have no moral.  evenings like this are just wonderful randomness.

especially if the mongol hordes accompany you.