Mood:  bright

Darlings, you are doubtless aware of a phenomenon called Facebook. I don't want to place blame, but Fb is partly responsible for my infidelity...to this blessed Diary. It's a tale of passion, of intrigue, of found treasures and reanimated douche bags.

Let's start at the beginning, shall we? Once upon a time (approximately three years ago) I heard mention of this interweb creature called Facebook.  My hippest media savvy friends invited me to join, but I strongly resisted. I was already enthralled with the ten websites in my repertoire (sports, travel, fashion, wit, and vocab-related)and did not recognize the need, nor the desire for "friending" with some pesky undergraduates. My understanding was that Fb was a place for "children" to brag about how drunk they got at so-and-so's dorm party. No, thank you. My friends get drunk and brag about it on Sunday mornings at church. Actually, they don't need to brag, they just reek of bourbon and we (the royal We) make our own assumptions. My friends "forget" their credit cards at high-end establishments. "How the hell did I end up with a $150 bar tab?!"

Disclaimer: Miss O discourages excessive drinking and $150 bar tabs. If you are not receiving 50% of your cocktails "with the compliments of the owner", you need a crash course at the Charm School.

Where was I? Oh, yes. I strongly resisted the pull of Facebook until one day...I didn't. Oh wait, it was because one of the organizations with which I am involved obligated me to join so they could message the whole group. Ok, enough with the boring details, I know you want the dirt.

Since joining I have had the pleasure of reconnecting with scores, actually hundreds, of old friends. From high school and even before, from myriad countries and continents, Fb has been, mostly, a blessing. I will admit that it is quite a bit easier to keep in contact with one base of communication, rather than trying to coordinate the address books of my four different mailboxes. Yes, I'm sure there is some tech-fabulous way to organize this, but my man servant has been getting lax in the details.  Oh wait, I don't have a man servant. That's the first problem. Anyway, tearful reunions have ensued courtesy of Facespace. Long-lost friends have been unearthed with great joy. No, not as in "exhumed", just rediscovered. Another bonus, most of my friends are incredibly witty and clever people and their observations can offer little respites of humor and civility during a tedious day.

Now to the bad...in this modern age, it can sometimes be too easy to find others and be found. I'm not certain that I want to "reconnect" with someone from 8th grade geometry. If we weren't friends then, do I want to be friends now? There's also the status updates which can be...oh, how shall I put it...thinly veiled cries for attention? I have found that some status updaters can get a little too Eeyore in their postings. Hey, if I had a sucky day, of course I want all my friends to know it and comfort me with wine and jewelery. But one can't play the sympathy card every day.

There is also an incredible grapevine that exists sur Face, transmitting the latest news in mere seconds. 

Friend: How's the hangover?

Miss O: What are you talking about? (inner voice: How could they know? Oh Lourdes, did I drink and dial someone?)

Friend: You're tagged in fourteen different compromising photos.

Ah, busted by the tag. This is purely a fictional example.

Of course, everything I write is a literary masterpiece, but sometimes I just feel like whingeing to my friends and forget that 500+ folks are reading my thoughts and noting that I ate ice cream for breakfast. This is, also *cough* fiction. 

The ugly... while one's "wall" can be a source of entertainment/news/humor, frequently commenting on someone's wall can be fraught with peril. When reading one side of a conversation, things can be taken waaay out of context and hysterical jealousy and gossip can ensue. Not that I would ever do that. (There *may* be a certain bitchbag who keeps writing inappropriate comments where she shouldn't...I'm just sayin'. No, not one of my friends. Miss O has a strict no-bitchbag policy.) And there is, of course, the treacherous relationship status by which one hapless lass learned that she was being dumped. No, not one of my friends. You can be sure that I would cut anyone who pulled that douche-y move with a friend of O.

There may come a time when you need to "unfriend" someone, which raises some etiquette questions. Is this a declaration of war? No. I see it simply as a separating of the wheat from the chafe.

True Story: I had big plans to update the Diary weekly, every Friday. The last entry you may note was on October 2. The morning of October 9, I was preparing the next entry... and then Facebook jacked up my day. Anyone remember what happened on October 9? Bueller? Yes, it was announced that Obama had won the Nobel Peace Prize.

Why should that have interferred with my Diary entry? The reason, dear friends, is that my WHOLE day was spent on Facebook arguing with ignorant schmucks. You probably didn't know that Miss O was interested in politics. I'm not. However, when confronted with abounding stupidity, Miss O always speaks up. Why would I bother to engage in a debate about this topic? Am I such an ardent admirer of Obama? I do think he's good people, but my arguments that day were in defense of Peace. It's called the Nobel*Peace* Prize, asshat, what's with all the hating?

In brief, after hours of strongly-worded "comments" on "walls", I had to pull rank: I work for a Nobel Laureate. Miss O  enjoys a certain delusion of grandeur but doesn't usually like to rub it in the faces of those less fortunate (i.e. Republicans). I waited a few days as a courtesy, but when the opportunity arose, I "unfriended" those folks whose right-wing ravings I could no longer tolerate in my daily "newsfeed". Yes, it takes a village, but not a village idiot.

Alas, the most ugly... I succumbed to laziness. With my handy FB status, I could post fascinating anecdotes in seconds.  Not quite anecdotes, more like musings. The creativity and wit that had previously had a home at the Diary was seduced by a younger, faster mistress. Call it my middle-blog crisis. (No, I'm not going to get a corvette and start wearing an earring.) I was satsified to spread the Gospel of O in 140 characters or less. Shame on moi!

I am proposing a compromise...to myself.

1. I will no longer hesitate to update the Diary with brief (but hilarious) episodes. Random musings can be acceptable.

2. Not every entry needs to be Pulitzer-worthy (but it will be.)

It's a two-step program. Work with me.

And give Peace a chance.

Posted by Miss O at 12:01 AM EST

Updated: Thursday, 18 February 2010 6:08 PM EST

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Mood:  bright

Darlings, I offer no excuses. Let me simply say that reconnecting the Diary has suffered because of my own vanity. Many times I have composed a clever anecdote and then thought :"Wow, I haven't updated in so long. Shouldn't my first post back be ground-breaking, thought-provoking, or at least mildly hilarious? This entry isn't nearly comeback-worthy." And then I waste more time trying to find just the right note of triumphant return, and what can I tell you? It's a vicious cycle.

So here I go again on my own (cue Whitesnake), ready to be judged.

The other thing, Darlings, to be quite honest, I didn't think anybody read the damn thing. I had hoped my oeuvre might entertain a stranded diva in Batesville, Arkansas or some up-and-coming hipster in Kuala Lumpur, but it was hard to know if the Ondine Effect was reaching the near and the remote. Why? Because I seldom received comments. 

Sidebar: If you know Miss O, you know that she is not the most tech-savvy bi-ped to grace this planet. I still use pen and paper, my cell phone is of the most basic variety, I don't have a tv, and so forth. All this to say, that while I frequent the interweb, I am not a "surfer" visiting 14 sites per second, clicking and browsing with ease. Actually, I know about 10 websites. Two of them relate to sports, three of them relate to airline tickets, a couple of blogs of folks I know, one site for when I need a good laugh, one for my word-of-the-day (today's word=neologism), and one about fashion. That's it, people. 

On the two blogs that I know, there always seemed to be a plethora of comments. So I surmised that readers equal comments, and hence deduced that only my brother was reading the Diary. 

All of this changed last week, when a woman with whom I have the pleasure to sing pulled me aside and said,"You know, I really wish you'd get off your ass and update the Diary for Lourdes' sake." Ok, I'm paraphrasing. I was shocked and delighted. "You read the Diary?!" I exclaimed."Yes I did, but you haven't posted on the damn thing in over a YEAR, what the F?" This kind person did not really say "what the F", but her meaning was clear enough. I quickly concluded that my no-comments-equals-no-readers equation was faulty (I've never been good at math) and promised to get the Diary up and running again. So a big thank you to DD for calling me out and getting this operation back on target!

Let's consider this a soft opening (or re-opening), Darlings. I state candidly that you may see posts I started more than a year ago...many of them are still relevant and others are too incriminating, I mean, too amusing not to share with you. Miss O never forgets a bad deed, nor a good one.

Do a good deed today, Darlings!

Posted by Miss O at 12:01 AM EDT

Updated: Friday, 2 October 2009 10:43 AM EDT

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Mood:  party time!

Darlings, I need your prayers with me for the next few hours.

I am going dancing (nothing unusual there, Miss O loves to bring her A-game to dance floors across the globe)...with my two teenage sisters (now you realize the angst of my situation).  This is the first time we are going clubbing together, though I have surmised from the last two hours of vague references, that they are already experts at getting into establishments without IDs, procuring alcohol without IDs, bringing said alcohol into said establishments...without IDs. All this came as a shock, of course, because I think they still play with dolls. Hello, denial ain't just a river in Egypt.

This is surely karmic payback for all the mischief I got into as a teen: like the time my friends and I tried to sneak out of one of their houses (where we were supposed to be having a sleepover) to go dancing at a club called 3-2-1 (fondly known as 3-2-Scum). We got busted by her parents, and thrown out, and I remember having to call my mom to pick us up from a gas station. I'm sure I concocted some story, but the tarty make-up was a dead give-away.

I'm actually a little apprehensive about this evening's revelries. What if some perv tries to hit on my little sisters? Things could go quickly south tonight, especially since the club we're hitting sells alcohol by the bottle. The older of my sisters informed me that she prefers whiskey, and then confided that the younger one can't really hold her liquor. Lourdes, what have I gotten myself into? By the time you read this, I could be rotting in a Burmese jail. How the hell do parents deal with this? 

Stay tuned for tales from the underground underage club scene.. 

Update: No arrests were made, but a bottle of Bailey's magically appeared from someone's handbag at our first location (a roof-top bar especially good for "chillin'"). Ok, fine, Baileys, tastes delicious, probably low proof. Fine.  When we made it to our ultimate destination, which was a pretty hipster club, a bottle of Finlandia vodka was ordered with a round of Sprites. Finlandia. Vodka. with Sprite.  Lourdes, where did I go wrong? Finlandia!? Lourdes, I feel old.

Posted by Miss O at 9:19 AM EDT

Updated: Wednesday, 3 September 2008 8:52 AM EDT

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Mood:  bright

So Darlings, contrary to popular belief that I have been blog-delinquent because I sit around all day eating pain au chocolate and getting my nails done, I would like to assure you that I have several draft entries at the ready. Ok, maybe not at the ready, but during my dry spell, I was constantly thinking of amusing and witty anecdotes with which to entertain you. I would jot them down and then...

The problem, people, is follow-through. That, and lack of "staff". I am convinced that I could be a prolific writer (i.e. the book that I started writing more than 8 years ago might actually have a Chapter 2) if I had an executive secretary. A male secretary. Preferably one whose fashion taste leaned toward that of the Olympic diving teams. Lourdes, the miracles of lycra! I actually feel dirty watching the diving with my teenage sisters. I keep trying to stress the athletes' prowess and skill, but we all know we're looking at the package. How can you not? I mean c'mon, the only way to attract more attention to one's loins would be to put a bow around it! Or a rhinestone belt. More than one person has suggested that I design outfits for the athletes. Maybe I know too many gay guys?

Where were we? Ah, yes, works in progress. I have drafts that date back to August 2006. What's 24 months between friends? The point is some of the reporting may not be terribly timely, but I'll share them anyway. I'm a giver. You're welcome.

Posted by Miss O at 12:01 AM EDT

Updated: Saturday, 16 August 2008 12:05 AM EDT

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Mood:  chillin'

somewhere between ORD and NRT ...

Well, Darlings, it's as good a place to start as any. Where the in the world has Miss O been for the past five (ok, six) months? I'll give you a few guesses:

A. in the witness protection program

B. held hostage by a vegan cult...in Cambridge

C. leaping over continents in a single bound

D. a guest of the Sultan of Brunei

E. training with the Navy Seals

F. trapped under a mountain of shoes 

G. birthing coach for Brangelina

In fact, I have been trying to keep up with the vicissitudes of life on Planet Miss O. (Thank you, Mr. Smith 10th grade English for "vicissitudes")  Comings, goings, entrances, exits, unions, separations, reunions - sometimes it's hard to catch one's breath.

My travel schedule is more "ambitious" than ever. By ambitious, I mean, of course, ridiculous and ill-advised. True, there are times when I find myself wondering why I do it. These moments of reflection typically occur when I am in the interminable security line at Terminal E, Logan. Or dragging my overstuffed bags through the metro in Paris. Or running through Heathrow in four-inch heels. The answer, Darlings, is that there are people to see and places to go. The world is our oyster!

So what has this year's globe-trotting taught me?  The flight attendants on JAL are all Hello Kitty-adorable Shiseido porcelain perfect. The flight attendants on Icelandair all look like Victoria Secret models...even the old ones. The flight attendants on U.S. carriers all look like housewives from Columbus. (This is not a dis of housewives, nor Columbus, simply a journalistic observation.) On British Airways, they serve something called fish pie. It's not as good as it sounds. More booze is served on Qantas flights than...

Speaking of, here comes the beverage cart! Hard to believe, but I don't usually partake while flying...unless there's some good champagne being splashed around a la First Class. Today I may be tempted by a frosty Sapporo or an ice-cold Kirin or both. You know, when in Rome, when on JAL, etc. Ooh, green tea. Good idea, load up on anti-oxidants before getting loaded.

Ok, let's see what's on the headset (No, Miss O does not own a personal high-tech listening device, I believe they're called ipods on your planet, but would be delighted to receive one from a generous benefactor/Swiss banking tycoon.)  Channel 4: James Brown?! Wow, cool. Channel 5: Wham! Fabulous. I have been on a Wham!-fest since seeing George Michael in concert two weeks ago. It was life-changing, people. There was shrieking, jumping up and down, fist-pumping, high-five-ing. It was a three-hour dance party. At one point I was on the verge of tears, at another, I almost peed my pants. I felt like I was on coke. Not that Miss O would ever touch filthy narcotics. At least not since the age of 16. And I never inhaled.

Where was I? Oh yes, George. I am convinced that concert added ten years to my life. Next channel: someone speaking Japanese. Maybe I can make out a few words. Wait. Yes, I'm sure the announcer just said "Domo Arigato, Mr. Roboto". I bet you didn't know that Miss O spoke Japanese. Neither did I. Next channel: Beethoven Violin Something. Lovely. And, next: is that Bryn Terfel?! Lourdes, JAL is hip. I haven't even gotten to the Japanese pop station yet.

Uh-oh, here comes Miss Hello Kitty, telling me to stow my tray-table. Ok, Darlings, the seal has been broken. Miss O is back on the airwaves!

Posted by Miss O at 12:01 AM EDT

Updated: Thursday, 14 August 2008 11:22 PM EDT

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Mood:  on fire

Darlings, sometimes even a Glamazon like Miss O has to deal with thrilling household chores like laundry (buh), dishes (double buh), and ironing (there are not enough buhs to capture the depravity of this activity - and isn't this the reason that dry cleaners exist?!).

I used to be "in shirts", and one of my responsibilities was to iron crisp cotton shirts for display. Clearly some karma I had to work off...anyway, it was the most dreaded part of my job until one day I scorched the sleeve of a $300 shirt (by mistake! I would never knowingly endanger a piece of cotton piqué) and I was deemed beyond rehabilitation and relieved of ironing duty.

The time is currently 12:24 am and I am preparing the inventory of my spring collection for an upcoming trunk show. For the second consecutive night, I have spent three plus hours at the God blessed ironing board. By some miracle, I have not burned the house down nor damaged any fabric. And, in fact, I am not as miserable as I thought I would be. If anything, my ironing skills have improved and I am more patient. Perhaps it is because these are my own creations and I actually give a damn. Or perhaps it is because I am in a trance after watching six back-to-back episodes of Law and Order. 

I'd like to thank Detectives Briscoe and Green, Benson and Stabler, and Goran and Eames for their support. And, of course, Lieutenant Van Buren, Captain Cragen, and Mr. McCoy.

Fashion Alert! If you lack the skill (quite frankly, unless they have served in the military*, I haven't met many men who know their way around an ironing board...I'm just saying) or patience to wield an iron, puh-lease send your shirts to pressing. Miss O likes light starch, but that's a personal choice every boy must make for himself. Few things can kill a look like a slovenly, wrinkled shirt. On the flip side, I have actually dated guys because they had a nice crisp collar. Don't judge, Darlings, we all have our weaknesses.

*Speaking of men in the military...when I was in college, there was an adorable guy in ROTC who lived in my dorm. Let me tell you, those cadets know how to put together a snappy outfit. He would shine my shoes like nobody's business! Lest you think that my shoe fetish and Domme tendencies are a recent development, I have documented "episodes" dating back to the age of, conservatively, 14. But oh, those ROTC guys...(insert dreamy expression followed by good lighting and softporn soundtrack). There was one named Tom and another named...damn, what was his name?

Posted by Miss O at 12:01 AM EST

Updated: Saturday, 16 February 2008 9:28 AM EST

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Mood:  bright

Hello Darlings! It's high time that we reconvene the shenanigans at Miss O's. And what better moment than a holiday celebrating...whiskey. Surely, you didn't think Feb 14 was about all that lovey dovey business. Lourdes, non! It's about adult beverages. Who doesn't need a petite cocktail at this very moment?

There are so many misconceptions about this day, I feel it is my duty to set the record straight. First of all, did you know that Valentine was the patron saint of beekeeping? So forget about the flowers and chocolates and love notes, Feb 14th is a day to celebrate with honey. That could be Honey Smacks (love that frog!), Honey mustard, Honey-baked ham, Sweet Honey in the Rock, Honey Ryder. N.B. Do not employ honey in a romantic (i.e. naked) scenario. It is a recipe for disaster, unless, of course, you're hoping for a D-I-Y Brazilian. In which case, best of luck with that. Few relationships can withstand that brand of tough love. 

Sidebar: Boys and girls should be giving each other flowers all the time, not just one day out of the year. The same goes double for chocolate. And triple for love notes.

Where was I? Ah, yes, the saint of beekeeping. I thought I'd bring to light some little known saints that I feel are worthy of their own holiday. Let's start with Saint Severus of Avranches. He is the patron saint of hat makers and silk workers, and if that doesn't earn him major recognition, I'm going to have to talk to the Pope. Another forgotten saint is Jadwiga of Poland, the patron of queens. J'accepte! I was recently at an event where a man said to me, "You're used to being treated like a queen, aren't you?" Yes, you could call it that. I rewarded him with my most regal smile, and extended my hand to be kissed. Really, Darlings, someone has to do it. Saint Honorius of Amiens watches over pastry chefs and florists. I say Hooray!

Saints Gangulphus and Crispin protect shoemakers. Is there anything more noble? Gangulphus was an upstanding guy, a virtuous, got-your-back kinda friend, who ill-advisedly married a slapper who cheated on him with a priest (!)...who then killed him. Seriously, Darlings, we have a duty to celebrate Gangulphus Day - May 11. Even more tragic is Crispin, who fled religious persecution in Rome, only to wind up preaching Christianity to the Gauls and making shoes by night. And, oh yeah, he was beheaded, probably by some bitchy Manolo-wannabe.

For the alcoholic sluts among you, it is worth mentioning that Nicholas of Myra is the patron saint of the 3 P's: pharmacists, prostitutes, and pawnbrokers. Hey, it takes a village.

Hope your Ballantyne's Day is a sweet one. I will be feasting tonight on pancakes and toasting with the most blessed Saint Veuve of Clicquot. Ah, it's good to be the Queen.

Posted by Miss O at 1:50 PM EST

Updated: Thursday, 14 February 2008 2:43 PM EST

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Mood:  crushed out

Where in the world has Miss O been?!

Bonjour et Gutentag Darlings! About six weeks ago, Miss O was a guest of SwissAir - one of the perks being a layover in Zurich where there is a shop called Caviar House. J'accepte! I'm pretty sure there's no Caviar House in say, Philly or Cleveland...the best you're going to do there is, maybe, a Cinnabon. The other perk: they give you chocolate on the plane. And not some rubbish chocolate either. This is the good stuff, pure, uncut.

It's not often that I pass through the country of my birth, but the timing of this visit seemed appropriate. It was the Eve of O (that is, the night before the Day of O. Really, Darlings, I know you've heard of it.) What, you didn't know that Miss O was born in der Schweiz? To be more accurate, I was birthed en Suisse - that is, on the French side. Darlings, a creature like Miss O cannot be hatched just anywhere. Lourdes, non!

Once upon a time, approximately 26 years ago (why are you laughing?), the Mothership and the Notorious D.A.D. found themselves with une Petite O en route. Realizing that her arrival on this planet would have cosmic ramifications, they pondered the audience and location for the 'debut appearance'. The city of Bethlehem was hosting a convention, and there was still no damn room at the Inn. So they chose the next best venue: Geneva. As the executive producer of the event, they selected a man with a proven record of blockbuster hits: the renowned doctor who had delivered Sophia Loren's children. Honestly, Darlings, you can't be surprised.  The Ondine was born and the rest is history...

While perusing the extensive truffle selection at ZRH (that's the airport code for Zürich-Kloten, Lieblings), I reflected on the past year and wondered what new adventures the Universe had in store for me. (I, also, wondered how many kilos of cocoa I could legally transport without violating the Fourth Geneva Convention. Welcome to my world.) Well, Darlings, I could not have imagined the joy and good fortune that was coming my way. Besides being très delinquent in my posting, all is marvelous on Planet Miss O.

Happy New Year to all! Stay tuned for: the Return of Bridezilla, 2007 Review, Nose Patrol, and so many other scintillating entries!

Posted by Miss O at 12:01 AM EST

Updated: Friday, 11 January 2008 1:32 PM EST

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Mood:  amorous

Hi Darlings!   Miss O is on the road again. After a 24-hour cameo in the thrilling metropolis of Phoenix, AZ (more on that later), I am headed back to Paris.

This shot was taken during my layover in Montreal, courtesy of my new favorite airline, Air Canada. Miss O is often zipping around at 35,000 feet, and the Air Canada experience is simply delightful. 

Now that the US dollar is completely worthless, I was forced to consult my travel wallet, essential for any jetsetter. In addition to frequent flyer cards for six different airlines, it is helpful to have cash (pronounced "Kaysh") in multiple currencies. One never knows when one might need a Bahamian dollar, par example. Why six different frequent flyers? Because the best airline that flies to Thailand is not the best airline that flies to Paris is not the best airline that flies to LA, etc.  They're all crooks if you ask me, except Air Canada (and Thai Airways, and Air France. And Singapore Air and Alitalia..) Basically all the US carriers are crap, quelle surprise. What else is in my carry-on? Two continents, two cell phones. Yes, I know there are phones that work all over the world, but not being the most techno-savvy, I  manage with two different phones. Also, sometimes you don't want to be reached when you are in another country...aha, now you see the wisdom of Miss O.

The requisite quart-size ziploc loaded with indispensable "products".   Lourdes knows I loves me some products. I have eye cream, hand cream, day cream, night cream, hydrating this, that, and the other. (PSA: are you using eye cream? first signs of aging appear around the delicate skin of the eyes) Yes, those are gloves at the far right, which I wear after I've applied my hand cream. I do that at home, so why not moisturize and protect my hands on the filthy airplane. Don't worry, I'm not getting all Howard Hughes germaphobe on you.

My flight was on Sunday night, and a big thank you is owed to Jamie, who  texted me the Sox score until the moment of take-off. As difficult as it was to be on a plane during what I knew would be the last game of the World Series, I had to take one for the team. The last time the Sox won it all, I was out of the country, and hence, I was obligated to leave the States again this year, for the good of Red Sox Nation. Speaking of RSN, it is the duty of all of its members to protect it from evil influences, please visit Don't Sign A-Rod and do your part.

Let's go Red Sox!!! 

Look out, Paris, here she comes...

Posted by Miss O at 12:01 AM EDT

Updated: Thursday, 1 November 2007 7:49 PM EDT

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Mood:  happy

Darlings, every day I receive calls from friends asking for advice on a wide-range of topics.  Miss O is an expert in more than a few areas, but my favorite questions are fashion and etiquette related. With close friends, pleasantries are dispensed with and the inquiry is broached without hesitation. None of that: How are you? Fine, and yourself? Lovely. How about those Sox. Say, could I ask you...

This is how Miss O's advice-line works:

Friend of O: Yo

Miss O: Yo, what up?

FoO: I'm going to a cocktail party and have no idea what to wear.

Miss O: What look are you going for?

FoO: Hot, smart, weird.

Miss O: Sleeveless black dress, fitted but not too short. Bring a wrap in case there are leering old men. High heels. Funky jewelry.

Case Closed. Next Caller.

Friend of O: Where can I get a good bra in a larger size?

Miss O: Are you looking for an "occasion bra" or something for everyday?

FoO: Everyday, but not old lady-looking.

Miss O: Go to xxxx (Miss O does not provide 'unpaid' endorsements), ask for Suzie, tell her Miss O sent you.

And, next!

Friend of O: Hey.

Miss O: Hey.

FoO: Where's a good place for brunch in [insert any neighborhood]?

Miss O: Try Resto X and be sure to order the eggs benedict. OR try Resto Y if you really want to impress your date.

FoO: I knew you would know. 

The phone keeps ringing..

Friend of O: I have to go to a schmoozy event. It's a Latin theme, festive-attire suggested. What the fuck do I wear? And, is a necktie obligatory?

Miss O: Do you have a pocket square? a red one?

FoO: Yeah.

Miss O: Good black shirt?

FoO:Uh-huh.

Miss O: Dark suit, black shirt unbuttoned at the neck, no undershirt, red pocket square.

FoO: That is so money!

(N.B. While this look is totally money, it should not be attempted by everyone, especially if you are already feisty and latino...call me if you're unsure) 

Your estimated waiting time is...hello?

Friend of O: Where can I get my watch battery changed?

Miss O: Go to the Russian clock store. Talk to Sergei.

Elevator music... 

Friend of O: I'm going to a Martini party. Do I have to bring gin/vodka or can I bring wine?

Miss O: Martini party?! What time are you picking me up?

Posted by Miss O at 12:01 AM EDT

Updated: Tuesday, 23 October 2007 4:10 PM EDT

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