don't you cry no more

Today was fantastically productive, until it suddenly veered into partytown. I woke up earlier than I intended since someone insisted on using a power saw for hours outside my window (bastards), but that meant that I was out the door by 10:30 (a record when I don't really have anywhere to be). I went to Morning Due and worked for a couple of hours, taking care of all sorts of vital and important tasks (including putting the first two chapters of SCOTSMEN up on my romance website - check them out here). Then I came home and slogged hard for another three hours, taking care of all sorts of varied and uninteresting (but important) tasks.

And then the day abruptly veered off course. Chandlord had asked if I wanted to do something this afternoon, and I was game to take a break for a couple of hours, so we decided to get pedicures. But the place was byob, so I took a bottle of champagne, which led straight downhill into utter debauchery. The pedicures were great...then we walked in the general direction of the Tenderloin and went to the wine bar where Hidden Vine used to be, and each had a Tuscan wine flight (three smaller glasses of wine for comparison purposes, ostensibly, although it's really for drunk purposes). On the way there, we stumbled across a cute jewelry shop and I indulged in some costume pieces for my romance writer persona - a bracelet with an oversized cameo on it, and a pair of dangly earrings with pendants that look like royal crowns. Post wine bar, we went to the bar at the Westin in Union Square and had super fancy cocktails and truffle oil popcorn while watching part of the ISU/UConn game (my cocktail had egg white in it, if that tells you anything). Then we got substantially less classy and had vegetarian Chinese food in the Tenderloin, but it was super tasty. Then I took the bus home (completely unclassy end to a classy evening), said a drunken hello to Terry, and then came upstairs and did some Photoshop for the last hour and a half to take care of something I needed to send to my publicist.

And now, it's sleepytime -- Alyssa is going to *kill* me tomorrow, particularly since it will be clear to her that I was drinking (she isn't a fan of alcohol -- apparently it's bad for you or something??). Goodnight!