The flossy, flossy

Well the Noo Yawkah dinner turned out to be not so ra-sha-sha after all. Poor JoyceFrances had terrible stomach issues from the salmon (I opted for steak); she called me late this afternoon to ask if I knew how to get rid of built-up gas. Natually, I was able to help her out.

There was no Gopnik but there were gift bags. However they were of a rather crappy nature. One OK book, one meh book, one promotional piggy bank leftover from the money issue, a magazine, pens, a sticky-note cube. Really I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth but the woman next to me said she'd been to another event that was way swankier; Queen Latifah was there. All we got were two ad reps. But they were lovely ad reps. And the antipasto was good.
And again with the not looking the gift horse in the mouth.

Any-HOO, in the file of "crazy things that could only happen to McPolack" goes this one: Somehow (and by somehow I mean because I am me) I ended up seated next to a dirty old man who, it turns out, lived right up the street from one of the houses I grew up in (there were two, in the same wee NH town).

He'd moved there after my parents left but it was fun to talk about people and places. Well mildy fun as he kept touching me and at one point asked "Was your house the one with the big stump in the front? Because I'm a sculptor and I thought that looked like (and at this point he makes the universal vertical two-handed s-curve movement signifying the female form), you know what I mean?" And then he makes the universal movement signifying tune in Tokyo! That's right, he did a double-air-boob-squeeze. Yuck! Come on! This isn't Maxim. Apparently he would like to get ahold of this stump and carve it into a curvaceous lady with bodacious ta-ta's.