Queen of Everything

Although I’d thought it impossible, the level of insanity has reached a new high here in Kathrynville. Were you worried about me? Aw….that’s so sweet! Although I fear that my friends on Kindle may be more annoyed than concerned, I hope they’ll find it in their hearts to forgive my absence…(Hey, “Two Moms From Alaska"! Your glowing review made. My. Day! Seriously!!)

I digress. But allow me one more moment of sappiness, for it directly relates to the title of this here post. (Takes deep breath) Okay, I’m just gonna say it:

I love you guys. And I’m not just saying that because you come back here time after time and you read about my insanity and you comment the best, wittiest comments and you listen and you understand me and hell, you actually get me and even when you don’t, you still come back for more and you’ve never once called the men in the white coats to come and take me away (ha-ha). Not a mean word is ever exchanged (unless one of you starts yelling at someone who has undoubtedly caused me to rant) and I think you guys are absolutely, positively the best…bar none. And you guys need to understand that even if I get really, really quiet here in Blogville, it doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about you. The day they create mental-telepathy posting, I’m totally on board. I could go on and on…but then you’d never get an actual post out of me. I just want you to know that I appreciate every one of you…and I don’t honestly think I’m Queen of Anything. C.O.O. of Insanity, maybe…

Anyway. Wanna know what I’ve been up to? I hope so, ‘cause that’s kinda all I’ve got. On Thursday, I was invited to attend a cocktail party at Steuben on Madison Avenue for the unveiling of a new designer collection of crystal pieces. I’ll give you a moment to raise one eyebrow…and don’t forget to delicately raise one pinky in the air whilst commenting.

The name of the artist is Ross Bleckner. I took this shot outside Steuben:

…and here’s the piece that greeted you upon entering:

Pardon the shoulder of that guy who’s in my way. And pardon the poor lighting…and WTF is that, anyway?? It’s a huge solid block of tinted crystal with these amazing bubbles formed in it. God knows how they made this…and I figure it must weigh a ton.

Anyway. Yeah…boss (Dragon…Ric Dragon) and his lovely wife (Dragon…Jen Dragon) invited me to tag along and like, how could I say no? I’m not stupid. So, I donned my black to-the-knee cocktail dress and my sparkly new shoes…

(…which will ultimately be the bane of my existence) and I caught the three-something Metro North train, arriving at Grand Central at 4:30. The cocktail hour was at 6. Easy peasy, right?

I send numerous DM’s to Ric, telling him I'm en route…and I receive no reply. Finally I locate his cell# and text him:

“Hey. Itd Kathryn. Im textng u cause domt trust u 2 ck dms. Cming 2 GC@4h30. Send limo.”

To which he (finally) replies: “With chilled champagne? Call when you arrive.”

(Notice it’s perfectly spelled. I hate that.)

I text back: “Prfer martini pls. 3 oolives. Debaatgn whether to hoof 1.3 miles.”

Ric: “No-cab over to meet us. Will reimburse. We don’t want a hot and sweaty Athryn.”

Me: “Ha. Ur a riot. 1 of my sprkly shoes keeps slpiing.” (Then I add a smiley face that looks like this):

I’ll tell you something you may not know about me: My left foot is almost a full size larger than my right. I know, I’m a freak. This makes buying shoes a PITA, ‘cause when I get the left to fit, the right is slipping off my heel. Usually I can stick a Dr. Scholl’s thingie in it and I’m golden…but upon exiting the train and walking through Grand Central, I realize I’m shuffing like a 90-year-old man. This will not do. So, I exit at 42nd Street and hit the nearest Duane Reade…shuffling down the escalator to the lower level in search of Dr. Scholl once again.

Now 15 minutes have passed and I’m shuffling uptown and looking for a spot to stop and stick something in my right shoe without being plowed down by the wave of rush-hour people walking by.

Text from Ric: “Where are you? We’re at Dresner’s. 78th and York.”

Me: “Im @ 42 + 3rd. Need cab & a bench!”

Ric: “Raise your hand. Quit walking.”

Me: “FINE. Next block.”

But the next block, there were several people ahead of me…all looking for cabs…so I finally ducked into a portico, slipped something into my shoe, felt it grab and I sprinted towards Lexington Avenue.

Ric: “You’re lost, aren’t you?”

Me: “NO. Wakking updown. Nocabs!”

Many minutes pass.

Ric: “Where are you now?”

Me: “uh. Madison + 59”

I barrel down the final block and practically stumble into Steuben and fling myself into the first chair I see. A startled lady behind the desk gazes at me and I say, “It’s okay. I’m supposed to be here. I’m having a problem with my shoe.” And I point to the shoe, as if that will explain everything. She smiles politely and returns to her computer.

At this point, one of the BigWigs (whom you’ll recall was on that conference call when I was a newbie) glides down the suspended staircase. He’s dressed to the nines and I stand up and smooth my dress and introduce myself and he casually eyes my white plastic Duane Reade bag and says, “Nice bag. You might want to check that.” Then he smiles and says, “C’mon. I’ll give you a private tour.”

Robert took me all around and even let me pick some items up…albeit cautiously…all the while saying, “You’ve got it? Are you sure you’ve got it?” He even let me sign this bowl:

(although this photo is from the website and this isn't the bowl I signed)...but still. I felt uber-special.

Ric and Jen arrived a few minutes later and found me. I’d already been served my first glass of wine. It was a fabulous event! The other highlight of the night came when Ric and I were checking out some of the more expensive pieces. I picked one up and said, “Look, Ric. This piece is six thousand dollars. Do we have insurance? What would happen if I….just….uh!....uh!...” (That’s me, pretending to lose my grip on it.) Ric just smiled and said, “Kathryn. Put. It. Down,” out of the corner of his mouth.

That’ll teach him to open a cellophane-wrapped cookie directly behind me during a conference call, thereby practically throwing me under the bus. Offering me a bite of said cookie did not make us even.

NOW we’re even.