Today I stayed in bed until noon reading The Bolter and listening to Artie Shaw, then I stepped out and met a friend who gave me a just-made moon rock (the asteroid dust was still drying!). I named her "Stella." I name everything I love. Then on my way home I stopped at Wendy Mink to buy another stacking ring (I bought one last time and people seem to think it's an engagement ring. Now, more like... double trouble). My friend who is a milliner works there and I bought one of her feathered combs, to wear to an upcoming gala I was invited to yesterday. Then I had a little correspondence with everyone's favorite venture capitalist; it was his birthday this week and I stopped by his office with a dozen cupcakes from Magnolia Bakery. I am encouraging him to buy some pretty things, and he is ever so slowly coming around. Perhaps, one never really knows. I have given up trying to figure out other people. I read this book, The Bolter, about Idina Sackville who dressed beautifully and had a little black Pekingese called Satan and was born into great wealth and influence and ran away to Africa and got married five times and I couldn't even keep track of all of her affairs and I loved the book, it was so stylish and glamorous and wonderful but with a steely lesson at its core: don't marry your boyfriends. Tonight I'm going to a party. Should I call ahead and ask that the bathtub be filled with champagne? Or is that something I can do when I get there? I rinsed my hair with some in the shower this morning, actually. There was a bit left in the fridge from the other night and it seemed a shame to waste it.
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