Saturday, November 08, 2008
Waiting on line at the Guggenheim
Okay that was my cheezy attempt at a rhyme. Last night was another successful First Friday. I had to run the dinner alone, which for some reason made me nervous since there might be people there who knew bitsandgiggles but not me. Thoughts ran through my head on how I would come up with witty comments the way she does in hopes of not having an awkward silence. But in the end, dinner was fine. I ate a whole lot of raw fish for $25.00 and PETA I am sure would not be too happy with me. I am wondering if I contribute that much this month do I get a free pass? Anyway, after dinner we ran over to the Guggenheim which as a New Yorker I was ashamed I had never been. But then again how many people knew there was a Jewish Museum on 92nd street. If your Jewish you don't count on knowing that. I now know because I walked the wrong way, but that is besides the point. Once I figured out the difference between north and south on 5th avenue. We waited on line with a whole lot of people to get in. The 2 people in front of somehow reproduced into 6 people when boy George with the ugly houndstooth scarf brought all his yuppie friends with valley girl accents. Which brings me to the diverse crowd at the museum. The crowd was a mix of Williamsburg hipster with rich Upper East Side kids dressed to the nines and then the of course overlap of gossip girl followers. Trust me I was not judging, I was actually feeling a little under dressed. But after fighting for a glass of wine (served in plastic which took away some of the elitist quality to the event) I was convinced the Guggenheim on First Friday was the place to see and be seen. At any moment, I felt like someone was going to run up to me and ask me if I saw what Serena was wearing, but my luck it did not happen. Aside from the dead Pinocchio in the pool (which made me a little teary eyed), the place was quite fun. I did have to visually block out the image of the woman with needles stuck in her skin and pervert carved on her chest with a baby sucking her saggy breasts for most of the night. Just the thought of it now makes me glad I don't do drugs (and that I have perky boobs). Is it too late to marry a gay plastic surgeon?