gossip girl

I may have missed last night's episode of Gossip Girl, but I still got to watch some UES socialites. Plans change quickly sometimes. After I left work, an acquaintance of mine sent a text inviting me to the Dominique Cohen jewelry store opening - 65th and Madison, across from Valentino. Among the short guest list of 50 or so, swanky upper-east-siders was the co-host Gillian Hearst Simonds (of publishing giant, Hearst). Impressive.

I've been thrown into a lot of brilliantly diverse environments with equally diverse classes of people here in NY. The VIP lounge of a dark, pounding night club with about 30 Soprano-esque Italians who LOVE to party - hey where's Vito? A Latino dance club over-looking the river, with incredible music and oh can they dance. Then of course, we have the intimate loft party with a buffet of ethnicity's and accents (see a few posts back). However, I must admit, I had been looking forward with great anticipation to catch a glimpse of the snobby socialite scene that is portrayed on one of my favorite shows - Gossip Girl.

The store is by far, the most luminous corner on Madison Avenue tonight. Coat check, velvet ropes, chitter chatter, snapping photographers. Dominique Cohen creates beautiful designs with the most intricately delicate patterns. Draping gold necklaces adorn the headless decolletage in suffocatingly small glass display cases. We brush past an almost-beautiful redhead who is more slender than my left pinkie and 6 feet tall because of her patent leather bootie/pumps. She is surrounded by five or six well dressed admirerers. Our eyes meet, and she smiles with an intensity that seems to stem from curiosity or blow - or both. I'm later told that she is a diamond dealer heiress and has graced Page Six with her addictions. How should I know?

Similar to wild animals in their natural habitat, you wouldn't want to get too close - because they look crazy and who knows what might happen. Okay not really. I was complimented on my Tory boots by a short lady in a short dress. There was a cool-as-a-cucumber DJ spinning in the back near the bar. Yummy waiters - in all black - slid in and out of the crowd with hor'dourves. And then I saw him...

Slender like a model. A young Johnny Depp with a baby face. Thick, black rimmed eye-glasses and a shy smile. We locked eyes and I immediately told him he was the cutest thing I'd ever seen. (I was a drink or two in at this point and it was acceptable) He grinned, looked down, and I took an artichoke tart from the tray he presented me. Yes, he was a waiter. I was intriguied by no other for the remainder of the evening. Of course he kept moving, but he came back. We passed eachother, and smiled. He winked. I tried not to stare and pathetically scan the room every five minutes to find him. I would take this man over a Park Avenue Prince any day.

The party is ending and I become frantic. I have nothing. No card, no pen, no time to store a number in my cell. Talk about being unprepared. I tug on the waiter nearest me. "The man with the glasses, is he gay or straight?". I can't even believe the words that are coming out of my mouth. Is that even the question we are supposed to ask first? What about single or taken? I have no idea what I'm doing. He smiles kindly and tells me he is straight - and taken. Damn damn damn. There is no point in pursuing. We take our coats, our gift bags (which contain a scented candle, custom Dominique Cohen black bowtie earrings, and two chocolates), and leave. I can't stop wondering if the other waiter knew exactly which "man in the glasses" I was referring to. *sighs*

We go across the street to a small French restaurant called Paris Match and have dinner with my friend's friend - who is a fashion designer. We have hummus, and sushi, and french fries (I'm wondering the same thing now). At the end of the night, I hop into a cab .. accidentally leaving my DC gift bag .. and McDreamy .. on Madison Avenue.