Ok, so there’s just no cool way to admit this: I met Mike Bloomberg last night. I forced myself on him. But honestly, America shouldn’t let its celebrities and public offficials just wander around on their own. If you would like to remain an unmolested public figure, get a security detail.
Yeah, he was by himself at the opening last night. S and I spotted him. I told her, “We’ve gotta introduce ourselves.” I have no idea why I thought this. I didn’t vote for him. And I certainly don’t like him. I contemplated saying something about how much I disliked his smoking ban. But yet, there he was. Nothing like a few gratis glasses of Johnnie Walker Black (chased with a few more free glasses of chianti) to provide the lubrication necessary for compulsive and inappropriate behavior. He was talking to some Park Ave. doyenne (I know of no other kind) and we caught him as he left her. “I would just die if I didn’t introduce myself,” I smarmed. Bloomberg looked at me like you’re kidding, right? who *are* you? and then S was on him like a tick. “I really like what you’re doing with the Department of Education,” she began. While she effused, I stared at him, silently. He is a very short man. About my height, actually. I entertained fantasies of putting him in a headlock and giving him noogies. Here’s those special smoke-free noogies you ordered, your honor.
I woke up with a horrible headache this morning. The kind where smells overwhelm me to the point of tears. It’s also impairing the part of my brain that can tell a linear story. Maybe I had a stroke.
Oh yeah, and they had these giant capers at the opening last night. They were really good.
Stroke me.
