Give my regards to Broadway...

I went to New York for work a couple of weeks ago. We held a series of meetings with key people to give them advanced info on an announcement my client was making in the Bay Area the following week.

In my line of work, we do things like this fairly often, and for me, these types of projects are the best part of my job. I get to help my client figure out exactly what to say to best share their info and make a point. And I get to play "hostess", sending out invitations, helping executives pick their outfits, making introductions and guiding conversations. The preparation for such an event is intense, but worth it. And my clients were pleased with how everything went. Yay!

My colleague Wafer was on the trip with me and it was great. We made quick work of the hard labor and kept each other company. And our last night in town, we found time to explore the city. And that's where the story gets interesting.

We walked to the much bally-hooed Magnolia Bakery (of Sex & The City fame) then sat on the steps of a cute little brownstone to eat our FANTASTIC cupcakes. Then we hit a Rite-Aid for chapstick and a fleece scarf. Then we took a cab to Flute, a champagne bar. Which ROCKED OUT LOUD. The decor was cozy chic, with overstuffed pillows and fireplaces. It had romantical nooks for the couples, but was largely an after-work crowd. They had nearly every champagne EVAR but we ignored the "hooker drink" stigma and chose a couple of champagne cocktails. Which ROCKED OUT LOUD. Champagne sangria was good...so was something they called the "Marquis de Sade" and the "Bellini-tini". mmmm...

Then we went searching a place to eat. And found The Watering Hole. We sat at the bar and ordered french fries and blueberry Stoli & sodas. We had fun, chatting with the bartenders and each other, daring the bartender to "make me something pink...that's not a Cosmo" and "make me something green...without creme de menthe".

Around midnight, I went to the bathroom. And that's when things started going downhill. On the way back to the bar, I got clucked at and asked to dance. At a bar where there was basketball on the big screens and no dancefloor. Yeah. Not long after returning to my seat, Drunk Mike came over and started eating our french fries. He proceeded to tell us about Tiger Woods, tips for handling New York and inquire as to why I wasn't married. At which point, we got the heck out of dodge.

Cupcakes, pink drinks and a speedy escape from Drunk Mike...not a bad night. Oh yeah, and our clients were happy. All in all, a good trip.