2001-10-16 - 3:14 p.m.

Anyway, I got into the cab, which was apparently bound straight for Hell, at about a million miles an hour. By the time we reached 57th Street, I was literally feeling sick, and had him let me out near the Plaza Hotel. And as I stood there on the corner, waiting for the light to change, I looked up, and realized just how beautiful this city is. I usually hate going uptown, and that neighborhood, with its hokey hansom cabs and Disneyesque, tourist-gouging restaurants, bugs me. But last night, I looked at the glow of the streetlights and the canopies in front of the Pierre, the still-green trees in Central Park, and the glow of the building in front of the Central Park Zoo, and I saw it through someone else's eyes. Awesome. It felt really good to be out, too.

I then went to meet up with P and his friend Al at the NY Society for Ethical Culture, to see Wanda sing with Broadway Inspirational Voices. It was amazing, as usual, and even more relevant in light of what is going on. After it was over, we joined Wanda's friend Little Anthony to wait (forever) for her diva ass to come out. When she finally did, she had a new friend in tow, who P and I immediately eyeballed in unison, hissing "ooohhh... sexy" We named him the Turk, which evolved into the Mad Turk over the course of dinner, and became the Mad Sexy Turk after the first glass of wine. We had a lot of fun : Little Anthony, after the performance: "Did you guys see that woman behind Wanda? She looked just like the mother from the Cosby show." P: "That's because she is."

(And let me tell you, Mrs Cosby has got it going ON. She looks amazing.) During the intermission Al and I gorged ourselves on bake sale brownies, and I managed to hold my tongue when he began swaying in his seat, saying "Sing it, sistah! Amen! "

And then, at dinner, the Mad Sexy Turk started flirting with me. It's a sad reality, my friends, that, in the course of this relationship of mine, I have grown unused to the subtle signals of interested men. Not oblivious to, notice, but unused to. The lingering hand on my waist, the shared drink, the dismay when I get ready to go. Suffice it to say that P was bitter and resentful.

P, grabbing Wanda's arm on our way to dinner: Quick, five words or less, what's his story?

Wanda: Sorry, he's on my bus

P: Well, maybe he could get a transfer. Bus Driver! Transfer! Quick!

Me: P. Sweetie. This is how you end up, broke and alone, at the wrong stop.

P: Bitch. Why do you always have to be Miss Fuckin Reality?

Me: Fine. Don't come crying to me to pick you up at the bus stop, is all I'm saying.

Anyway, that was my evening. And if I didn't have the boyfriend, it'd have been Turkish coffee for me this morning, I can guarantee you that.

last - next