POST-GB:NY STRESS SYNDROME
So Friday night was a lot of fun, even though I faded far too early. A week of not sleeping and five hours of white wine will do that to a guy. Plus, it's very hard pretending to be Choire Sicha. Trust me on that. (Manhattan Dan has the photographic evidence... by the way, I'm the one in pink. I told you about my pastel fetish, right?)

Too bad I got so drunk tired so soon, too, 'cause I was having a great time meeting people I had only known through their blogs. The rapport was immediate. Good people who I hope to see again. (And I now have a number of links to add, which I'll get to eventually. Promise.)

Oh yeah -- and we drunk-dialed Hot Toddy. Which was what I'm sure he thinks the evening was all about.

Anyway, while the rest of the kids continued to frolic around Manhattan for the remainder of the weekend, I was doing grown-up things, like getting drunk tired at a dinner party in Westchester on Saturday night and getting drunk tired watching regular characters getting killed off on Sunday night television. Vicarious cruelty. Gotta love it.

And now it's Monday morning, and I'm back to the same old, same old. An overflowing e-mail in-box, a desk piled with work, a thousand tiny headaches... whine, whine, whine.

On a more positive, upbeat, happy note, the Publishers Weekly review of Trust Fund Boys is supposed to be out today. I'll post it as soon as I receive it.

Unless it sucks, of course, in which case you're on your own.