Stephanie Klein's Greek Tragedy

I will miss the Aimee Mann concert tonight because I’ll be packing.  I ought to have packed for the Hamptons last night, but I was too busy unpacking my intestines on the bowl all night.  Naturally, you’re thinking "TMI, Stephanie!" Then you’re thinking, "Geez, whadya have for dins?"  This is what I made for dinner.  This is not the cause.  Thanks to my office pal Steve who picked me up a blocked artery sandwich for lunch from Café Ziya: American cheese, egg salad (with gobs of mayo), bacon, and a gratuitous sliver of tomato for color flanked by lots of buttered up white bread.  I get a cramp just thinking about it.

So another weekend (allbeit long: I leave tonight!  So no new entries until Monday night) in the Hamptons, Sagaponick to be precise.  While there I plan to wear sunscreen and avoid sitting by the pool without alcohol.  I will work the novel.  I will finish the father’s day gift.  I will bring the first season of The Office on DVD incase it rains.  I will do something involving socks, which always means sneakers.  I will digest the seasons “must haves” with the turn of each glossy magazine page.  I will finish reading The Joy Diet by Martha Beck.  I will make new friends and adore the old.  I will eat lobster and oysters.  I will have a banana drink with a rum shot on top from Cyrils.  I will have another.  I will photograph the charm, and try to avoid the lines and velvet ropes.  I will wear flip flops instead of heels.  I will cook like a fiend… I will stay on my diet… I will avoid mayonaise and bacon.