At Tao tonight, I ate an abundance of chilean sea bass… and then some. Then a bottle of white unoaked wine found its way before me, via a kind waiter, who asked, "are you Stephanie Klein? This is a congratulations to you." A blog "fan" sent the bottle over in the sweetest gesture. I circled the bar looking for him. I finally came upon him to thank him with a seat at our table and a glass of his gift. He was smitten and admitted, "quite jealous of Stuart."
Here’s the thing with fans. It’s flattering when he’s hot; it’s frightening when he’s obsessed and obviously lonesome. Tao suitor was the former. Still, as much as I wanted to stay, I was with friends, and we were onto the next place… FIZZ, a super-private night spot where you can be certain to spot anything from starved models who leave the olives in their empty martini glasses to pleated skirt, pearl laden, turtleneck women who look like the meek woman from Feds. They were off to Cain… I was off to bed with the dog, and that ain’t bad.
My neighbor was having a party. I had to say hello. Of course when a neighbor says hello, the one throwing the party gets nervous. There’s talk of lowering things. They were watching porn and listening to Depeche Mode, not a bad night. I insisted I was just saying hi, welcoming him to the hood. His friends didn’t help his case, "Man, you’re the hot neighbor with the dog." How cool is that? I love being hot neighbor. That’s a porn in and of itself.
Despite popular belief, I love my life.