This is the stuff of legends.

I am over cards with line drawings of skinny women with little dogs. I am over pink! and purses! and shoes! and ribbons! and polka-dots! As far as I am concerned, that was an annoying trend brought about by the hyper-popularity of Sex and The City. (Don't get me wrong. I love S&theC. It's a-some and I miss those women.)

HOWEVER. I did feel a flutter in my heart yesterday as I was given an impromptu invitation with a coworker to meet someone in the Conde Nast cafeteria. The coworker did not realize the mythical connotations of this location, but I did, and my mascara'd eyes were fluttering with anticipation.

First of all, it's something like the only Frank Gehry-designed room in New York. I find that hard to believe, but that's what I was told. It had swirling, curved glass and little pods that made it feel like I was underwater with Ariel. Second, the service. All the workers were dressed to the nines, knew everyone's names, and were super friendly. Third, the food. Out of control afternoon omelet bar, smoothies galore, a salad bar that was beyond my beloved Salad Works. I would eat here breakfast lunch and dinner!

That said, I might be the only one eating, because the WOMEN in the caf don't look like they do much of it. Yes, these are the famed "clackers" of the Devil Wears Prada. In real life, most of them work at Vogue, and Teen Vogue, but I am sure the ladies of Conde Nast Traveler are no slouches either. The clothes were o.o.c... more skinny jeans, big blousy shirts, and waaaay-upscale designers than you've seen in one place outside of a fashion show. I was in turns jealous and horrified by my jealousy. And wait, aren't these ladies journalists? How do they pay for this stuff? The accessorizing itself would put me into debt. I thought by throwing on a tight pencil skirt I could compete with the New Yawkers, but alas, I did not plan on hanging out with the Conde Nasties.

It was a pretty memorable New York moment. Also memorable was when I ran into my cousin on the street and I'm not sure he knew who I was. And, oh yea, when a plane hit a high-rise. That was, needless to say, unpretty.