That’s right, bitches. Amy Sedaris.
Was RSVP’d to a preview of a new art installation at a new gallery. On a Tuesday night, what the hell. After checking in, headed up to the airy outdoor terrace for complimentary (that means free all night and not skimping on the alcohol) cocktails. While waiting at the bar for a rum Del Sol, I spot a petite blonde in navy crinoline staring at my shoes. "You must love them or hate them,” I say jokingly of the extreme pointy toed, testicle catching lovelies (I have them in red too). “No, I love them!” she retorted. “Those shoes are going take over the party.”
Check out some visual art installations, check out the boys and find a seat on a squishy L-shaped and obviously brought in for the show excuse of a couch. Half hour passes. “That's Amy Sedaris...,” I exclaim in shock. "Amy Sedaris liked my shoes!”
Fast forward 20 minutes, Amy Sedaris sits on the excuse for a an L-shaped couch and we chat about my niece in Florida, swimming in the river(?), her fab dress, my fab shoes and a stay at the Ritz Carlton downtown which, oddly enough, provides a book of Mormon in every room. Snapped by whatever photags in the house, I felt like Britney Spears entourage minus the crazy. By night’s end, I went all fan-ny and asked for a photo. She said make sure you get the shoes.