Mark Sandman is dead.

The Blonde called yesterday and asked me about it, but I was confused and thought he was talking about Neil's Sandman. ("Is he dead?" And I'm thinking, "Um ... he's a *fictional* character.") Once we got that cleared up, I figured it had to be some sort "Paul is Dead" prank.

Nope. He's gone.

I'm rereading The Sun Also Rises. I cannot accurately convey to you how much I love this book. "And then there was Brett."

Wistful sigh.

Met William for dinner Friday night, or rather, met William outside Baby Jupiter Friday night, walked in, saw The Blonde, turned red, whipped around and scurried out before he could look up. William laughed his ass off.

Very funny, motherfucker.

Things improved significantly at the Bowery Ballroom. Name on the list (thank you Seth), free drinks, got pulled aside by a big drunk queen who told me just exactly how fabulous I am. I am ultra fabulous, by the way. A superstar. He can tell these things.

Minor heartbreak when two-thirds of Betty said sure they'd love to play Martian Love Fest then realized they'd be in Los Angeles that night. Damn.

Saturday night was dinner with Wise Guy at Nice Guy Eddie's. Gossip, cocktails and a soundtrack featuring music of the 70's. "Half-breed," indeed. We dished, we giggled, I smoked, he graciously bit his tongue. I lost all good sense at one point and burst out with something along the lines of: "Wow, you're really mature for your age." Yeah, I know.

"Golly, thanks, Mom."

Whoops.

I eventually dug my way out of it, or, more accurately, he forgave me my faux pas and we moved on. Anyway, *such* a good time I didn't want to leave, but had to scurry off to meet beautiful H at the apartment.

He picked me up on his motorcycle. Did I mention the motorcycle? Yup, as in a cycle with a motor. So. Friggin. Cool.

We saw Hedwig and the Angry Inch which I loved and it was fun to see Mike's name in the program and yeah, whatever did I mention the motorcycle?

Drinks after the show at 9C then home.

Sunday night was Beckner at Ace Bar. Then Barramundi for Lovely Rachel's birthday festivities.

Then home.

Wednesday night before the Betty show, Amity told me she had a photo she wanted to give me but was afraid it would make me sad. "Why? Satan's in it?" ["Satan" is Am and my shorthand for my ex. Bitter much?] She nodded gravely. "Let me see it." And she pulls out this picture and while it's not hugely flattering, it's hysterical and I'm tickled by it and not sad at all.

That's not true. I'm a little sad: I miss my long hair.

New York City was a Downey commercial this weekend -- sans the slow-mo and floral attire, but still … April freshness in late May. Loverly.

Friday night barbecue with the carpentry crew from the Delacourt: paint, sweat and sawdust-covered boys playing basketball and eating meat off hand tools. Oh yeah, baaay - bee. Sitting in the girls' corner, drinkin keg beer and watching the game. They look like puppies when they play. Someone cue "Freebird" now.

Sundown, no fireflies but there oughtta be. Enter H through the woods above my head. Little round glasses and a Buddhist's smile - goodness me.

Side Burns and I end up at 9C where Susan blows Gene Simmons fireballs behind the bar and Scott and I bond over vicious shots. I think my heart will burst.