Claritin, Benadryl, Boogies

Smug in the knowledge that I missed the coldest, nastiest winter in most of my friends' New York existence, allergy misery which spring brings is not really the jolly I was looking forward to. Finally going to bed v late last night, after an amusing evening at Janey's new loft in Tribeca, assembling Bang and Olson sound system, drinking yummy wine as we toiled over speaker wires and listening to Maccers complain about a) latest fuck-up in her life who she never sees due to his heavy work schedule and b) fleetingly short and short in statue (no surprise due to following bit of info) but Hollywood-connected actor, I couldn't decide whether her slightly peculiar manner was due to being charlied up to her eyeballs, tripping on diet pills, or as many of us are at the moment rediscovering the pharmaceutical mind-fuck benefits of antihistamines. Another slight possibility as cause of her personality freakshow may also have had something to do with Soy Boy. Post early shags I learnt that he and Maccers had once had some kind of longish-term sexual relationship.

However the ramifications of antihistamines are far more interesting than rogering in this instance (hmm maybe too close to home). Over the past week or so I have been experimenting with various allergy combatants and have discovered that Claritin (now freely available over the counter) is a superb party pill which gets double whammy points for sinus clearing also. Honestly it works just the same as Charles but I can get it at Food Emporium around the corner and I don't need to line it up in dimly lit bathrooms.

On a Claritin kick I have: vacuumed, moped, toilet scrubbed and generally kept an impeccable Soy Boy apartment; of course this makes him adore me even more - I'm sure I have him fooled into thinking it's just part of the natural female house-proudness coming out in me - just he wait till Fall; and partied late most nights - although a Claritin and Chardonnay bender was also my weekly undoing doozie.

Last Friday night at Gustavinos in clear view and hearing range of only about 100 people I was exuberantly and no doubt loudly rambling on inanely to Soy Boy and our now favourite (but admittedly captured) bar staff (Croatian dude and Texan who's trying to look like a Mexican with new huge fuck-off moustache). Lurching drunkenly against the non-existent stool back I toppled, not delicately, from a great height onto the tiled (yes obviously hard) floor onto my (now) v sorry tailbone. Am still in pain a week from the embarrassing event - not that I wanted to hide in the corner for long - stupid as well. Under the effects of C&C, giggling, Soy Boy dragged me to my feet. Great foolish and typically klutzy-me moment I clambered back up onto the stool, ordered another Chard and washed down another white bullet.

Lying in bed last night at about one in the morning, unable to sleep from the Claritin buzz and still sore bottom bone I was amused by thoughts of the Prat. The Prat suffers allergies more than most but from some fucked-up stoic British sensibility refuses to take anything for it. I wonder now if indulging me in a little bit of pill popping could have saved our marriage? On more than occasion, boogies glistened against his dark nasal hairs, as he sat across the dining table with friends or clients, on view for all who were not sharp enough to catch a glimpse and quickly look away before wanting to vomit. I stress this was not a rare offence and he was not oblivious either.

Admittedly The Prat suffers terribly from hayfever in the summer and a never-ending cold during the winter, and therefore can not be faulted for suffering social blights such as boogie issues. What can not be excused however, is his indignation at dealing with them. Many evenings I spent on snot patrol - desperately trying to alert him to offending foreign bodies, which the general public would not want to have cocktails with nor share a meal. His constant annoyance at my sentry duty really did get my goat - didn't he understand this was how I showed I cared.

Journeying home arguments over this particular issue would lead me to contemplate the very foundations of our union. How could I live with a man who was happy to allow a boogie to hang out in company as if it were the equivalent of the family dog and not some unsavoury, unsightly chunky reflective green thing.

Good thing that Soy Boy, also suffering from seasonal allergies is a big fan of the drug industry. His drug of choice is Benadryl which he claims not only stops him breaking out in hives but also combats stress during business hours - watching his hedge fund go down the toilet doesn't seem to be having quite the ill effect he would have imagined. Additionally his little pink and white capsules also mix well with alcohol and company. What a shame, tonight is most likely going to be another FDA approved drug-fuelled hoot.

Spinning, marriage proposal on 3rd avenue and Californian invasion

I need to admit to someone (can't possible tell my friends) that I've been doing very little during the daylight hours, aside from trawling the local food emporiums for yummy things which have been lacking from my diet due to Prat imposed Thai diet and attending spinning classes to compensate for all those yummy things. I think I've become addicted to the spinning thing - something about the release of endorphins, communal sweating, and I guess hot instructor with bulging Lance Armstrong-like quadriceps is drawcard too.

Dined on Monday night with the Prat. Our first encounter since my mysterious disappearance from Primrose Hill. Once the Prat had returned to London and realised that several "safety-blanket" items in my life were missing - eye mask, lip balm and vibrator he politely emailed me several days later to enquire if I was in New York, LA, Sydney or Wakefield. Fair enough, although if he'd checked his BA account on-line he would have worked it out eventually. Anyway Prat was in New York and wanted to see me in order to retrieve keys to the flat in London and exchanged Sydney house keys. He particularly wanted the set I had with window locks and didn't think I'd mind. True true. We ate at Lever House in a complete papaya-salad-free zone and had a great night.

Tuesday night I went for dinner with my friend the incredibly talented Philharmonic pianist and multi-millionaire software developer. Some people are far to accomplished. Emailed said boy to check what time we were meeting. I thought it was to be 9pm but couldn't remember what he'd said at time of organising; I'd killed off a few brain cells at a cocktail party at his house which were clearly short-term memory cells - not so important really. Anyway yes, my guess had been correct. Although he then offhandedly mentioned that we were to meet in the lounge of Spice Market (latest NY Meatpacking district hotspot) at 9pm but our dinner reservation wasn't until 11pm. I'm sorry but that is just ridiculous. My protests fell on deaf ears - well actually my follow-up email, suggesting this was so went unreplied.

Hence I appeared at 9pm absolutely starving; threw back a couple of champagne cocktails to take the edge off my appetite and way-hey it worked. Suddenly it was 11pm and we were being seated. I was not so drunk to realise that this was also not the last seating. Large parties of beautiful people were being shown to their sumptuous late night zones without mugs of warm milk and cookies.

The Software Pianist, who is always delightful company was on this night somewhat nervous and ended up the most drunk I've ever seen him. We chatted about my latest London departure, my lack of job prospects, my belongings strewn across the globe and basic directionless of my life at age 30. Of course this just made his smooth-flowing successful existence all the more glaringly obvious. He was just about to close on a five million dollar, seven bedroom house in the Hamptons with Ocean and Bay views, as well as ever screaming up the charts of American's most wealthy, single and charming. I wanted to puke - and it wasn't because of the Bolly quaffing.

We finished dinner and when the bill came without complimentary comforter (duvet for those who read English not American) I realised we weren't sleeping over. Software Pianist saw me to a taxi to dispatch me home. Ever the gentleman he then insisted on traveling with me and seeing me safely to my door. OK then....

I believe at about 40th and Third Avenue he then grabbed my hand and asked me if it would be an improper time and place to ask me to marry him. Oh my god! It wasn't an actual proposal - more a testing of the waters. At least this explained his nerves - and I thought it was just his upcoming solo performance in front of Bush. Actually no one is seriously nervous in front of that man - are they?

Yesterday, after lying in bed for an inordinate amount of time, mulling over my almost proposal I: eventually rose; did some shopping - found these amazing dried but still slightly squishy strawberries - v yummy with vanilla icecream; made a marinade for chicken which entailed me spending a silly amount of time looking for fresh guava juice and ancho puree and popped off to the gym to spin.

Returning home absolutely starving, Soy Boy who I had envisaged having a romantic, simple evening at home with informed me that one of his mother's best friends from high school, her two friends and one of these friend's son's were coming for dinner! They were all flying into NY from LA, arriving at about 7.30pm and would be with us by 9pm. Fucking hell another late night dining experience ahead of me but without marriage proposal, phew.

So, it's now Thursday afternoon and once again I'm still wandering around in my knickers with unbrushed hair. Teeth are clean and flossed and I've also managed to scrape blue cheese remnants off kitchen floor, pack the dishwasher (feel I'm easing into domesticity) and make list (thank you again Prat) of things which I need to pick up on the way home from spinning for supper tonight, which is also involving a number of Californians (not the same ones) amongst other imports.

Dinner last night with all the Californians was absolutely delightful, even if son of friend was a little kooky. He'd just returned from 10 days in Australian outback making a cross between The Bachelor and Survivor and had fallen in love with the Australian make-up artist. He is now busy planning the rest of their lives together in Melbourne. Yes, he was v nice, but I know Australian women and my guess is this kook is going to prove a little tooo Californian. He also confessed to having to break up with his Romanian girlfriend tonight who conveniently for the Australian angle is docking today on the Queen Mary(??). He'd met that love of his life on the cruise ship as he sat across from her dealing on the Black Jack table; Australia chick was probably less-than thrilled when he received a phone call from his fiancee and it was broadcast over tannoy to entire film crew; but then again love is blind.

Prat-free but not really single - dabbling in new something

Have been absent from the blogging world due to necessary skiing holiday and dreamy new boy (well not new-new). Day after I set Maya on course for weekly house chores I popped off to Whistler with Squidy and en famille. What a shame when this wee vacance was organised Prat couldn't come with! Thus I had 11 glorious Prat-free days with good friends and referred above boy who now has new name - was the soybean omlette lover - now Soy Boy.

Am now somewhat loved up with Soy Boy. Not only is he a hot skier but he cooks, cleans and adores me. I know all this because I have kind of moved in. Much of course to his friends and family's distress. But I think so long as the sex is spectacular he won't be wanting to get rid of me just yet.

Decided on my return to London from Whistler that I was going to do the last runner from Prat. Thus less than 24 hours later I was back on BA and en route to New York. Am now tappy-tap typing from Soy Boy's computer in his upper east side apartment. I have the East river and Queensboro Bridge on my left, Guastavino's - our dining room, when Soy Boy isn't whipping up something incredible for me and my friends below, cable car above and sun streaming on my face.

Was concerned with how to address the egg vs soybean product issue, but I delicately talked it through with Soy Boy and he now lovingly poaches me organic real eggs. The other major concern is what will I moan about now that Prat is no longer?