Smut, smut, smut. I'm not working for Playboy or Penthouse. Yet somehow it's my job to call up professionals and pose questions such as: "So, what's the most ergonomic position to assume when giving a blowjob?" and "I'm sorry, the Key West crack whores said what?" And then, my homework assignment of the week is to read a new book by the ex-editorial director of Hustler and report back. My life is full of smut.

Spent last weekend catching up with my world-traveler friends, i.e. JessBess and sis, at a Midtown West hookah bar:

And Karen Warrior, who not even Africa could tame, at Brooklyn's best dive:

After an excitement-filled Saturday night, which included muchas PBRs, drunken borough-hopping, a lost purse (i.e. lost keys/phone/life), which turned into a three-hour brunch Sunday, it's back to the day job, smut, and coffee.

Tonight celebrated the P.R. finale with a truly gourmet Potluck: salad, garlic bread, mashed potatoes, breaded dijon chicken, and merlot. MMmmmm. And cookies for dessert. (Guess what my contribution was - god bless friends who can cook.)