Coffee in Bed

Greetings! It's been a crazed couple of days here at Planetbex HQ. The happy, happy news is that our new campaign for Black History Month has been approved with flying colors, so watch VH1 during February to see our handiwork. I think that word might actually be spelled "handywork" but if one spells it with an "i" it makes one think of those little packs of ez cheese and crackers that one ate in elementary school, the ones with the little red plastic ez-cheese spreaders, that were called "handisnacks" or something to that effect.

SO! To celebrate our big ol' project, the lovely Tina took us to dinner at BED. Yes, we ate dinner in bed. Seven of us in a kingsize tempurpedic bed. Hanging out with everyone was awesome, but BED left a bit to be desired. They serve really fancy-schmancy food, like architectually arranged tuna, which is kinda antithetical to eating in bed. They give you lap pillows and then trays on which to balance your food, but really, when you think about eating in bed, don't you just want comfort food? None of your tuna sculptures, just give me a big bowl of oatmeal to balance on my belly. Regardless, the evening was lovely and we drank many fancy cocktails that have dirty bed-related names: "The Wet Spot" and "Satin Sheets" and "Pussy Galore," etc. A little how very, really.

I went to find the ladies' room at one point and I passed by the elevator (you have to take a private elevator up to the restaurant) and the elevator boys (Who were unfortunately costumed to look like those offensive statues they have in suburbia, where the little black man holding a lantern statues wears that red suits) and they were a buzz that someone big was about to show up at the nightclub downstairs.
Elevator Man 1: "It's someone 'Nor' something -- Norah Jones?"
Elevator Man 2: "No, she was there last week. It's 'Nor' ... Nor... Noriega?"
Bex: Manuel Noriega is going to the nightclub downstairs?
Elevator Man 2: Yeah, Noriega, that's it.
Bex: Wait, THE Noriega, the pockmarked Panamanian dictator is hanging out HERE?"
Elevator Man 1: No, he's a rapper.

And then I realized they were probably talking about N.O.R.E., whom I believe to be a rapper. Not a Panamanian dictator. But for a brief, shining moment, I thought I might just get the chance to ask him what he thought about all the Guns 'n' Roses our army blasted at him all those years ago.

Bex: So, Manny, tell me -- you really liked 'Welcome to the Jungle,' didn't you?
Noriega: Si. Slash is a guitar virtuoso.
Bex: So you weren't really leaving your compound to flee the noise?
Noriega: Ha ha ha! No, no. My girlfriend needed tampons and she asked me to go get some.
Bex: Now it all makes so much sense.
Noriega: Glad I could clear that up. Hey, can I try a sip of your Pussy Galore?

Anyhoo. Tina called us all fancy cars and I went home, happily to finally get good night's sleep. And I woke up with the worst.stomachpains.ever. The last time my tummy felt like that was the dreaded poultry-contamination campylobacter adventure of 2002. I spent the day writhing in pain and reading magazines. And then I was mostly better by last night so Josh and I went out for macrobiotic food and then met up with Tina and Amanda at Scott's birthday party. On the way to the party, we discussed zeitgeist movies and how generations get their names and how when the Gen Xers start having babies they will be called "The Baby Xoomers" and how we hate that we're supposedly part of the "cusp" between gen X and gen Y and how that's just dumb, and how they better find a more-apt name for Gen Y because it's just redundant and unoriginal.

And then we discussed how Katie Couric's "friends with benefits" theory may be nothing more than hogwash, because we don't know anyone who's actually made that sort of nonrelationship-booty work, and how perhaps it's just a myth. Can anyone disprove that friends-with-benefits is really just the new red-M&Ms-are-made-with-rat-blood?