Champagne and Advil

Hungover. Hung. Over. That's what i can say about partying with a prince. He was extremely nice - quiet - flanked by a bodyguard - and dressed impeccably. I arrived with L a bit after the party started - and there were numerous people already there - milling about - looking fabulous. Me, you ask - well i was wearing a black gucci suit, dior stilettos and my black wool boucle chanel bag. Hair down, red lips, a smattering of jewelry and a pashmina finished the look.

L and i grabbed champagne and she introduced me to the prince. He was older than i thought he would be, but handsome and for lack of a better word, gentle. We shook hands, clinked champagne glasses and toasted to his birthday. We talked about the opening of the ballet (the night before) - his visit to San Francisco, and his love of Paris and London. More and more people arrived - each more interesting than the next - P, an ex model, now in tv, had the most amazing blue eyes - he noticed my david yurman bracelets and we discussed different jewelry and our favorite pieces (my bracelets and his john hardy cufflinks); R - tall and swarthy, fluent in 5 languages and ceo of an advertising company - we talked favorite restaurants in NY - his growing up on Paris and his bi-coastal life these days; K - a fabulous 'latina' with a contagious thirst for fun - she looked effortlessly chic and we talked about her life in london and NY and her recent move to SF. Everyone drank and chatted and flirted and talked 'ohhhh you know him too' and 'how do you know the prince' and 'oh we met at the ball in paris - you have to come in june' - 'sundance was such a bore' - 'the clubs in San Francisco are terrible' - 'I so miss London's nightlife' - 'sweetie are you coming to Monaco too' - and so many other interesting, surreal, fascinating, ridiculous and marvelous conversations.

The champagne flowed and we must have gone through at least (at least) 2 cases by the time i was ready to go. His last birthday party, according to several of the guests, lasted until nearly noon the next day - and the evening was still in full swing with people still arriving even at this late hour. However, while my stilettos are fabulous and sexy - they are also messengers of pain and i could barely stand up at this point - add the nearly 5 glasses of champagne and it's no wonder i was having issues staying upright. I made the rounds and said goodbye to my new friends - double-cheek air kisses and business cards were exchanged with abandon - and we made plans to all get together soon. Soon.

I said ciao. Ciaoooo. Not the american 'chow' - but the Italian smokey, sultry, batted eyelash, drawn out version which oozes sexiness. Ciaooooo. It felt good.

Ciaoooooo dahhhling.

K