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I’ll tell you where: on the inside of a karaoke bar in Koreatown and in the company of some mighty fine women, one of whom is getting married in a few weeks, requiring an entire weekend of hijinks all over town and far too much alcohol so we could send her off in style.

(It’s not a proper bachelorette if someone doesn’t end up on the floor of a BYOB karaoke bar, or? I didn’t think so.) (For the record, that someone wasn’t me. I swear!)

There was also a delectable birthday brunch at Pylos in the East Village (cheap, cheerful and very cool to boot) for my sweet Gemma, who is preparing for the arrival of one very small child, some might call it a baby even, into her own home in a matter of (gulp) days.

So, in between afternoon champagne and (DAD! Don’t click on that) Ducky Doolittle, there was a pregnant belly to be petted and padded laundry baskets to be discussed. You know it’s been a good weekend when you cover both crotchless panties and nursing bras.

In the course of the weekend, I spent time with many of my girlfriends here – women I met in college freshman year and women I’ve met along the way since arriving in New York six years ago. In the four minutes of (relatively) sober solitude I had this weekend, all I could do was marvel at just how fantastic they all are.

I’m so lucky to have them in my life.

(Pardon the long silence. It’s hard to believe, I know, but there was precious little cooking in between all of this madness. Pouring myself a bowl of cereal while breathing through the DT’s was as close as I got. And though I cooked us a square meal last night, the only thrilling thing about it – well, other than the taste – was that it came entirely from the Greenmarket. Am I a total food geek for being kind of excited about that? Meat, starch, veg – it was all local. And delicious!)