How often are you in the same room as Oprah and Liz Lemon?

Rarely, if ever.

Except I WAS, on Monday, when I attended the New York Women in Communications' Matrix Awards honoring outstanding women in obviously, the field of communications.

There were loads of interesting folks there, even some men, and I have to say: I left completely rejuvenated and excited about living and working in New York.

It's not secret- is it?- that I vaguely, or sometimes more specifically amongst my friends, threaten to move, but I'm still here. Obviously, I can't give up the city if I haven't yet shipped my boxes yet and had my last Levain's cookie.

Which, speaking of, I indulged in today. SWEET PEACHES. If there is a ever a cookie worth $4, this is it. And I don't make such proclamations lightly, by any means. I'm cheap to a fault but GOOD LORD, we could all use a dark chocolate chocolate chip cookie every now and then.

And now, I still have chocolate on my wrist, and I did everything but lick the inside of the paper bag about 6 hours ago. It should have been demoralizing and was borderline criminally vulgar how much I was enjoying that cookie, sauntering down Broadway. It fell apart in my hand, completely soft and warm, and I had no shame about making a complete mess.

I had to duck into Sabon for a complementary handwash. The saleswoman was helping someone else and briefly acknowledged my walking over the large sink in the middle of the store and offered me some new jasmine soap, completely understanding when I showed her my hand, and said: "Sorry. I just came from Levain's."

Truthfully, I looked a bit like this. In honor of two great New York days, full of inspirational and hilarious women and decadent chocolate cookies, I give you something unfortunately too close to home.

Gone Corporat'

Please be aware the following post contains A LOT of ALL-CAPS used to convey an elevation in pitch and increase in sound should this actually be spoken.

The receptionist I am helping out this week probably wonders why every time she looks over I am munching on a prepackaged bowl of Corn Pops (not the bowl itself, you understand, but the delicious, delicious cereal) or chewing a piece of gum or sipping on another cup of coffee or Snapple. This place has A FULLY STOCKED KITCHEN with every sort of carbonated drink you can fathom, zillions of types of coffee, scads of granola bars, and other snacks. AND I get to order breakfast AND lunch. She meanwhile delicately chews her watermelon or swallows her flax oil pill while I am ravaging another snack option, one definitely full of high-fructose corn syrup and most likely, trans fats.

I HAVE NOT SEEN THIS MUCH FOOD IN YEARS! YEARS, I TELL YOU! It's kind of like the kids you knew in high school whose parents were overly strict, and then they went to college with all this BOOZE and BOYS and ADDERALL and the next thing you know, there's a special on Oprah about What Went Wrong after a notable incident involving gardening shears, the neighbors' pet llama, and a vat of absinthe. It boils down to: LACK OF SELF CONTROL.

All this food is marvelous to have around, particularly since my main physical exertion these days comes from standing up in the shower, but I am so sluggish from the sugar coursing through my veins that my neck lolls back, and I'm standing there slack-jawed under the water.

So praise the Lawd that this place has A GYM! WITH ELLIPTICALS AND DUMBBELLS!

Of course, I won't be visiting said center of physical activity, but it's nice to know these larger companies have options. Options that nourish me and then help me burn off excess calories. It's enough to make me want to go corporate.

See ya, deepest ambitions and creative aspirations. Who needs you when I've got Cocoa Puffs and the inner thigh machine that makes me feel like I'm at the gynecologist?

Let's file this under "Another Reason Why I am Like Liz Lemon"