I want my own museum.

I worked a VIP dinner last night at a famous auction house. They threw this bash for their very top buyers in an attempt to get them jazzed about these... sculptures? I guess they were sculptures. They looked more like plain ol' cabinets to me - granted, stratospherically priced plain ol' cabinets. I'm sure they were incredibly difficult to make or have some huge artful meaning or something ("He was the first artist to use the space inside the art as part of the art!") because, like all things pretentious, they were going for buttloads of money. One older gentleman asked me which one I was planning on bidding. Luckily I stopped myself before cliche-ing something along the lines of "I could do that!" Because, let's be frank, I couldn't do that. IKEA, however, sure could.

A supermodel was there. (I'm not saying who she was... Was she once married to Axl Rose? Maybe. But again, not saying.) She's now married to somewhat less attractive but no doubt enormously well endowed (financially, at least) art collector. Rumor has it, their collection rivals a museum. She looked good, even though she was wearing a very unforgiving skirt. It was full-length black leather (clearly no friend to PETA; she also ate the veal) and skin tight. You know a skirt is too damn tight when a supermodel wears it and you think "If she'd just lose 3 pounds..." And yes, she cleaned her plate - although she did disappear during dessert. I have my thoughts on that, but I'll keep them to myself.